THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO  PRESS 
CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 


THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 

NBW  YORK 

THE  CAMBRIDGE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON 

THE  MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA 

TOKYO,  OSAKA,  KYOTO,  FUKUOKA,  SENDAI 

THE  MISSION  BOOK  COMPANY 

SHANGHAI 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE 
SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


By 
ROBERT  E.  PARK  AND  ERNEST  W.  BURGESS 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO  PRESS 
CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


COPYRIGHT  1921  Bx 
THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Published  September  1921 

Second  Impression  October  1921 

Third  Impression  June  1922 


Composed  and  Printed  By 

The  University  of  Chicago  Press 

Chicago,  Illinois,  U.S.A. 


5RLJI 
.URL 


PREFACE 

The  materials  upon  which  this  book  is  based  have  been  collected 
from  a  wide  range  of  sources  and  represent  the  observation  and 
reflection  of  men  who  have  seen  life  from  very  different  points  of 
view.  This  was  necessary  hi  order  to  bring  into  the  perspective  of  a 
single  volume  the  whole  wide  range  of  social  organization  and  human 
life  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  a  science  of  society. 

At  the  same  time  an  effort  has  been  made  to  bring  this  material 
within  the  limits  of  a  very  definite  series  of  sociological  conceptions 
which  suggest,  at  any  rate,  where  they  do  not  clearly  exhibit,  the 
fundamental  relations  of  the  parts  to  one  another  and  to  the  concepts 
and  contents  of  the  volume  as  a  whole. 

The  Introduction  to  the  Science  of  Sociology  is  not  conceived  as  a 
mere  collection  of  materials,  however,  but  as  a  systematic  treatise. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  excerpts  which  make  up  the  body  of  the  book 
are  not  to  be  regarded  as  mere  illustrations.  In  the  context  in  which 
they  appear,  and  with  the  headings  which  indicate  their  place  in  the 
volume,  they  should  enable  the  student  to  formulate  for  himself 
the  principles  involved.  An  experience  of  some  years,  during  which 
this  book  has  been  in  preparation,  has  demonstrated  the  value  to  the 
teacher  of  a  body  of  materials  that  are  interesting  in  themselves  and 
that  appeal  to  the  experience  of  the  student.  If  students  are  invited 
to  take  an  active  part  in  the  task  of  interpretation  of  the  text,  if 
they  are  encouraged  to  use  the  references  in  order  to  extend  their 
knowledge  of  the  subject-matter  and  to  check  and  supplement 
classroom  discussion  by  their  personal  observation,  their  whole 
attitude  becomes  active  rather  than  passive.  Students  gain  in  this 
way  a  sense  of  dealing  at  first  hand  with  a  subject-matter  that  is 
alive  and  with  a  science  that  is  in  the  making.  Under  these  condi- 
tions sociology  becomes  a  common  enterprise  in  which  all  members 
of  the  class  participate;  to  which,  by  their  observation  and  investiga- 
tion, they  can  and  should  make  contributions. 

The  first  thing  that  students  in  sociology  need  to  learn  is  to 
observe  and  record  their  own  observations;  to  read,  and  then  to 
select  and  record  the  materials  which  are  the  fruits  of  their  readings; 


vi  PREFACE 

to  organize  and  use,  in  short,  their  own  experience.  The  whole 
organization  of  this  volume  may  be  taken  as  an  illustration  of  a 
method,  at  once  tentative  and  experimental,  for  the  collection, 
classification,  and  interpretation  of  materials,  and  should  be  used  by 
students  from  the  very  outset  in  all  their  reading  and  study. 

Social  questions  have  been  endlessly  discussed,  and  it  is  important 
that  they  should  be.  What  the  student  needs  to  learn,  however,  is 
how  to  get  facts  rather  than  formulate  opinions.  The  most  impor- 
tant facts  that  sociologists  have  to  deal  with  are  opinions  (attitudes 
and  sentiments),  but  until  students  learn  to  deal  with  opinions  as  the 
biologists  deal  with  organisms,  that  is,  to  dissect  them — reduce  them 
to  their  component  elements,  describe  them,  and  define  the  situation 
(environment)  to  which  they  are  a  response — we  must  not  expect 
very  great  progress  in  sociological  science. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  every  single  chapter,  except  the  first,  falls 
naturally  into  four  parts;  (i)  the  introduction,  (2)  the  materials, 
(3)  investigations  and  problems,  and  (4)  bibliography.  The  first 
two  parts  of  each  chapter  are  intended  to  raise  questions  rather  than 
to  answer  them.  The  last  two,  on  the  other  hand,  should  outline  or 
suggest  problems  for  further  study.  The  bibliographies  have  been 
selected  mainly  to  exhibit  the  recognized  points  of  view  with  regard 
to  the  questions  raised,  and  to  suggest  the  practical  problems  that 
grow  out  of,  and  are  related  to,  the  subject  of  the  chapter  as  a  whole. 

The  bibliographies,  which  accompany  the  chapters,  it  needs  to 
be  said,  are  intended  to  be  representative  rather  than  authoritative 
or  complete.  An  attempt  has  been  made  to  bring  together  literature 
that  would  exhibit  the  range,  the  divergence,  the  distinctive  char- 
acter of  the  writings  and  points  of  view  upon  a  single  topic.  The 
results  are  naturally  subject  to  criticism  and  revision. 

A  word  should  be  said  in  regard  to  chapter  i.  It  seemed  necessary 
and  important,  in  view  of  the  general  vagueness  and  uncertainty  in 
regard  to  the  place  of  sociology  among  the  sciences  and  its  relation 
to  the  other  social  sciences,  particularly  to  history,  to  state  somewhere, 
clearly  and  definitely,  what,  from  the  point  of  view  of  this  volume, 
sociology  is.  This  resulted  finally  in  the  imposition  of  a  rather 
formidable  essay  upon  what  is  in  other  respects,  we  trust,  a  relatively 
concrete  and  intelligible  book.  Under  these  circumstances  we  sug- 
gest that,  unless  the  reader  is  specially  interested  in  the  matter, 


PREFACE  vii 

he  begin  with  the  chapter  on  "Human  Nature,"  and  read  the  first 
chapter  last. 

The  editors  desire  to  express  their  indebtedness  to  Dr.  W.  I. 
Thomas  for  the  point  of  view  and  the  scheme  of  organization  of 
materials  which  have  been  largely  adopted  in  this  book.1  They  are 
also  under  obligations  to  their  colleagues,  Professor  Albion  W.  Small, 
Professor  Ellsworth  Faris,  and  Professor  Leon  C.  Marshall,  for 
constant  stimulus,  encouragement,  and  assistance.  They  wish  to 
acknowledge  the  co-operation  and  the  courtesy  of  their  publishers, 
all  the  more  appreciated  because  of  the  difficult  technical  task  involved 
in  the  preparation  of  this  volume.  In  preparing  copy  for  publi- 
cation and  in  reading  proof,  invaluable  service  was  rendered  by 
Miss  Roberta  Burgess. 

Finally  the  editors  are  bound  to  express  their  indebtedness  to 
the  writers  and  publishers  who  have  granted  their  permission  to  use 
the  materials  from  which  this  volume  has  been  put  together.  With- 
out the  use  of  these  materials  it  would  not  have  been  possible  to 
exhibit  the  many  and  varied  types  of  observation  and  reflection 
which  have  contributed  to  present-day  knowledge  of  social  life.  In 
order  to  give  this  volume  a  systematic  character  it  has  been  necessary 
to  tear  these  excerpts  from  their  contexts  and  to  put  them,  sometimes, 
into  strange  categories.  In  doing  this  it  will  no  doubt  have  happened 
that  some  false  impressions  have  been  created.  This  was  perhaps 
inevitable  and  to  be  expected.  On  the  other  hand  these  brief  excerpts 
offered  here  will  serve,  it  is  hoped,  as  an  introduction  to  the  works 
from  which  they  have  been  taken,  and,  together  with  the  bibliog- 
raphies which  accompany  them,  will  serve  further  to  direct  and 
stimulate  the  reading  and  research  of  students.  The  co-operation 
of  the  following  publishers,  organizations  and  journals,  in  giving,  by 
special  arrangement,  permission  to  use  selections  from  copyright 
material,  was  therefore  distinctly  appreciated  by  the  editors: 

D.Appleton&Co.;  G.Bell&Sons;  J.F.Bergmann;  Columbia  Uni- 
versity Press;  George  H.  Doran  Co. ;  Duncker  undHumblot;  Duffield 
&  Co.;  Encyclopedia  Americana  Corporation;  M.  GiardetCie;  Ginn 
&  Co. ;  Harcourt,  Brace  &  Co;  Paul  B.  Hoeber;  Houghton  Mifflin  Co. ; 

1  See  Source  Book  for  Social  Origins.  Ethnological  materials,  psychological 
standpoint,  classified  and  annotated  bibliographies  for  the  interpretation  of  savage 
society  (Chicago,  1909). 


viii  PREFACE 

Henry  Holt  &  Co.;  B.  W.  Huebsch;  P.  S.  King  &  Son;  T.  W.  Laurie, 
Ltd. ;  Longmans,  Green  &  Co. ;  John  W.  Luce  &  Co. ;  The  Macmillan 
Co.;  A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co.;  Methuen  &  Co.;  John  Murray; 
Martinus  NijhofT;  Open  Court  Publishing  Co.;  Oxford  University 
Press;  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons;  Riitten  und  Loening;  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons;  Frederick  A.  Stokes  &  Co.;  W.  Thacker  &  Co.;  University  of 
Chicago  Press;  University  Tutorial  Press,  Ltd.;  Wagnerische  Univ. 
Buchhandlung;  Walter  Scott  Publishing  Co.;  Williams  &  Norgate; 
Yale  University  Press;  American  Association  for  International  Con- 
ciliation; American  Economic  Association;  American  Sociological 
Society;  Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington;  American  Journal  of 
Psychology;  American  Journal  of  Sociology;  C  or  nhill  Magazine;  Inter- 
national Journal  of  Ethics;  Journal  of  Abnormal  Psychology;  Journal 
of  Delinquency;  Nature;  Pedagogical  Seminary;  Popular  Science 
Monthly;  Religious  Education;  Scientific  Monthly;  Sociological 
Review;  World's  Work;  Yale  Review. 

CHICAGO 
June  18,  1921 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I.    SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES 

PAGE 

I.  Sociology  and  "  Scientific' '  History i 

II.  Historical  and  Sociological  Facts 6 

III.  Human  Nature  and  Law 12 

IV.  History,  Natural  History,  and  Sociology 16 

V.  The  Social  Organism:  Humanity  or  Leviathan  ?     ....  24 

VI.  Social  Control  and  Schools  of  Thought 27 

VII.  Social  Control  and  the  Collective  Mind 36 

VIII.  Sociology  and  Social  Research 43 

Representative  Works  in  Systematic  Sociology  and  Methods  of 

Sociological  Research 57 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 60 

Questions  for  Discussion 60 

CHAPTER  II.    HUMAN  NATURE 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Human  Interest  in  Human  Nature %4 

2.  Definition  of  Human  Nature 65 

3.  Classification  of  the  Materials 68 

II.  Materials 

A.  The  Original  Nature  of  Man 

1.  Original  Nature  Defined.     Edward  L.  Thorndlke      .  73 

2.  Inventory  of  Original  Tendencies.    Edward  L.  Thorn- 
dike      75 

3.  Man  Not  Born  Human.    Robert  E.  Park  ....  76 

4.  The  Natural  Man.    Milicent  W .  Shinn    ....  82 

5.  Sex  Differences.    Albert  Moll 85 

—  6.  Racial  Differences.    C.  S.  Myers 89 

7.  Individual  Differences.    Edward  L.  Thorndike  .     .  92 

B.  Human  Nature  and  Social  Life 

i.  Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking.     W.  E.  Hocking  95 

—  2.  Human  Nature,  Folkways,  and  the  Mores.     William 

G.  Sumner 97 


X  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

3.  Habit  and  Custom,  the  Individual  and  the  General 

Will.     Ferdinand  Tdnnies 100 

4.  The  Law,  Conscience,  and  the  General  Will.     Vis- 
count Haldane 102 

C.  Personality  and  the  Social  Self 

1.  The  Organism  as  Personality.     Th.  Ribot.     .     .     .  108 

2.  Personality  as  a  Complex.    Morton  Prince    ...  no 

3.  The  Self  as  the  Individual's  Conception  of  His  R61e. 
Alfred  Binet 113 

4   The  Natural  Person  versus  the  Social  and  Con- 
ventional Self.     L.  G.  Winston 117 

5.  The  Divided  Self  and  Moral  Consciousness.    William 
James 119 

6.  Personality  of  Individuals  and  of  Peoples.    W.  v. 
Bechterew 123 

D.  Biological  and  Social  Heredity 

1.  Nature  and  Nurture.    /.  Arthur  Thomson     ...       126 

2.  Inheritance  of  Original  Nature.     C.  B.  Davenport  .       128 

3.  Inheritance  of  Acquired  Nature:   Tradition.    Albert 

G.  Keller 134 

_  4.  Temperament,  Tradition,  and  Nationality.    Robert 

E.  Park 135 

• 
III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Conceptions  of  Human  Nature  Implicit  in  Religious 

and  Political  Doctrines 139 

2.  Literature  and  the  Science  of  Human  Nature     .     .  141 

3.  Research  in  the  Field  of  Original  Nature  ....  143 

4.  The  Investigation  of  Human  Personality       .     .     .  143 

5.  The  Measurement  of  Individual  Differences  .     .     .  145 

Selected  Bibliography 147 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 1 54 

Questions  for  Discussion 155 


CHAPTER  III.    SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP 

I.  Introduction 

t.  Society,  the  Community,  and  the  Group  ....       159 
2.  Classification  of  the  Materials  .  162 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

II.  Materials 

A.  Society  and  Symbiosis 

1.  Definition  of  Society.    Alfred  Espinas     ....  165 

2.  Symbiosis  (literally  "living  together").    William  M. 
Wheeler 167 

3.  The  Taming  and  the  Domestication  of  Animals. 

P.  Chalmers  Mitchell 170 

B.  Plant  Communities  and  Animal  Societies 

1.  Plant  Communities.    Eugenius  Warming.     ...  173 

2.  Ant  Society.    William  M.  Wheeler 180 

C.  Human  Society 

1.  Social  Life.    John  Dewey     . 182 

2.  Behavior  and  Conduct.    Robert  E.  Park  ....  185 

3.  Instinct  and  Character.    L.  T.  Hobhouse ....  190 

4.  Collective    Representation    and    Intellectual    Life. 
Emile  Durkheim 193 

D.  The  Social  Group 

1.  Definition  of  the  Group.    Albion  W.  Small  .     .     .  196 

2.  The  Unity  of  the  Social  Group.     Robert  E.  Park     .  198 

3.  Types  of  Social  Groups.    S.  Sighele 200 

4.  Esprit  de  Corps,  Morale,  and  Collective  Representa- 
tions of  Social  Groups.     William  E.  Hocking      .     .  205 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems  . 

1.  The  Scientific  Study  of  Societies 210 

2.  Surveys  of  Communities 211 

3.  The  Group  as  a  Unit  of  Investigation 212 

4.  The  Study  of  the  Family 213 

Selected  Bibliography 217 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 223 

Questions  ] or  Discussion 224 

CHAPTER  IV.    ISOLATION 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Geological  and  Biological  Conceptions  of  Isolation  .  226 

2.  Isolation  and  Segregation 228 

3.  Classification  of  the  Materials 230 

II.  Materials 

A.  Isolation  and  Personal  Individuality 

1.  Society  and  Solitude.    Francis  Bacon 233 

2.  Society  in  Solitude.    Jean  Jacques  Rousseau .     .     .  234 


xii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

3.  Prayer  as  a  Form  of  Isolation.     George  Albert  Coe  .       235 

4.  Isolation,  Originality,  and  Erudition.     T.  Sharper 
Knowlson 237 

B.  Isolation  and  Retardation 

1.  Feral  Men.    Maurice  H.  Small 239 

2.  From  Solitude  to  Society.     Helen  Keller  .     .     .     .  243 

3.  Mental  Effects  of  Solitude.     W.  H.  Hudson  .      .     .  245 

4.  Isolation  and  the  Rural  Mind.    C.  J.  Galpin      .     .  247 

5.  The  Subtler  Effects  of  Isolation.    W.  I.  Thomas     .  249 

C.  Isolation  and  Segregation 

1.  Segregation  as  a  Process.     Robert  E.  Park     .     .     .       252 

2.  Isolation  as  a  Result  of  Segregation.    L.  W.  Crafts 

and  E.  A.  Doll 254 

D.  Isolation  and  National  Individuality 

1.  Historical  Races  as  Products  of  Isolation.     N.  S. 
Shaler 257 

2.  Geographical    Isolation    and     Maritime    Contact. 
George  Grote 260 

3.  Isolation  as  an  Explanation  of  National  Differences. 
William  Z.  Ripley 264 

4.  Natural  versus  Vicinal  Location  in  National  Develop- 
ment.   Ellen  C.  Semple 268 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Isolation  in  Anthropogeography  and  Biology      .     .  269 

2.  Isolation  and  Social  Groups 270 

3.  Isolation  and  Personality 271 

Bibliography:  Materials  for  the  Study  of  Isolation 273 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 277 

Questions  for  Discussion 278 

CHAPTER  V.    SOCIAL  CONTACTS 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Preliminary  Notions  of  Social  Contact     ....  280 

2.  The  Sociological  Concept  of  Contact 281 

3.  Classification  of  the  Materials 282 

II.  Materials 

A.  Physical  Contact  and  Social  Contact 

1.  The  Frontiers  of  Social  Contact.     Albion  W.  Small  .  288 

2.  The  Land  and  the  People.    Ellen  C.  Semple  ...  289 

3.  Touch  and  Social  Contact.     Ernest  Crawley  .     .     .  291 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xiil 

PAGE 

B.  Social  Contact  in  Relation  to  Solidarity  and  to  Mobility 

1.  The  In-Group  and  the  Out-Group.    W.G.Sumner    .       293 

2.  Sympathetic  Contacts  versus  Categoric  Contacts. 

N.  S.  Shaler 294 

3.  Historical   Continuity   and   Civilization.    Friedrich 
Ratzel 298 

4.  Mobility  and  the  Movement  of  Peoples.    Ellen  C. 
Semple 301 

C.  Primary  and  Secondary  Contacts 

1.  Village  Life  in  America  (from  the  Diary  of  a  Young 
Girt).     Caroline  C.  Richards 305 

2.  Secondary  Contacts  and  City  Life.    Robert  E.  Park  .       311 

3.  Publicity  as  a  Form  of  Secondary  Contact.    Robert 

E.  Park 315 

4.  From  Sentimental  to  Rational  Attitudes.     Werner 
Sombart 317 

5.  The   Sociological   Significance   of   the   "Stranger." 
Georg  Simmel 322 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Physical  Contacts 327 

2.  Touch  and  the  Primary  Contacts  of  Intimacy    .     .       329 

3.  Primary  Contacts  of  Acquaintanceship 330 

4.  Secondary  Contacts 331 

Bibliography:  Materials  for  the  Study  of  Social  Contacts  .     .     .       332 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 336 

Questions  for  Discussion 336 

CHAPTER  VI.    SOCIAL  INTERACTION 

I.  Introduction 

1.  The  Concept  of  Interaction 339 

2.  Classification  of  the  Materials 341 

II.  Materials 

A.  Society  as  Interaction 

i.  The  Mechanistic  Interpretation  of  Society.    Ludwig 

Gumplowicz 346 

Social  Interaction  as  the  Definition  of  the  Group  in 
Time  and  Space.    Georg  Simmel 348 


xiv  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

B.  The  Natural  Forms  of  Communication 

ciology  of  the  Senses:   Visual  Interaction.    Georg 

Simmel 356 

2.  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions.     Charles  Darwin  .  361 

3.  Blushing.     Charles  Darwin 365 

4.  Laughing.    L.  Dugas 370 

C.  Language  and  the  Communication  of  Ideas 

1.  Intercommunication    in    the     Lower    Animals. 

C.  Lloyd  Morgan 375 

2.  The  Concept  as  the  Medium  of  Human  Communica- 
tion.   F.  Max  Miiller 379 

3.  Writing  as  a  Form  of  Communication.     Charles  H. 
Judd 381 

4.  The  Extension  of  Communication  by  Human  Inven- 
tion.    Carl  Biicher 385 

D.  Imitation 

1.  Definition  of  Imitation.    Charles  H.  Judd     .     .     .  390 

2.  Attention,  Interest,  and  Imitation.    G.  F.  Stout     .  391 

3.  The  Three  Levels  of  Sympathy.     Th.  Ribot  .     .     .  394 

4.  Rational  Sympathy.    Adam  Smith 397 

5.  Art,  Imitation,  and  Appreciation.     Yrjo  Him    .     .  401 

E.  Suggestion 

1.  A   Sociological    Definition    of    Suggestion.     W.   v. 
Bechlerew 408 

2.  The  Subtler  Forms  of  Suggestion.    Albert  Moll.     .       412 

3.  Social  Suggestion  and  Mass  or  "Corporate"  Action. 

W.  v.  Bechterew 415 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  The  Process  of  Interaction 420 

2.  Communication 421 

3.  Imitation 423 

4.  Suggestion 424 

Selected  Bibliography 425 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 431 

Questions  for  Discussion 431 

CHAPTER  VII.    SOCIAL  FORCES 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Sources  of  the  Notion  of  Social  Forces     ....       435 

2.  History  of  the  Concept  of  Social  Forces   ....       436 

3.  Classification  of  the  Materials 437 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  XV 

PAGE 

II.  Materials 

A.  Trends,  Tendencies,  and  Public  Opinion 

1.  Social  Forces  in  American  History.    A.  M.  Simons  .  443 

2.  Social  Tendencies  as  Social  Forces.    Richard  T.  Ely  444 

3.  Public  Opinion  and  Legislation  in  England.    A.  V. 
Dicey 445 

B.  Interests,  Sentiments,  and  Attitudes 

1.  Social  Forces  and  Interaction.    Albion  W.  Small  .  451 

2.  Interests.    Albion  W.  Small 454 

3.  Social  Pressures.    Arthur  F.  Bentley 458 

4.  Idea-Forces.    Alfred  Fouillee 461 

5.  Sentiments.    William  McDougall 464 

6.  Social  Attitudes.    Robert  E.  Park 467 

C.  The  Four  Wishes:  A  Classification  of  Social  Forces 

1.  The  Wish,  the  Social  Atom.    Edwin  B.  Holt.     .     .  478 

2.  The  Freudian  Wish.    John  B.  Watson     ....  482 

3.  The  Person  and  His  Wishes.    W.  I.  Thomas.     .     .  488 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Popular  Notions  of  Social  Forces 491 

2.  Social  Forces  and  History 493 

3.  Interests,  Sentiments,  and  Attitudes  as  Social  Forces  494 

4.  Wishes  and  Social  Forces 497 

Selected  Bibliography 498 

Topics  for  Written  Themes    . 501 

Questions  for  Discussion 502 

CHAPTER  VIII.    COMPETITION 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Popular  Conceptions  of  Competition 505 

2.  Competition  a  Process  of  Interaction  .     .     .     .     .  507 

3.  Classification  of  the  Materials 511 

II.  Materials 

A.  The  Struggle  for  Existence 

1.  Different    Forms    of    the    Struggle    for   Existence. 

/.  Arthur  Thomson 513 

2.  Competition  and  Natural  Selection.    Charles  Darwin  515 

3.  Competition,     Specialization,     and     Organization. 
Charles  Darwin 519 

4.  Man:  An  Adaptive  Mechanism.    George  W.  Crile   .  522 


xvi  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

MM 

B.  Competition  and  Segregation 

1.  Plant    Migration,    Competition,    and    Segregation. 

F.  E.  Clements 526 

2.  Migration  and  Segregation.     Carl  Biicher      ...       529 

3.  Demographic    Segregation    and    Social    Selection. 
William  Z.  Ripley 534 

4.  Inter-racial  Competition  and  Race  Suicide.    Francis 

A .  Walker 539 

C.  Economic  Competition 

1.  Changing  Forms  of  Economic  Competition.    John 

B.  Clark 544 

2.  Competition  and  the  Natural  Harmony  of  Individual 
Interests.    Adam  Smith 550 

3.  Competition  and  Freedom.    Frederic  Basliat      .     .       551 

4.  Money  and  Freedom.    Georg  Simmel 552 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Biological  Competition 553 

2.  Economic  Competition 554 

3.  Competition  and  Human  Ecology 558 

4.  Competition  and  the  "Inner  Enemies":   the  Defec- 
tives, the  Dependents,  and  the  Delinquents  ...  559 

Selected  Bibliography 562 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 562 

Questions  for  Discussion 563 

CHAPTER  IX.    CONFLICT 
I.  Introduction 

1.  The  Concept  of  Conflict 574 

2.  Classification  of  the  Materials 576 

II.  Materials 

A.  Conflict  as  Conscious  Competition 

1.  The  Natural  History  of  Conflict.     W.  I.  Thomas  .       579 

2.  Conflict   as  a  Type  of  Social   Interaction.    Georg 
Simmel 582 

3.  Types  of  Conflict  Situations.    Georg  Simmel .     .     .       586 

B.  War,  Instincts,  and  Ideals 

1.  War  and  Human  Nature.     William  A.  While     .     .  594 

2.  War  as  a  Form  of  Relaxation.    G.  T.  W.  Patrick     .  598 

3.  The  Fighting  Animal  and  the  Great  Society.    Henry 
Rutgers  Marshall 600 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xvii 

PAGE 

C.  Rivalry,  Cultural  Conflicts,  and  Social  Organization 

1.  Animal  Rivalry.     William  H.  Hudson      ....       604 

2.  The  Rivalry  of  Social  Groups.    George  E.  Vincent  .       605 

3.  Cultural  Conflicts  and  the  Organization  of  Sects. 
Franklin  H.  Giddings 610 

D.  Racial  Conflicts 

1.  Social  Contacts  and  Race  Conflict.    Robert  E.  Park  .       616 

2.  Conflict  and  Race  Consciousness.    Robert  E.  Park  .       623 

3.  Conflict  and  Accommodation.    Alfred  H.  Stone  .     .       631 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  The  Psychology  and  Sociology  of  Conflict,  Conscious 
Competition,  and  Rivalry 638 

2.  Types  of  Conflict 639 

3.  The  Literature  of  War 641 

4.  Race  Conflict 642 

5.  Conflict  Groups 643 

Selected  Bibliography  . 645 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 660 

Questions  for  Discussion 66 1 

CHAPTER  X.    ACCOMMODATION 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Adaptation  and  Accommodation 663 

2.  Classification  of  the  Materials 666 

II.  Materials 

A.  Forms  of  Accommodation 

1.  Acclimatization.    Daniel  G.  Brinlon 671 

2.  Slavery  Defined.    H.  J.  Nieboer 674 

3.  Excerpts  from  the  Journal  of  a  West  India  Slave 
Owner.    Matthew  G.  Lewis 677 

4.  The  Origin  of  Caste  in  India.    John  C.  Nesfield     .  68 1 

5.  Caste  and  the  Sentiments  of   Caste  Reflected  in 
Popular  Speech.    Herbert  Risley 684 

B.  Subordination  and  Superordination 

1.  The  Psychology  of  Subordination  and  Superordina- 
tion.   Hugo  Miinsterberg 688 

2.  Social  Attitudes  in  Subordination:   Memories  of  an 

Old  Servant.    An  Old  Servant 692 


xviii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

3.  The   Reciprocal    Character   of   Subordination   and 
Superordination.    Georg  Simmel 695 

4.  Three  Types  of  Subordination  and  Superordination. 
Georg  Simmel 697 

C.  Conflict  and  Accommodation 

1.  War  and  Peace  as  Types  of  Conflict  and  Accommoda- 
tion.   Georg  Simmel 703 

2.  Compromise  and  Accommodation.    Georg  Simmel   .       706 

D.  Competition,  Status,  and  Social  Solidarity 

1.  Personal  Competition,  Social  Selection,  and  Status. 
Charles  H.  Cooley 708 

2.  Personal  Competition  and  the .  Evolution  of  Indi- 
vidual Types.    Robert  E.  Park 712 

3.  Division   of   Labor   and   Social    Solidarity.    Emttc 
Durkheim 714 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Forms  of  Accommodation 718 

2.  Subordination  and  Superordination 721 

3.  Accommodation  Groups 721 

4.  Social  Organization 723 

Selected  Bibliography 725 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 732 

Questions  for  Discussion 732 

CHAPTER  XI.    ASSIMILATION 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Popular  Conceptions  of  Assimilation 734 

2.  The  Sociology  of  Assimilation 735 

3.  Classification  of  the  Materials 737 

II.  Materials 

A.  Biological  Aspects  of  Assimilation 

1.  Assimilation  and  Amalgamation.     Sarah  E.  Simons      740 

2.  The  Instinctive  Basis  of  Assimilation.     W.  Trotter  .       742 

B.  The  Conflict  and  Fusion  of  Cultures 

1.  The  Analysis  of  Blended  Cultures.     W.  H.  R.  Rivers      746 

2.  The  Extension  of  Roman  Culture  in  Gaul.    John 

H.  Cornyn 751 

3.  The  Competition  of  the  Cultural  Languages.    E.  H. 
Babbitt 754 

4.  The  Assimilation  of  Races.    Robert  E.  Park  ...  756 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xix 

PAGE 

C.  Americanization  as  a  Problem  in  Assimilation 

1.  Americanization  as  Assimilation 762 

2.  Language  as  a  Means  and  a  Product  of  Participation  763 

3.  Assimilation    and    the    Mediation    of    Individual 
Differences 766 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Assimilation  and  Amalgamation 769 

2.  The  Conflict  and  Fusion  of  Cultures 771 

3.  Immigration  and  Americanization 772 

Selected  Bibliography 775 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 783 

Questions  for  Discussion 783 

CHAPTER  XII.    SOCIAL  CONTROL 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Social  Control  Defined 785 

2.  Classification  of  the  Materials 787 

II.  Materials 

A.  Elementary  Forms  of  Social  Control 

1.  Control  in  the  Crowd  and  the  Public.    Lieut.  J.  S. 
Smith 800 

2.  Ceremonial  Control.    Herbert  Spencer      ....  805 

3.  Prestige.    Lewis  Leopold 807 

4.  Prestige  and  Status  in  South  East  Africa.    Maurice 

S.  Evans 811 

5.  Taboo.     W.  Robertson  Smith     .......  812 

B.  Public  Opinion 

1.  The  Myth.     Georges  Sard 816 

2.  The  Growth  of  a  Legend.     Fernand  van  Langenhove  819 

3.  Ritual,  Myth,  and  Dogma.    W.  Robertson  Smith     .  822 

4.  The  Nature  of  Public  Opinion.    A.  Lawrence  Lowell  826 

5.  Public  Opinion  and  the  Mores.    Robert  E.  Park .     .  829 

6.  News  and  Social  Control.     Waller  Lippmann     .     .  834 

7.  The  Psychology  of  Propaganda.    Raymond  Dodge  .  837 

C.  Institutions 

1.  Institutions  and  the  Mores.     W.  G.  Sumner  .     .     .  841 

2.  Common  Law  and  Statute  Law.    Frederic  J.  Stimson  843 

3.  Religion  and  Social  Control.     Charles  A.  Ellwood  .  846 


XX  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PACI 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Social  Control  and  Human  Nature 848 

2.  Elementary  Forms  of  Social  Control 849 

3.  Public  Opinion  and  Social  Control 850 

4.  Legal  Institutions  and  Law 851 

Selected  Bibliography 854 

To  pics  for  Written  Themes 862 

Questions  for  Discussion 862 

CHAPTER  XIII.    COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Collective  Behavior  Denned 865 

2.  Social  Unrest  and  Collective  Behavior      ....  866 

3.  The  Crowd  and  the  Public 867 

4.  Crowds  and  Sects 870 

5.  Sects  and  Institutions 872 

6.  Classification  of  the  Materials 874 

II.  Materials 

A.  Social  Contagion 

1.  An  Incident  in  a  Lancashire  Cotton  Mill       .     .     .  878 

2.  The  Dancing  Mania  of  the  Middle  Ages.    /.  F.  C. 
Hecker 879 

B.  The  Crowd 

1.  The  "Animal"  Crowd 881 

a)  The  Flock.    Mary  Austin 88 1 

6)  The  Herd.    W.  H.  Hudson 883 

c)  The  Pack.    Ernest  Thompson  Seton     ....  886 

2.  The  Psychological  Crowd.    Guslave  Le  Bon  .     .     .  887 

3.  The  Crowd  Defined.    Robert  E.  Park 893 

C.  Types  of  Mass  Movements 

1.  Crowd  Excitements  and   Mass  Movements:    The 
Klondike  Rush.     T.  C.  Down 895 

2.  Mass  Movements  and  the  Mores:    The  Woman's 
Temperance  Crusade.    Mrs.  Annie  Wittenmyer  .     .  898 

3.  Mass  Movements  and  Revolution 

a)  The  French  Revolution.     Gustave  Le  Bon.     .     .  005 

b)  Bolshevism.    John  Spargo 900 

4.  Mass   Movements   and    Institutions:     Methodism. 
William  E.H.Lecky 9*5 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xxi 

PAGE 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Social  Unrest 924 

2.  Psychic  Epidemics 926 

3.  Mass  Movements 927 

4.  Revivals,  Religious  and  Linguistic 929 

.5.  Fashion,  Reform,  and  Revolution  .     .     .     .     .     .  933 

Selected  Bibliography 934 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 951 

Questions  for  Discussion 951 

CHAPTER  XIV.    PROGRESS 
I.  Introduction 

1.  Popular  Conceptions  of  Progress 953 

2.  The  Problem  of  Progress 956 

3.  History  of  the  Concept  of  Progress 958 

4.  Classification  of  the  Materials 962 

II.  Materials 

A.  The  Concept  of  Progress 

1.  The  Earliest  Conception  of  Progress.     F.  S.  Marvin  965 

2.  Progress  and  Organization.     Herbert  Spencer .     .      .  966 

3.  The  Stages  of  Progress.    Auguste  Comte  ....  968 

4.  Progress  and  the  Historical  Process.    Leonard  T. 
Hobhouse 969 

B.  Progress  and  Science 

1.  Progress  and  Happiness.     Lester  F.  Ward      .     .     .  973 

2.  Progress  and  Prevision.     John  Dewey 975 

3.  Progress   and   the   Limits   of   Scientific   Prevision. 
Arthur  J.  Balfour 977 

4.  Eugenics  as  a  Science  of  Progress.    Francis  Gallon  .  979 

C.  Progress  and  Human  Nature 

1.  The  Nature  of  Man.    George  Santayana  ....  983 

2.  Progress  and  the  Mores.     W.  G.  Sumner       .     .     .  983 

3.  War  and  Progress.    James  Bryce 984 

4.  Progress  and  the  Cosmic  Urge 

a)  The  Elan  Vitale.    Henri  Bergson 989 

b)  The  Dunkler  Drang.    Arthur  Schopenhauer    .     .  994 

III.  Investigations  and  Problems 

1.  Progress  and  Social  Research 1000 

2.  Indices  of  Progress 1002 

Selected  Bibliography 1004 

Topics  for  Written  Themes 1010 

Questions  for  Discussion 1010 


CHAPTER  I 
SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES1 

I.      SOCIOLOGY  AND  "  SCIENTIFIC"  HISTORY 

Sociology  first  gained  recognition  as  an  independent  science 
with  the  publication,  between  1830  and  1842,  of  Auguste  Comte's 
Cours  de  philosophic  positive.  Comte  did  not,  to  be  sure,  create 
sociology.  He  did  give  it  a  name,  a  program,  and  a  place  among 
the  sciences. 

Comte's  program  for  the  new  science  proposed  an  extension  to 
politics  and  to  history  of  the  positive  methods  of  the  natural  sciences. 
Its  practical  aim  was  to  establish  government  on  the  secure  foundation 
of  an  exact  science  and  give  to  the  predictions  of  history  something 
of  the  precision  of  mathematical  formulae. 

We  have  to  contemplate  social  phenomena  as  susceptible  of  prevision, 
like  all  other  classes,  within  the  limits  of  exactness  compatible  with  their 
higher  complexity.  Comprehending  the  three  characteristics  of  political 
science  which  we  have  been  examining,  prevision  of  social  phenomena  sup- 
poses, first,  that  we  have  abandoned  the  region  of  metaphysical  idealities, 
to  assume  the  ground  of  observed  realities  by  a  systematic  subordination 
of  imagination  to  observation;  secondly,  that  political  conceptions  have 
ceased  to  be  absolute,  and  have  become  relative  to  the  variable  state  of  civili- 
zation, so  that  theories,  following  the  natural  course  of  facts,  may  admit  of 
our  foreseeing  them;  and,  thirdly,  that  permanent  political  action  is  limited 
by  determinate  laws,  since,  if  social  events  were  always  exposed  to  disturb- 
ance by  the  accidental  intervention  of  the  legislator,  human  or  divine,  no 
scientific  prevision  of  them  would  be  possible.  Thus,  we  may  concentrate 
the  conditions  of  the  spirit  of  positive  social  philosophy  on  this  one  great 
attribute  of  scientific  prevision.2 

Comte  proposed,  in  short,  to  make  government  a  technical 
science  and  politics  a  profession.  He  looked  forward  to  a  time 
when  legislation,  based  on  a  scientific  study  of  human  nature,  would 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  "Sociology  and  the  Social  Sciences,"  American  Jour- 
nal of  Sociology,  XXVI  (1920-21),  401-24;  XXVII  (1921-22),  1-21;  169-83. 

3  Harriet  Martineau,  The  Positive  Philosophy  of  Auguste  Comte,  freely  translated 
and  condensed  (London,  1893),  II,  61. 

i 


2  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

assume  the  character  of  natural  law.  The  earlier  and  more  ele- 
mentary sciences,  particularly  physics  and  chemistry,  had  given 
man  control  over  external  nature;  the  last  science,  sociology,  was 
to  give  man  control  over  himself. 

Men  were  long  in  learning  that  Man's  power  of  modifying  phenomena 
can  result  only  from  his  knowledge  of  their  natural  laws;  and  in  the  infancy 
of  each  science,  they  believed  themselves  able  to  exert  an  unbounded  influ- 
ence over  the  phenomena  of  that  science Social  phenomena  are,  of 

course,  from  their  extreme  complexity,  the  last  to  be  freed  from  this  preten- 
sion: but  it  is  therefore  only  the  more  necessary  to  remember  that  the 
pretension  existed  with  regard  to  all  the  rest,  in  their  earliest  stage,  and  to 
anticipate  therefore  that  social  science  will,  in  its  turn,  be  emancipated  from 

the  delusion It  [the  existing  social  science]  represents  the  social 

action  of  Man  to  be  indefinite  and  arbitrary,  as  was  once  thought  in  regard 
to  biological,  chemical,  physical,  and  even  astronomical  phenomena,  in  the 

earlier  stages  of  their  respective  sciences The  human  race  finds 

itself  delivered  over,  without  logical  protection,  to  the  ill-regulated  experi- 
mentation of  the  various  political  schools,  each  one  of  which  strives  to  set 
up,  for  all  future  time,  its  own  immutable  type  of  government.  We  have 
seen  what  are  the  chaotic  results  of  such  a  strife;  and  we  shall  find  that 
there  is  no  chance  of  order  and  agreement  but  in  subjecting  social  phe- 
nomena, like  all  others,  to  invariable  natural  laws,  which  shall,  as  a  whole, 
prescribe  for  each  period,  with  entire  certainty,  the  limits  and  character  of 
political  action:  in  other  words,  introducing  into  the  study  of  social  phe- 
nomena the  same  positive  spirit  which  has  regenerated  every  other  branch 
of  human  speculation.1 

In  the  present  anarchy  of  political  opinion  and  parties,  changes 
in  the  existing  social  order  inevitably  assume,  he  urged,  the  char- 
acter, at  the  best,  of  a  mere  groping  empiricism;  at  the  worst,  of  a 
social  convulsion  like  that  of  the  French  Revolution.  Under  the 
direction  of  a  positive,  in  place  of  a  speculative  or,  as  Comte  would 
have  said,  metaphysical  science  of  society,  progress  must  assume 
the  character  of  an  orderly  march. 

It  was  to  be  expected,  with  the  extension  of  exact  methods  of 
investigation  to  other  fields  of  knowledge,  that  the  study  of  man 
and  of  society  would  become,  or  seek  to  become,  scientific  in  the 
sense  in  which  that  word  is  used  in  the  natural  sciences.  It  is 
interesting,  in  this  connection,  that  Comte's  first  name  for  sociology 

1  Harriet  Martineau,  op.  cit.,  II,  59-61. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  3 

was  social  physics.  It  was  not  until  he  had  reached  the  fourth 
volume  of  his  Positive  Philosophy  that  the  word  sociological  is  used 
for  the  first  time. 

Comte,  if  he  was  foremost,  was  not  first  in  the  search  for  a  positive 
science  of  society,  which  would  give  man  that  control  over  men 
tha-t  he  had  over  external  nature.  Montesquieu,  in  his  The  Spirit  of 
Laws,  first  published  in  1747,  had  distinguished  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  society,  between  form,  "the  particular  structure,"  and 
forces,  "the  human  passions  which  set  it  in  motion."  In  his 
preface  to  this  first  epoch-making  essay  in  what  Freeman  calls  "com- 
parative politics,"  Montesquieu  suggests  that  the  uniformities, 
which  he  discovered  beneath  the  wide  variety  of  positive  law,  were 
contributions  not  merely  to  a  science  of  law,  but  to  a  science  of 
mankind. 

I  have  first  of  all  considered  mankind;  and  the  result  of  my  thoughts 
has  been,  that  amidst  such  an  infinite  diversity  of  laws  and  manners,  they 
are  not  solely  conducted  by  the  caprice  of  fancy.1 

Hume,  likewise,  put  politics  among  the  natural  sciences.3  Con- 
dorcet  wanted  to  make  history  positive.3  But  there  were,  in  the 
period  between  1815  and  1840  in  France,  conditions  which  made 
the  need  of  a  new  science  of  politics  peculiarly  urgent.  The  Revo- 
lution had  failed  and  the  political  philosophy,  which  had  directed 
and  justified  it,  was  bankrupt.  France,  between  1789  and  1815, 
had  adopted,  tried,  and  rejected  no  less  than  ten  different  con- 
stitutions. But  during  this  period,  as  Saint-Simon  noted,  society, 
and  the  human  beings  who  compose  society,  had  not  changed.  It 
was  evident  that  government  was  not,  in  any  such  sense  as  the 
philosophers  had  assumed,  a  mere  artefact  and  legislative  construction. 
Civilization,  as  Saint-Simon  conceived  it,  was  a  part  of  nature. 
Social  change  was  part  of  the  whole  cosmic  process.  He  proposed, 
therefore,  to  make  politics  a  science  as  positive  as  physics.  The 
subject-matter  of  political  science,  as  he  conceived  it,  was  not  so 

1  Montesquieu,  Baron  M.  de  Secondat,  The  Spirit  of  Laws,  translated  by 
Thomas  Nugent  (Cincinnati,  1873),  I,  xxxi. 

2  David  Hume,  Inquiry  Concerning  Human  Understanding,  Part  II,  sec.  7. 

*  Condorcet,  Esquisse  d'un  tableau  historique  des  progres  de  I'esprit  humain 
(1795),  292.  See  Paul  Earth,  Die  Philosophic  der  Geschichte  als  Sociologie  (Leip- 
zig, 1897),  Part  I,  pp.  21-23. 


4  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

much  political  forms  as  social  conditions.  History  had  been  liter- 
ature. It  was  destined  to  become  a  science.1 

Comte  called  himself  Saint-Simon's  pupil.  It  is  perhaps  more 
correct  to  say  Saint-Simon  formulated  the  problem  for  which  Comte, 
in  his  Positive  Philosophy,  sought  a  solution.  It  was  Comte's  notion 
that  with  the  arrival  of  sociology  the  distinction  which  had  so  long 
existed,  and  still  exists,  between  philosophy,  in  which  men  define 
their  wishes,  and  natural  science,  in  which  they  describe  the  existing 
order  of  nature,  would  disappear.  In  that  case  ideals  would  be  defined 
in  terms  of  reality,  and  the  tragic  difference  between  what  men  want 
and  what  is  possible  would  be  effaced.  Comte's  error  was  to  mistake 
a  theory  of  progress  for  progress  itself.  It  is  certainly  true  that  as 
men  learn  what  is,  they  will  adjust  their  ideals  to  what  is  possible. 
But  knowledge  grows  slowly. 

Man's  knowledge  of  mankind  has  increased  greatly  since  1842. 
Sociology,  "the  positive  science  of  humanity,"  has  moved  steadily 
forward  in  the  direction  that  Comte's  program  indicated,  but  it  has 
not  yet  replaced  history.  Historians  are  still  looking  for  methods  of 
investigation  which  will  make  history  "scientific." 

No  one  who  has  watched  the  course  of  history  during  the  last  generation 
can  have  felt  doubt  of  its  tendency.  Those  of  us  who  read  Buckle's  first 
volume  when  it  appeared  in  1857,. and  almost  immediately  afterwards,  in 
1859,  read  the  Origin  of  Species  and  felt  the  violent  impulse  which  Darwin 
gave  to  the  study  of  natural  laws,  never  doubted  that  historians  would  follow 
until  they  had  exhausted  every  possible  hypothesis  to  create  a  science  of 
history.  Year  after  year  passed,  and  little  progress  has  been  made.  Perhaps 
the  mass  of  students  are  more  skeptical  now  than  they  were  thirty  years  ago 
of  the  possibility  that  such  a  science  can  be  created.  Yet  almost  every  suc- 
cessful historian  has  been  busy  with  it,  adding  here  a  new  analysis,  a  new 
generalization  there ;  a  clear  and  definite  connection  where  before  the  rupture 
of  idea  was  absolute;  and,  above  all,  extending  the  field  of  study  until  it 
shall  include  all  races,  all  countries,  and  all  times.  Like  other  branches  of 
science,  history  is  now  encumbered  and  hampered  by  its  own  mass,  but  its 
tendency  is  always  the  same,  and  cannot  be  other  than  what  it  is.  That 
the  effort  to  make  history  a  science  may  fail  is  possible,  and  perhaps  prob- 
able; but  that  it  should  cease,  unless  for  reasons  that  would  cause  all  science 
to  cease,  is  not  within  the  range  of  experience.  Historians  will  not,  and 

l(Euwes  de  Saint-Simon  et  d'Enfrntin  (Paris,  1865-78),  XVII,  228.  Paul 
Earth,  op.  cit.,  Part  I,  p.  23. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  5 

even  if  they  would  they  can  not,  abandon  the  attempt.  Science  itself  would 
admit  its  own  failure  if  it  admitted  that  man,  the  most  important  of  all  its 
subjects,  could  not  be  brought  within  its  range.1 

Since  Comte  gave  the  new  science  of  humanity  a  name  and  a 
point  of  view,  the  area  of  historical  investigation  has  vastly  widened 
and  a  number  of  new  social  sciences  have  come  into  existence — 
ethnology,  archaeology,  folklore,  the  comparative  studies  of  cul- 
tural materials,  i.e.,  language,  mythology,  religion,  and  law,  and  in 
connection  with  and  closely  related  with  these,  folk-psychology, 
social  psychology,  and  the  psychology  of  crowds,  which  latter  is, 
perhaps,  the  forerunner  of  a  wider  and  more  elaborate  political 
psychology.  The  historians  have  been  very  much  concerned  with 
these  new  bodies  of  materials  and  with  the  new  points  of  view  which 
they  have  introduced  into  the  study  of  man  and  of  society.  Under 
the  influences  of  these  sciences,  history  itself,  as  James  Harvey 
Robinson  has  pointed  out,  has  had  a  history.  But  with  the  inno- 
vations which  the  new  history  has  introduced  or  attempted  to  intro- 
duce, it  does  not  appear  that  there  have  been  any  fundamental 
changes  in  method  or  ideology  in  the  science  itself. 

Fifty  years  have  elapsed  since  Buckle's  book  appeared,  and  I  know  of 
no  historian  who  would  venture  to  maintain  that  we  had  made  any  consid- 
erable advance  toward  the  goal  he  set  for  himself.  A  systematic  prosecution 
of  the  various  branches  of  social  science,  especially  political  economy,  sociol- 
ogy, anthropology,  and  psychology,  is  succeeding  in  explaining  many  things; 
but  history  must  always  remain,  from  the  standpoint  of  the  astronomer, 
physicist,  or  chemist,  a  highly  inexact  and  fragmentary  body  of  knowledge. 
....  History  can  no  doubt  be  pursued  in  a  strictly  scientific  spirit,  but 
the  data  we  possess  in  regard  to  the  past  of  mankind  are  not  of  a  nature  to 
lend  themselves  to  organization  into  an  exact  science,  although,  as  we  shall 
see,  they  may  yield  truths  of  vital  importance.2 

History  has  not  become,  as  Comte  believed  it  must,  an  exact 
science,  and  sociology  has  not  taken  the  place  of  History  in  the 
social  sciences.  It  is  important,  however,  for  understanding  the 
mutations  which  have  taken  place  in  sociology  since  Comte  to 

1  Henry  Adams,  The  Degradation  of  the  Democratic  Dogma  (New  York,  1919), 
p.  126. 

1  James  Harvey  Robinson,  The  New  History,  Essays  Illustrating  the  Modern 
Historical  Outlook  (New  York,  1912),  pp.  54-55. 


6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

remember  that  it  had  its  origin  in  an  effort  to  make  history  exact. 
This,  with,  to  be  sure,  considerable  modifications,  is  still,  as  we  shall 
see,  an  ambition  of  the  science. 

II.      HISTORICAL  AND  SOCIOLOGICAL  FACTS 

Sociology,  as  Comte  conceived  it,  was  not,  as  it  has  been  char- 
acterized, "a  highly  important  point  of  view,"  but  a  fundamental 
science,  i.e.,  a  method  of  investigation  and  "a  body  of  discoveries 
about  mankind."1  In  the  hierarchy  of  the  sciences,  sociology,  the 
last  in  time,  was  first  in  importance.  The  order  was  as  follows: 
mathematics,  astronomy,  physics,  chemistry,  biology  including 
psychology,  sociology.  This  order  represented  a  progression  from 
the  more  elementary  to  the  more  complex.  It  was  because  history 
and  politics  were  concerned  with  the  most  complex  of  natural  phe- 
nomena that  they  were  the  last  to  achieve  what  Comte  called  the 
positive  character.  They  did  this  in  sociology. 

Many  attempts  have  been  made  before  and  since  Comte  to 
find  a  satisfactory  classification  of  the  sciences.  The  order  and 
relation  of  the  sciences  is  still,  in  fact,  one  of  the  cardinal  problems 
of  philosophy.  In  recent  years  the  notion  has  gained  recognition 
that  the  difference  between  history  and  the  natural  sciences  is  not 
one  of  degree,  but  of  kind;  not  of  subject-matter  merely,  but  of 
method.  This  difference  in  method  is,  however,  fundamental.  It 
is  a  difference  not  merely  in  the  interpretation  but  in  the  logical 
character  of  facts. 

Every  historical  fact,  it  is  pointed  out,  is  concerned  with  a  unique 
event.  History  never  repeats  itself.  If  nothing  else,  the  mere 
circumstance  that  every  event  has  a  date  and  location  would  give 
historical  facts  an  individuality  that  facts  of  the  abstract  sciences 
do  not  possess.  Because  historical  facts  always  are  located  and 
dated,  and  cannot  therefore  be  repeated,  they  are  not  subject  to 
experiment  and  verification.  On  the  other  hand,  a  fact  not  subject 
to  verification  is  not  a  fact  for  natural  science.  History,  as  distin- 
guished from  natural  history,  deals  with  individuals,  i.e.,  individual 
events,  persons,  institutions.  Natural  science  is  concerned,  not  with 
individuals,  but  with  classes,  types,  species.  All  the  assertions  that 
are  valid  for  natural  science  concern  classes.  An  illustration  will 
make  this  distinction  clear. 

1  James  Harvey  Robinson,  op.  cit.,  p.  83. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  7 

Sometime  in  October,  1838,  Charles  Darwin  happened  to  pick 
up  and  read  Malthus'  book  on  Population.  The  facts  of  "  the  struggle 
for  existence,"  so  strikingly  presented  in  that  now  celebrated  volume, 
suggested  an  explanation  of  a  problem  which  had  long  interested 
and  puzzled  him,  namely,  the  origin  of  species. 

This  is  a  statement  of  a  historical  fact,  and  the  point  is  that 
it  is  not  subject  to  empirical  verification.  It  cannot  be  stated,  in 
other  words,  in  the  form  of  a  hypothesis,  which  further  observation 
of  other  men  of  the  same  type  will  either  verify  or  discredit. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  his  Descent  of  Man,  Darwin,  discussing 
the  role  of  sexual  selection  in  evolution  of  the  species,  makes  this 
observation:  "Naturalists  are  much  divided  with  respect  to  the 
object  of  the  singing  of  birds.  Few  more  careful  observers  ever 
lived  than  Montagu,  and  he  maintained  that  the  'males  of  song- 
birds and  of  many  others  do  not  in  general  search  for  the  female, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  their  business  in  spring  is  to  perch  on  some 
conspicuous  spot,  breathing  out  their  full  and  amorous  notes,  which, 
by  instinct,  the  female  knows  and  repairs  to  the  spot  to  choose  her 
mate.'" 

This  is  a  typical  statement  of  a  fact  of  natural  history.  It  is 
not,  however,  the  rather  vague  generality  of  the  statement  that 
makes  it  scientific.  It  is  its  representative  character,  the  character 
which  makes  it  possible  of  verification  by  further  observation  which 
makes  it  a  scientific  fact. 

It  is  from  facts  of  this  kind,  collected,  compared,  and  classified, 
irrespective  of  time  or  place,  that  the  more  general  conclusions  are 
drawn,  upon  which  Darwin  based  his  theory  of  the  "descent  of 
man."  This  theory,  as  Darwin  conceived  it,  was  not  an  interpretation 
of  the  facts  but  an  explanation. 

The  relation  between  history  and  sociology,  as  well  as  the  manner 
in  which  the  more  abstract  social  sciences  have  risen  out  of  the  more 
concrete,  may  be  illustrated  by  a  comparison  between  history  and 
geography.  Geography  as  a  science  is  concerned  with  the  visible 
world,  the  earth,  its  location  in  space,  the  distribution  of  the  land 
masses,  and  of  the  plants,  animals,  and  peoples  upon  its  surface. 
The  order,  at  least  the  fundamental  order,  which  it  seeks  and  finds 
among  the  objects  it  investigates  is  spatial.  As  soon  as  the  geog- 
rapher begins  to  compare  and  classify  the  plants,  the  animals,  and 


8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  peoples  with  which  he  comes  in  contact,  geography  passes  over 
into  the  special  sciences,  i.e.,  botany,  zoology,  and  anthropology. 

History,  on  the  other  hand,  is  concerned  with  a  world  of  events. 
Not  everything  that  happened,  to  be  sure,  is  history,  but  every 
event  that  ever  was  or  ever  will  be  significant  is  history. 

Geography  attempts  to  reproduce  for  us  the  visible  world  as 
it  exists  hi  space;  history,  on  the  contrary,  seeks  to  re-create  for  us 
in  the  present  the  significance  of  the  past.  As  soon  as  historians 
seek  to  take  events  out  of  their  historical  setting,  that  is  to  say, 
out  of  their  tune  and  space  relations,  in  order  to  compare  them  and 
classify  them;  as  soon  as  historians  begin  to  emphasize  the  typical 
and  representative  rather  than  the  unique  character  of  events,  history 
ceases  to  be  history  and  becomes  sociology. 

The  differences  here  indicated  between  history  and  sociology 
are  based  upon  a  more  fundamental  distinction  between  the  his- 
torical and  the  natural  sciences  first  clearly  defined  by  Windel- 
band,  the  historian  of  philosophy,  hi  an  address  to  the  faculty  of 
the  University  of  Strassburg  in  1894. 

The  distinction  between  natural  science  and  history  begins  at  the  point 
where  we  seek  to  convert  facts  into  knowledge.  Here  again  we  observe  that 
the  one  (natural  science)  seeks  to  formulate  laws,  the  other  (history)  to  por- 
tray events.  In  the  one  case  thought  proceeds  from  the  description  of 
particulars  to  the  general  relations.  In  the  other  case  it  clings  to  a  genial 
depiction  of  the  individual  object  or  event.  For  the  natural  scientist  the 
object  of  investigation  which  cannot  be  repeated  never  has,  as  such,  scientific 
value.  It  serves  his  purpose  only  so  far  as  it  may  be  regarded  as  a  type  or  as 
a  special  instance  of  a  class  from  which  the  type  may  be  deduced.  The 
natural  scientist  considers  the  single  case  only  so  far  as  he  can  see  in  it  the 
features  which  serve  to  throw  light  upon  a  general  law.  For  the  historian 
the  problem  is  to  revive  and  call  up  into  the  present,  in  all  its  particularity, 
an  event  in  the  past.  His  aim  is  to  do  for  an  actual  event  precisely  what  the 
artist  seeks  to  do  for  the  object  of  his  imagination.  It  is  just  here  that  we 
discern  the  kinship  between  history  and  art,  between  the  historian  and  the 
writer  of  literature.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  natural  science  emphasized 
he  abstract;  the  historian,  on  the  other  hand,  is  interested  mainly  in  the 
concrete. 

The  fact  that  natural  science  emphasizes  the  abstract  and  history  the 
concrete  will  become  clearer  if  we  compare  the  results  of  the  researches  of  the 
two  sciences.  However  finespun  the  conceptions  may  be  which  the  historical 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  9 

critic  uses  in  working  over  his  materials,  the  final  goal  of  such  study  is  always 
to  create  out  of  the  mass  of  events  a  vivid  portrait  of  the  past.  And  what 
history  offers  us  is  pictures  of  men  and  of  human  life,  with  all  the  wealth  of 
their  individuality,  reproduced  in  all  their  characteristic  vivacity.  Thus  do 
the  peoples  and  languages  of  the  past,  their  forms  and  beliefs,  their  struggles 
for  power  and  freedom,  speak  to  us  through  the  mouth  of  history. 

How  different  it  is  with  the  world  which  the  natural  sciences  have  created 
for  us!  However  concrete  the  materials  with  which  they  started,  the  goal  of 
these  sciences  is  theories,  eventually  mathematical  formulations  of  laws  of 
change.  Treating  the  individual,  sensuous,  changing  objects  as  mere  unsub- 
stantial appearances  (phenomena),  scientific  investigation  becomes  a  search 
for  the  universal  laws  which  rule  the  timeless  changes  of  events.  Out  of  this 
colorful  world  of  the  senses,  science  creates  a  system  of  abstract  concepts,  in 
which  the  true  nature  of  things  is  conceived  to  exist— a  world  of  colorless  and 
soundless  atoms,  despoiled  of  all  their  earthly  sensuous  qualities.  Such  is  the 
triumph  of  thought  over  perception.  Indifferent  to  change,  science  casts  her 
anchor  in  the  eternal  and  unchangeable.  Not  the  change  as  such  but  the 
unchanging  form  of  change  is  what  she  seeks. 

This  raises  the  question:  What  is  the  more  valuable  for  the  purposes  of 
knowledge  in  general,  a  knowledge  of  law  or  a  knowledge  of  events  ?  As  far 
as  that  is  concerned,  both  scientific  procedures  may  be  equally  justified.  The 
knowledge  of  the  universal  laws  has  everywhere  a  practical  value  in  so  far  as 
they  make  possible  man's  purposeful  intervention  in  the  natural  processes. 
That  is  quite  as  true  of  the  movements  of  the  inner  as  of  the  outer  world.  In 
the  latter  case  knowledge  of  nature's  laws  has  made  it  possible  to  create  those 
tools  through  which  the  control  of  mankind  over  external  nature  is  steadily 
being  extended. 

Not  less  for  the  purposes  of  the  common  life  are  we  dependent  upon  the 
results  of  historical  knowledge.  Man  is,  to  change  the  ancient  form  of  the 
expression,  the  animal  who  has  a  history.  His  cultural  life  rests  on  the 
transmission  from  generation  to  generation  of  a  constantly  increasing  body 
of  historical  memories.  Whoever  proposes  to  take  an  active  part  in  this 
cultural  process  must  have  an  understanding  of  history.  Wherever  the 
thread  is  once  broken — as  history  itself  proves — it  must  be  painfully 
gathered  up  and  knitted  again  into  the  historical  fabric. 

'  It  is,  to  be  sure,  true  that  it  is  an  economy  for  human  understanding  to 
be  able  to  reduce  to  a  formula  or  a  general  concept  the  common  characteris- 
tics of  individuals.  But  the  more  man  seeks  to  reduce  facts  to  concepts  and 
laws,  the  more  he  is  obliged  to  sacrifice  and  neglect  the  individual.  Men 
have,  to  be  sure,  sought,  hi  characteristic  modern  fashion,  "to  make  of 
history  a  natural  science."  This  was  the  case  with  the  so-called  philosophy 


10  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  history  of  positivism.  What  has  been  the  net  result  of  the  laws  of  history 
which  it  has  given  us  ?  A  few  trivial  generalities  which  justify  themselves 
only  by  the  most  careful  consideration  of  their  numerous  exceptions. 

On  the  other  hand  it  is  certain  that  all  interest  and  values  of  life 
are  concerned  with  what  is  unique  in  men  and  events.  Consider  how 
quickly  our  appreciation  is  deadened  as  some  object  is  multiplied  or  is 
regarded  as  one  case  in  a  thousand.  "  She  is  not  the  first "  is  one  of  the  cruel 
passages  in  Faust.  It  is  in  the  individuality  and  the  uniqueness  of  an  object 
that  all  our  sense  of  value  has  its  roots.  It  is  upon  this  fact  that  Spinoza's 
doctrine  of  the  conquest  of  the  passions  by  knowledge  rests,  since  for  him 
knowledge  is  the  submergence  of  the  individual  in  the  universal,  the  "once 
for  all"  into  the  eternal. 

The  fact  that  all  our  livelier  appreciations  rest  upon  the  unique  character 
of  the  object  is  illustrated  above  all  in  our  relations  to  persons.  Is  it  not  an 
unendurable  thought,  that  a  loved  object,  an  adored  person,  should  have 
existed  at  some  other  time  in  just  the  form  in  which  it  now  exists  for  us  ? 
Is  it  not  horrible  and  unthinkable  that  one  of  us,  with  just  this  same 
individuality  should  actually  have  existed  in  a  second  edition  ? 

What  is  true  of  the  individual  man  is  quite  as  true  of  the  whole  historical 
process:  it  has  value  only  when  it  is  unique.  This  is  the  principle  which  the 
Christian  doctrine  successfully  maintained,  as  over  against  Hellenism  in  the 
Patristic  philosophy.  The  middle  point  of  their  conception  of  the  world  was 
the  fall  and  the  salvation  of  mankind  as  a  unique  event.  That  was  the  first 
and  great  perception  of  the  inalienable  metaphysical  right  of  the  historian  to 
preserve  for  the  memory  of  mankind,  in  all  their  uniqueness  and  individual- 
ity, the  actual  events  of  life.1 

Like  every  other  species  of  animal,  man  has  a  natural  history. 
Anthropology  is  the  science  of  man  considered  as  one  of  the  animal 
species,  Homo  sapiens.  History  and  sociology,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  concerned  with  man  as  a  person,  as  a  "political  animal,"  partici- 
pating with  his  fellows  in  a  common  fund  of  social  traditions  and 
cultural  ideals.  Freeman,  the  English  historian,  said  that  history 
was  "past  politics"  and  politics  "present  history."  Freeman  uses 

1  Wilhelm  Windelband,  Geschichte  und  Naturwissenschaft,  Rede  zum  Antritt  des 
RectoratsderKaiser-WUhelms  UmversitatSlrassburg(Stiassburg,  1900).  The  logical 
principle  outlined  by  Windelband  has  been  further  elaborated  by  Heinrich  Rickert 
in  DitGrenzen  der  nalurwissenschaftlichen  Begriffsbildung,  eine  logische  EMeitung  in 
die  kistorischen  Wissenschaften  (Tubingen  u.  Leipzig,  1902).  See  also  Georg  Simmel, 
Die  Probleme  der  Geschichls philosophic,  eine  erkennlnislheorclische  Studie  (ad  ed., 
Leipzig,  1915). 


II 

the  word  politics  in  the  large  and  liberal  sense  in  which  it  was 
first  used  by  Aristotle.  In  that  broad  sense  of  the  word,  the  political 
process,  by  which  men  are  controlled  and  states  governed,  and  the 
cultural  process,  by  which  man  has  been  domesticated  and  human 
nature  formed,  are  not,  as  we  ordinarily  assume,  different,  but  iden- 
tical, procedures. 

All  this  suggests  the  intimate  relations  which  exist  between 
history,  politics,  and  sociology.  The  important  thing,  however,  is 
not  the  identities  but  the  distinctions.  For,  however  much  the 
various  disciplines  may,  in  practice,  overlap,  it  is  necessary  for  the 
sake  of  clear  thinking  to  have  their  limits  defined.  As  far  as  sociology 
and  history  are  concerned  the  differences  may  be  summed  up  in  a 
word.  Both  history  and  sociology  are  concerned  with  the  life  of 
man  as  man.  History,  however,  seeks  to  reproduce  and  interpret 
concrete  events  as  they  actually  occurred  in  time  and  space.  Sociol- 
ogy, on  the  other  hand,  seeks  to  arrive  at  natural  laws  and  generali- 
zations in  regard  to  human  nature  and  society,  irrespective  of  time 
and  of  place. 

In  other  words,  history  seeks  to  find  out  what  actually  happened 
and  how  it  all  came  about.  Sociology,  on  the  other  hand,  seeks  to 
explain,  on  the  basis  of  a  study  of  other  instances,  the  nature  of 
the  process  involved. 

By  nature  we  mean  just  that  aspect  and  character  of  things 
in  regard  to  which  it  is  possible  to  make  general  statements  and 
formulate  laws.  If  we  say,  in  explanation  of  the  peculiar  behavior 
of  some  individual,  that  it  is  natural  or  that  it  is  after  all  "simply 
human  nature,"  we  are  simply  saying  that  this  behavior  is  what  we 
have  learned  to  expect  of  this  individual  or  of  human  beings  in  general. 
It  is,  in  other  words,  a  law. 

Natural  law,  as  the  term  is  used  here,  is  any  statement  which 
describes  the  behavior  of  a  class  of  objects  or  the  character  of  a 
class  of  acts.  For  example,  the  classic  illustration  of  the  so-called 
"universal  proposition"  familiar  to  students  of  formal  logic,  "all 
men  are  mortal,"  is  an  assertion  in  regard  to  a  class  of  objects  we 
call  men.  This  is,  of  course,  simply  a  more  formal  way  of  saying 
that  "men  die."  Such  general  statements  and  "laws"  get  meaning 
only  when  they  are  applied  to  particular  cases,  or,  to  speak  again 
in  the  terms  of  formal  logic,  when  they  find  a  place  in  a  syllogism, 


12  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

thus:  "Men  are  mortal.  This  is  a  man."  But  such  syllogisms 
may  always  be  stated  hi  the  form  of  a  hypothesis.  If  this  is  a  man, 
he  is  mortal.  If  a  is  b,  a  is  also  c.  The  statement,  "  Human  nature 
is  a  product  of  social  contact,"  is  a  general  assertion  familiar  to 
students  of  sociology.  This  law  or,  more  correctly,  hypothesis, 
applied  to  an  individual  case  explains  the  so-called  feral  man.  Wild 
men,  hi  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  are  not  the  so-called  savages, 
but  the  men  who  have  never  been  domesticated,  of  which  an  individual 
example  is  now  and  then  discovered. 

To  state  a  law  in  the  form  of  a  hypothesis  serves  to  emphasize 
the  fact  that  laws — what  we  have  called  natural  laws  at  any  rate — 
are  subject  to  verification  and  restatement.  Under  the  circum- 
stances the  exceptional  instance,  which  compels  a  restatement  of 
the  hypothesis,  is  more  important  for  the  purposes  of  science  than 
other  instances  which  merely  confirm  it. 

Any  science  which  operates  with  hypotheses  and  seeks  to  state 
facts  hi  such  a  way  that  they  can  be  compared  and  verified  by  further 
observation  and  experiment  is,  so  far  as  method  is  concerned,  a 
natural  science. 

m.      HUMAN   NATURE  AND   LAW 

One  thing  that  makes  the  conception  of  natural  history  and 
natural  law  important  to  the  student  of  sociology  is  that  in  the 
field  of  the  social  sciences  the  distinction  between  natural  and  moral 
law  has  from  the  first  been  confused.  Comte  and  the  social  phi- 
losophers in  France  after  the  Revolution  set  out  with  the  deliberate 
purpose  of  superseding  legislative  enactments  by  laws  of  human 
nature,  laws  which  were  to  be  positive  and  "scientific."  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  sociology,  hi  becoming  positive,  so  far  from  effacing,  has 
rather  emphasized  the  distinctions  that  Comte  sought  to  abolish. 
Natural  law  may  be  distinguished  from  all  other  forms  of  law  by  the 
fact  that  it  aims  at  nothing  more  than  a  description  of  the  behavior 
of  certain  types  or  classes  of  objects.  A  description  of  the  way  in 
which  a  class,  i.e.,  men,  plants,  animals,  or  physical  objects,  may  be 
expected  under  ordinary  circumstances  to  behave,  tells  us  what  we 
may  in  a  general  way  expect  of  any  individual  member  of  that  class. 
If  natural  science  seeks  to  predict,  it  is  able  to  do  so  simply  because 
it  operates  with  concepts  or  class  names  instead,  as  is  the  case  with 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  13 

history,  with  concrete  facts  and,  to  use  a  logical  phrase,  "  existential 
propositions." 

That  the  chief  end  of  science  is  descriptive  formulation  has  probably 
been  clear  to  keen  analytic  minds  since  the  time  of  Galileo,  especially  to  the 
great  discoverers  in  astromony,  mechanics,  and  dynamics.  But  as  a  defi- 
nitely stated  conception,  corrective  of  misunderstandings,  the  view  of  science 
as  essentially  descriptive  began  to  make  itself  felt  about  the  beginning  of  the 
last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  may  be  associated  with  the  names 
of  Kirchhoff  and  Mach.  It  was  in  1876  that  Kirchhoff  denned  the  task  of 
mechanics  as  that  of  "describing  completely  and  in  the  simplest  manner  the 
motions  which  take  place  in  nature."  Widening  this  a  little,  we  may  say 
that  the  aim  of  science  is  to  describe  natural  phenomena  and  occurrences  as 
exactly  as  possible,  as  simply  as  possible,  as  completely  as  possible,  as  con- 
sistently as  possible,  and  always  in  terms  which  are  communicable  and  veri- 
fiable. This  is  a  very  different  role  from  that  of  solving  the  riddles  of  the 
universe,  and  it  is  well  expressed  in  what  Newton  said  in  regard  to  the  law 
of  gravitation:  "So  far  I  have  accounted  for  the  phenomena  presented  to 
us  by  the  heavens  and  the  sea  by  means  of  the  force  of  gravity,  but  I  have 

as  yet  assigned  no  cause  to  this  gravity I  have  not  been  able  to 

deduce  from  phenomena  the  raison  d'etre  of  the  properties  of  gravity  and  I 
have  not  set  up  hypotheses."  (Newton,  Philosophiae  naturalis  prindpia 
Mathematica,  1687.) 

"We  must  confess,"  said  Prof.  J.  H.  Poynting  (1900,  p.  616),  "that 
physical  laws  have  greatly  fallen  off  in  dignity.  No  long  time  ago  they  were 
quite  commonly  described  as  the  Fixed  Laws  of  Nature,  and  were  supposed 
sufficient  in  themselves  to  govern  the  universe.  Now  we  can  only  assign 
to  them  the  humble  rank  of  mere  descriptions,  often  erroneous,  of  similarities 

which  we  believe  we  have  observed A  law  of  nature  explains  nothing, 

it  has  no  governing  power,  it  is  but  a  descriptive  formula  which  the  careless 
have  sometimes  personified."  It  used  to  be  said  that  "the  laws  of  Nature 
are  the  thoughts  of  God";  now  we  say  that  they  are  the  investigator's 
formulae  summing  up  regularities  of  recurrence.1 

If  natural  law  aims  at  prediction  it  tells  us  what  we  can  do. 
Moral  laws,  on  the  other  hand,  tell  us,  not  what  we  can,  but  what 
we  ought  to  do.  The  civil  or  municipal  law,  finally,  tells  us  not 
what  we  can,  nor  what  we  ought,  but  what  we  must  do.  It  is  very 
evident  that  these  three  types  of  law  may  be  very  intimately  related. 

1  J.  Arthur  Thomson,  The  System  of  Animate  Nature  (New  York,  1920),  pp.  8-9. 
See  also  Karl  Pearson,  The  Grammar  of  Science  (ad  ed.;  London,  1900),  chap,  iii, 
"The  Scientific  Law." 


14  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

We  do  not  know  what  we  ought  to  do  until  we  know  what  we  can  do; 
and  we  certainly  should  consider  what  men  can  do  before  we  pass 
laws  prescribing  what  they  must  do.  There  is,  moreover,  no  likeli- 
hood that  these  distinctions  will  ever  be  completely  abolished.  As 
long  as  the  words  "can,"  "ought,"  and  "must"  continue  to  have  any 
meaning  for  us  the  distinctions  that  they  represent  will  persist  in 
science  as  well  as  in  common  sense. 

The  immense  prestige  which  the  methods  of  the  natural  sciences 
have  gained,  particularly  in  their  application  to  the  phenomena  of 
the  physical  universe,  has  undoubtedly  led  scientific  men  to  over- 
estimate the  importance  of  mere  conceptual  and  abstract  knowledge. 
It  has  led  them  to  assume  that  history  also  must  eventually  become 
"scientific"  in  the  sense  of  the  natural  sciences.  In  the  meantime 
the  vast  collections  of  historical  facts  which  the  industry  of  his- 
torical students  has  accumulated  are  regarded,  sometimes  even  by 
historians  themselves,  as  a  sort  of  raw  material,  the  value  of  which 
can  only  be  realized  after  it  has  been  worked  over  into  some  sort 
of  historical  generalization  which  has  the  general  character  of  scientific 
and  ultimately,  mathematical  formula. 

"History,"  says  Karl  Pearson,  "can  never  become  science,  can 
never  be  anything  but  a  catalogue  of  facts  rehearsed  in  a  more  or 
less  pleasing  language  until  these  facts  are  seen  to  fall  into  sequences 
which  can  be  briefly  resumed  in  scientific  formulae."1  And  Henry 
Adams,  in  a  letter  to  the  American  Historical  Association  already 
referred  to,  confesses-  that  history  has  thus  far  been  a  fruitless  quest 
for  "the  secret  which  would  transform  these  odds  and  ends  of  phi- 
losophy into  one  self-evident,  harmonious,  and  complete  system." 

You  may  be  sure  that  four  out  of  five  serious  students  of  history  who 
are  living  today  have,  in  the  course  of  their  work,  felt  that  they  stood  on  the 
brink  of  a  great  generalization  that  would  reduce  all  history  under  a  law  as 
clear  as  the  laws  which  govern  the  material  world.  As  the  great  writers  of 
our  time  have  touched  one  by  one  the  separate  fragments  of  admitted  law 
by  which  society  betrays  its  character  as  a  subject  for  science,  not  one  of 
them  can  have  failed  to  feel  an  instant's  hope  that  he  might  find  the  secret 
which  would  transform  these  odds  and  ends  of  philosophy  into  one  self- 
evident,  harmonious,  and  complete  system.  He  has  seemed  to  have  it,  as 
the  Spanish  say,  in  his  inkstand.  Scores  of  times  he  must  have  dropped  his 
pen  to  think  how  one  short  step,  one  sudden  inspiration,  would  show  all 
human  knowledge;  how,  in  these  thickset  forests  of  history,  one  corner 

1  Karl  Pearson,  op.  tit.,  p.  359. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  15 

turned,  one  faint  trail  struck,  would  bring  him  on  the  highroad  of  science. 
Every  professor  who  has  tried  to  teach  the  doubtful  facts  which  we  now  call 
history  must  have  felt  that  sooner  or  later  he  or  another  would  put  order  in 
the  chaos  and  bring  light  into  darkness.  Not  so  much  genius  or  favor  was 
needed  as  patience  and  good  luck.  The  law  was  certainly  there,  and  as 
certainly  was  in  places  actually  visible,  to  be  touched  and  handled,  as  though 
it  were  a  law  of  chemistry  or  physics.  No  teacher  with  a  spark  of  imagina- 
tion or  with  an  idea  of  scientific  method  can  have  helped  dreaming  of  the 
immortality  that,  would  be  achieved  by  the  man  who  should  successfully 
apply  Darwin's  method  to  the  facts  of  human  history.1 

The  truth  is,  however,  that  the  concrete  facts,  in  which  history 
and  geography  have  sought  to  preserve  the  visible,  tangible,  and, 
generally  speaking,  the  experiential  aspects  of  human  life  and  the 
visible  universe,  have  a  value  irrespective  of  any  generalization  or 
ideal  constructions  which  may  be  inferred  from  or  built  up  out  of 
them.  Just  as  none  of  the  investigations  or  generalizations  of 
individual  psychology  are  ever  likely  to  take  the  place  of  biography 
and  autobiography,  so  none  of  the  conceptions  of  an  abstract  sociology, 
no  scientific  descriptions  of  the  social  and  cultural  processes,  and  no 
laws  of  progress  are  likely,  in  the  near  future  at  any  rate,  to  supersede 
the  more  concrete  facts  of  history  in  which  are  preserved  those  records 
of  those  unique  and  never  fully  comprehended  aspects  of  life  which 
we  call  events. 

It  has  been  the  dream  of  philosophers  that  theoretical  and  abstract 
science  could  and  some  day  perhaps  would  succeed  in  putting  into 
formulae  and  into  general  terms  all  that  was  significant  in  the 
concrete  facts  of  life.  It  has  been  the  tragic  mistake  of  the  so-called 
intellectuals,  who  have  gained  their  knowledge  from  textbooks  rather 
than  from  observation  and  research,  to  assume  that  science  had 
already  realized  its  dream.  But  there  is  no  indication  that  science 
has  begun  to  exhaust  the  sources  or  significance  of  concrete  experience. 
The  infinite  variety  of  external  nature  and  the  inexhaustible  wealth 
of  personal  experience  have  thus  far  defied,  and  no  doubt  will  continue 
to  defy,  the  industry  of  scientific  classification,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  discoveries  of  science  are  constantly  making  accessible  to 
us  new  and  larger  areas  of  experience. 

What  has  been  said  simply  serves  to  emphasize  the  instrumental 
character  of  the  abstract  sciences.  History  and  geography,  all  of 

1  Henry  Adams,  op.  cit.,  p.  127. 


16  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  concrete  sciences,  can  and  do  measurably  enlarge  our  experience 
of  life.  Their  very  purpose  is  to  arouse  new  interests  and  create 
new  sympathies;  to  give  mankind,  in  short,  an  environment  so 
vast  and  varied  as  will  call  out  and  activate  all  his  instincts  and 
capacities. 

The  more  abstract  sciences,  just  to  the  extent  that  they  are 
abstract  and  exact,  like  mathematics  and  logic,  are  merely  methods 
and  tools  for  converting  experience  into  knowledge  and  applying 
the  knowledge  so  gained  to  practical  uses. 

IV.    HISTORY,  NATURAL  HISTORY,  AND  SOCIOLOGY 

Although  it  is  possible  to  draw  clear  distinctions  in  theory  between 
the  purpose  and  methods  of  history  and  sociology,  in  practice  the 
two  forms  of  knowledge  pass  over  into  one  another  by  almost  imper- 
ceptible gradations. 

The  sociological  point  of  view  makes  its  appearance  in  historical 
investigation  as  soon  as  the  historian  turns  from  the  study  of  "periods" 
to  the  study  of  institutions.  The  history  of  institutions,  that  is  to 
say,  the  family,  the  church,  economic  institutions,  political  institu- 
tions, etc.,  leads  inevitably  to  comparison,  classification,  the  formation 
of  class  names  or  concepts,  and  eventually  to  the  formulation  of  law. 
In  the  process,  history  becomes  natural  history,  and  natural  history 
passes  over  into  natural  science.  In  short,  history  becomes  sociology. 

Westermarck's  History  of  Human  Marriage  is  one  of  the  earliest 
attempts  to  write  the  natural  history  of  a  social  institution.  It  is 
based  upon  a  comparison  and  classification  of  marriage  customs 
of  widely  scattered  peoples,  living  under  varied  physical  and  social 
conditions.  What  one  gets  from  a  survey  of  this  kind  is  not  so  much 
history  as  a  study  of  human  behavior.  The  history  of  marriage,  as 
of  any  other  institution,  is,  in  other  words,  not  so  much  an  account 
of  what  certain  individuals  or  groups  of  individuals  did  at  certain 
times  and  certain  places,  as  it  is  a  description  of  the  responses  of  a  few 
fundamental  human  instincts  to  a  variety  of  social  situations.  Wes- 
termarck  calls  this  kind  of  history  sociology.1 

1  Professor  Robertson  Smith  (Nature,  XLIV,  270),  criticizing  Westermarck's 
History  of  Human  Marriage,  complains  that  the  author  has  confused  history  with 
natural  history.  "The  history  of  an  institution,"  he  writes,  "which  is  controlled 
by  public  opinion  and  regulated  by  law  is  not  natural  history.  The  true  history  of 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  17 

It  is  in  the  firm  conviction  that  the  history  of  human  civilization  should 
be  made  an  object  of  as  scientific  a  treatment  as  the  history  of  organic  nature 
that  I  write  this  book.  Like  the  phenomena  of  physical  and  psychical  life 
those  of  social  life  should  be  classified  into  certain  groups  and  each  group 
investigated  with  regard  to  its  origin  and  development.  Only  when  treated 
in  this  way  can  history  lay  claim  to  the  rank  and  honour  of  a  science  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  term,  as  forming  an  important  part  of  Sociology,  the 
youngest  of  the  principal  branches  of  learning. 

Descriptive  historiography  has  no  higher  object  than  that  of  offering 
materials  to  this  science.1 

Westermarck  refers  to  the  facts  which  he  has  collected  in  his 
history  of  marriage  as  phenomena.  For  the  explanation  of  these 
phenomena,  however,  he  looks  to  the  more  abstract  sciences. 

The  causes  on  which  social  phenomena  are  dependent  fall  within  the 
domain  of  different  sciences — Biology,  Psychology,  or  Sociology.  The  reader 
will  find  that  I  put  particular  stress  upon  the  psychological  causes,  which 
have  often  been  deplorably  overlooked,  or  only  imperfectly  touched  upon. 
And  more  especially  do  I  believe  that  the  mere  instincts  have  played  a  very 
important  part  in  the  origin  of  social  institutions  and  rules.* 

Westermarck  derived  most  of  his  materials  for  the  study  of 
marriage  from  ethnological  materials.  Ethnologists,  students  of 
folklore  (German  V olkerkunde] ,  and  archaeology  are  less  certain 
than  the  historians  of  institutions  whether  their  investigations  are 
historical  or  sociological. 

Jane  Harrison,  although  she  disclaims  the  title  of  sociologist, 
bases  her  conception  of  the  origin  of  Greek  religion  on  a  sociological 
theory,  the  theory  namely  that  "among  primitive  peoples  religion 
reflects  collective  feeling  and  collective  thinking."  Dionysius,  the 

marriage  begins  where  the  natural  history  of  pairing  ends To  treat  these 

topics  (polyandry,  kinship  through  the  female  only,  infanticide,  exogamy)  as 
essentially  a  part  of  the  natural  history  of  pairing  involves  a  tacit  assumption  that 
the  laws  of  society  are  at  bottom  mere  formulated  instincts,  and  this  assumption 
really  underlies  all  our  author's  theories.  His  fundamental  position  compels  him, 
if  he  will  be  consistent  with  himself,  to  hold  that  every  institution  connected  with 
marriage  that  has  universal  validity,  or  forms  an  integral  part  of  the  main  line  of 
development,  is  rooted  in  instinct,  and  that  institutions  which  are  not  based  on 
instinct  are  necessarily  exceptional  and  unimportant  for  scientific  history." 

1  Edward  Westermarck,  The  History  of  Human  Marriage  (London,  1901),  p.  i. 

» Ibid.,  p.  5. 


1 8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

god  of  the  Greek  mysteries,  is  according  to  her  interpretation  a 
product  of  the  group  consciousness. 

The  mystery-god  arises  out  of  those  instincts,  emotions,  desires  which 
attend  and  express  life;  but  these  emotions,  desires,  instincts,  in  so  far  as 
they  are  religious,  are  at  the  outset  rather  of  a  group  than  of  individual  con- 
sciousness  It  is  a  necessary  and  most  important  corollary  to  this 

doctrine,  that  the  form  taken  by  the  divinity  reflects  the  social  structure  of 
the  group  to  which  the  divinity  belongs.  Dionysius  is  the  Son  of  his  Mother 
because  he  issues  from  a  matrilinear  group.1 

This  whole  study  is,  in  fact,  merely  an  application  of  Durk- 
heim's  conception  of  "collective  representations." 

Robert  H.  Lowie,  in  his  recent  volume,  Primitive  Society,  refers 
to  "ethnologists  and  other  historians,"  but  at  the  same  time  asks; 
"What  kind  of  an  historian  shall  the  ethnologist  be?" 

He  answers  the  question  by  saying  that,  "If  there  are  laws  of 
social  evolution,  he  [the  ethnologist]  must  assuredly  discover  them," 
but  at  any  rate,  and  first  of  all,  "his  duty  is  to  ascertain  the  course 

civilization  has  actually  followed To  strive  for  the  ideals 

of  another  branch  of  knowledge  may  be  positively  pernicious,  for 
it  can  easily  lead  to  that  factitious  simplification  which  means 
falsification." 

In  other  words,  ethnology,  like  history,  seeks  to  tell  what  actually 
happened.  It  is  bound  to  avoid  abstraction,  "over-simplification," 
and  formulae,  and  these  are  the  ideals  of  another  kind  of  scientific 
procedure.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  ethnology,  even  when  it 
has  attempted  nothing  more  than  a  description  of  the  existing  cul- 
tures of  primitive  peoples,  their  present  distribution  and  the  order  of 
their  succession,  has  not  freed  itself  wholly  from  the  influence  of  ab- 
stract considerations.  Theoretical  problems  inevitably  arise  for  the  so- 
lution of  which  it  is  necessary  to  go  to  psychology  and  sociology.  One 
of  the  questions  that  has  arisen  in  the  study,  particularly  the  com- 
parative study,  of  cultures  is:  how  far  any  existing  cultural  trait  is 
borrowed  and  how  far  it  is  to  be  regarded  as  of  independent  origin. 

In  the  historical  reconstruction  of  culture  the  phenomena  of  distribution 
play,  indeed,  an  extraordinary  part.  If  a  trait  occurs  everywhere,  it  might 
veritably  be  the  product  of  some  universally  operative  social  law.  If  it  is 

1  Jane  Ellen  Harrison,  Themis,  A  Study  of  the  Social  Origins  of  Greek  Religion 
(Cambridge,  1912),  p.  ix. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  10 

found  in  a  restricted  number  of  cases,  it  may  still  have  evolved  through 
some  such  instrumentality  acting  under  specific  conditions  that  would  then 
remain  to  be  determined  by  analysis  of  the  cultures  in  which  the  feature  is 

embedded Finally,  the  sharers  of  a  cultural  trait  may  be  of  distinct 

lineage  but  through  contact  and  borrowing  have  come  to  hold  in  common 

a  portion  of  their  cultures 

Since,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  cultural  resemblances  abound  between  peoples 
of  diverse  stock,  their  interpretation  commonly  narrows  to  a  choice  between 
two  alternatives.  Either  they  are  due  to  like  causes,  whether  these  can  be 
determined  or  not;  or  they  are  the  result  of  borrowing.  A  predilection  for 
one  or  the  other  explanation  has  lain  at  the  bottom  of  much  ethnological 
discussion  in  the  past ;  and  at  present  influential  schools  both  in  England  and 
in  continental  Europe  clamorously  insist  that  all  cultural  parallels  are  due 
to  diffusion  from  a  single  center.  It  is  inevitable  to  envisage  this  moot- 
problem  at  the  start,  since  uncompromising  championship  of  either  alterna- 
tive has  far-reaching  practical  consequences.  For  if  every  parallel  is  due  to 
borrowing,  then  sociological  laws,  which  can  be  inferred  only  from  independ- 
ently developing  likenesses,  are  barred.  Then  the  history  of  religion  or 
social  life  or  technology  consists  exclusively  in  a  statement  of  the  place  of 
origin  of  beliefs,  customs  and  implements,  and  a  recital  of  their  travels  to 
different  parts  of  the  globe.  On  the  other  hand,  if  borrowing  covers  only 
part  of  the  observed  parallels,  an  explanation  from  like  causes  becomes  at 
least  the  ideal  goal  in  an  investigation  of  the  remainder.1 

An  illustration  will  exhibit  the  manner  in  which  problems 
originally  historical  become  psychological  and  sociological.  Tylor 
in  his  Early  History  of  Mankind  has  pointed  out  that  the  bellows 
used  by  the  negro  blacksmiths  of  continental  Africa  are  of  a  quite 
different  type  from  those  used  by  natives  of  Madagascar.  The 
bellows  used  by  the  Madagascar  blacksmiths,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  exactly  like  those  in  use  by  the  Malays  of  Sumatra  and  in  other 
parts  of  the  Malay  Archipelago.  This  indication  that  the  natives 
of  Madagascar  are  of  Malay  origin  is  in  accordance  with  other 
anthropological  and  ethnological  data  in  regard  to  these  peoples, 
which  prove  the  fact,  now  well  established,  that  they  are  not  of 
African  origin. 

Similarly  Boas'  study  of  the  Raven  cycle  of  American  Indian 
mythology  indicated  that  these  stories  originated  in  the  northern 
part  of  British  Columbia  and  traveled  southward  along  the  coast. 

1  Robert  H.  Lowie,  Primitive  Society  (New  York,  1920),  pp.  7-8. 


20  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

One  of  the  evidences  of  the  direction  of  this  progress  is  the  gradual 
diminution  of  complexity  in  the  stories  as  they  traveled  into  regions 
farther  removed  from  the  point  of  origin. 

All  this,  in  so  far  as  it  seeks  to  determine  the  point  of  origin, 
direction,  speed,  and  character  of  changes  that  take  place  in  cul- 
tural materials  hi  the  process  of  diffusion,  is  clearly  history  and 
ethnology. 

Other  questions,  however,  force  themselves  inevitably  upon  the 
attention  of  the  inquiring  student.  Why  is  it  that  certain  cultural 
materials  are  more  widely  and  more  rapidly  diffused  than  others? 
Under  what  conditions  does  this  diffusion  take  place  and  why  does 
it  take  place  at  all  ?  Finally,  what  is  the  ultimate  source  of  cus- 
toms, beliefs,  languages,  religious  practices,  and  all  the  varied  tech- 
nical devices  which  compose  the  cultures  of  different  peoples  ?  What 
are  the  circumstances  and  what  are  the  processes  by  which  cultural 
traits  are  independently  created  ?  Under  what  conditions  do  cultural 
fusions  take  place  and  what  is  the  nature  of  this  process  ? 

These  are  all  fundamentally  problems  of  human  nature,  and  as 
human  nature  itself  is  now  regarded  as  a  product  of  social  inter- 
course, they  are  problems  of  sociology. 

The  cultural  processes  by  which  languages,  myth,  and  religion 
have  come  into  existence  among  primitive  peoples  have  given  rise 
in  Germany  to  a  special  science.  Folk-psychology  (Volker psycholo- 
gic} had  its  origin  in  an  attempt  to  answer  in  psychological  terms 
the  problems  to  which  a  comparative  study  of  cultural  materials 
has  given  rise. 

From  two  different  directions  ideas  of  folk-psychology  have  found  their 
way  into  modern  science.  First  of  all  there  was  a  demand  from  the  different 
social  sciences  [Geisteswissenschaften]  for  a  psychological  explanation  of  the 
phenomena  of  social  life  and  history,  so  far  as  they  were  products  of  social 
\geistiger]  interaction.  In  the  second  place,  psychology  itself  required,  in 
order  to  escape  the  uncertainties  and  ambiguities  of  pure  introspection,  a 
body  of  objective  materials. 

Among  the  social  sciences  the  need  for  psychological  interpretation  first 
manifested  itself  in  the  studies  of  language  and  mythology.  Both  of  these 
had  already  found  outside  the  circle  of  the  philological  studies  independent 
fields  of  investigation.  As  soon  as  they  assumed  the  character  of  compara- 
tive sciences  it  was  inevitable  that  they  should  be  driven  to  recognize  that 
in  addition  to  the  historical  conditions,  which  everywhere  determines  the 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  21 

concrete  form  of  these  phenomena,  there  had  been  certain  fundamental 
psychical  forces  at  work  in  the  development  of  language  and  myth.1 

The  aim  of  folk-psychology  has  been,  on  the  whole,  to  explain 
the  genesis  and  development  of  certain  cultural  forms,  i.e.,  lan- 
guage, myth,  and  religion.  The  whole  matter  may,  however,  be 
regarded  from  a  quite  different  point  of  view.  Gabriel  Tarde,  for 
example,  has  sought  to  explain,  not  the  genesis,  but  the  transmission 
and  diffusion  of  these  same  cultural  forms.  For  Tarde,  communi- 
cation (transmission  of  cultural  forms  and  traits)  is  the  one  central 
and  significant  fact  of  social  life.  "Social"  is  just  what  can  be 
transmitted  by  imitation.  Social  groups  are  merely  the  centers 
from  which  new  ideas  and  inventions  are  transmitted.  Imitation 
is  the  social  process. 

There  is  not  a  word  that  you  say,  which  is  not  the  reproduction,  now 
unconscious,  but  formerly  conscious  and  voluntary,  of  verbal  articulations 
reaching  back  to  the  most  distant  past,  with  some  special  accent  due  to  your 
immediate  surroundings.  There  is  not  a  religious  rite  that  you  fulfil,  such 
as  praying,  kissing  the  icon,  or  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  which  does  not 
reproduce  certain  traditional  gestures  and  expressions,  established  through 
imitation  of  your  ancestors.  There  is  not  a  military  or  civil  requirement 
that  you  obey,  nor  an  act  that  you  perform  in  your  business,  which  has  not 
been  taught  you,  and  which  you  have  not  copied  from  some  living  model. 
There  is  not  a  stroke  of  the  brush  that  you  make,  if  you  are  a  painter,  nor  a 
verse  that  you  write,  if  you  are  a  poet,  which  does  not  conform  to  the  cus- 
toms or  the  prosody  of  your  school,  and  even  your  very  originality  itself  is 
made  up  of  accumulated  commonplaces,  and  aspires  to  become  common- 
place in  its  turn. 

Thus,  the  unvarying  characteristic  of  every  social  fact  whatsoever  is 
that  it  is  imitative.  And  this  characteristic  belongs  exclusively  to  social 
facts.2 

Tarde's  theory  of  transmission  by  imitation  may  be  regarded, 
in  some  sense,  as  complementary,  if  not  supplementary,  to  Wundt's 

1  Wilhelm  Wundt,  Volkerpsychologie,  eine  Untersuchung  der  Entwicklungsgesetze 
von  Sprache,  Mylhus  und  Sitte.     Erster  Band,  Die  Sprache,  Erster  Theil  (Leipzig, 
1900),  p.  13.     The  name  folk-psychology  was  first  used  by  Lazarus  and  Steinthal. 
Zeitschrift  fiir  Volkerpsychologie  und  Sprachwissenschaft,  I,  1860.     Wundt's  folk- 
psychology  is  a  continuation  of  the  tradition  of  these  earlier  writers. 

2  G.  Tarde,  Social  Laws,  An  Outline  of  Sociology,  translated  from  the  French  by 
Howard  C.  Warren  (New  York,  1899),  pp.  40-41. 


22  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

theory  of  origins,  since  he  puts  the  emphasis  on  the  fact  of  trans- 
mission rather  than  upon  genesis.  In  a  paper,  "Tendencies  in 
Comparative  Philology,"  read  at  the  Congress  of  Arts  and  Sciences 
at  the  St.  Louis  Exposition  in  1904,  Professor  Hanns  Oertel,  of 
Yale  University,  refers  to  Tarde's  theory  of  imitation  as  an  alter- 
native explanation  to  that  offered  by  Wundt  for  "the  striking 
uniformity  of  sound  changes"  which  students  of  language  have  dis- 
covered in  the  course  of  their  investigation  of  phonetic  changes  in 
widely  different  forms  of  speech. 

It  seems  hard  to  maintain  that  the  change  in  a  syntactical  construction 
or  in  the  meaning  of  a  word  owes  its  universality  to  a  simultaneous  and  inde- 
pendent primary  change  in  all  the  members  of  a  speech-community.  By 
adopting  the  theory  of  imitative  spread,  all  linguistic  changes  may  be  viewed 
as  one  homogeneous  whole.  In  the  second  place,  the  latter  view  seems  to 
bring  linguistic  changes  into  line  with  the  other  social  changes,  such  as  modi- 
fications in  institutions,  beliefs,  and  customs.  For  is  it  not  an  essential  char- 
acteristic of  a  social  group  that  its  members  are  not  co-operative  in  the  sense 
that  each  member  actively  participates  in  the  production  of  every  single  ele- 
ment which  goes  to  make  up  either  language,  or  belief,  or  customs  ?  Distin- 
guishing thus  between  primary  and  secondary  changes  and  between  the  origin 
of  a  change  and  its  spread,  it  behooves  us  to  examine  carefully  into  the  causes 
which  make  the  members  of  a  social  unit,  either  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
willing  to  accept  the  innovation.  What  is  it  that  determines  acceptance  or 
rejection  of  a  particular  change  ?  What  limits  one  change  to  a  small  area, 
while  it  extends  the  area  of  another  ?  Before  a  final  decision  can  be  reached 
in  favor  of  the  second  theory  of  imitative  spread  it  will  be  necessary  to  follow 
out  in  minute  detail  the  mechanism  of  this  process  in  a  number  of  concrete 
instances;  in  other  words  to  fill  out  the  picture  of  which  Tarde  (Les  lois  de 
I  'imitation)  sketched  the  bare  outlines.  If  his  assumptions  prove  true,  then 
we  should  have  here  a  uniformity  resting  upon  other  causes  than  the  physical 
uniformity  that  appears  in  the  objects  with  which  the  natural  sciences  deal. 
It  would  enable  us  to  establish  a  second  group  of  uniform  phenomena  which 
is  psycho-physical  in  its  character  and  rests  upon  the  basis  of  social  sugges- 
tion. The  uniformities  in  speech,  belief,  and  institutions  would  belong  to 
this  second  group.1 

What  is  true  of  the  comparative  study  of  languages  is  true  in 
every  other  field  in  which  a  comparative  study  of  cultural  materials 

1  Hanns  Oertel,  "Some  Present  Problems  and  Tendencies  in  Comparative  Phi- 
lology," Congress  of  Arts  and  Science,  Universal  Exposition,  St.  Louis,  1004 
(Boston,  iqo6),  III,  59. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  23 

has  been  made.  As  soon  as  these  materials  are  studied  from  the 
point  of  view  of  their  similarities  rather  than  from  the  point  of  view 
of  their  historical  connections,  problems  arise  which  can  only  be 
explained  by  the  more  abstract  sciences  of  psychology  or  sociology. 
Freeman  begins  his  lectures  on  Comparative  Politics  with  the  state- 
ment that  "the  comparative  method  of  study  has  been  the  greatest 
intellectual  achievement  of  our  time.  It  has  carried  light  and  order 
into  whole  branches  of  human  knowledge  which  before  were  shrouded 
in  darkness  and  confusion.  It  has  brought  a  line  of  argument  which 
reaches  moral  certainty  into  a  region  which  before  was  given  over  to 
random  guess-work.  Into  matters  which  are  for  the  most  part  inca- 
pable of  strictly  external  proof  it  has  brought  a  form  of  strictly  in- 
ternal proof  which  is  more  convincing,  more  unerring." 

Wherever  the  historian  supplements  external  by  internal  proof, 
he  is  in  a  way  to  substitute  a  sociological  explanation  for  historical 
interpretation.  It  is  the  very  essence  of  the  sociological  method  to 
be  comparative.  When,  therefore,  Freeman  uses,  in  speaking  of 
comparative  politics,  the  following  language  he  is  speaking  in  socio- 
logical rather  than  historical  terms: 

For  the  purposes  then  of  the  study  of  Comparative  Politics,  a  political 
constitution  is  a  specimen  to  be  studied,  classified,  and  labelled,  as  a  building 
or  an  animal  is  studied,  classified,  and  labelled  by  those  to  whom  buildings  or 
animals  are  objects  of  study.  We  have  to  note  the  likenesses,  striking  and 
unexpected  as  those  likenesses  often  are,  between  the  political  constitutions 
of  remote  times  and  places;  and  we  have,  as  far  as  we  can,  to  classify  our 
specimens  according  to  the  probable  causes  of  those  likenesses.1 

Historically  sociology  has  had  its  origin  in  history.  It  owes  its 
existence  as  a  science  to  the  attempt  to  apply  exact  methods  to  the 
explanation  of  historical  facts.  In  the  attempt  to  achieve  this, 
however,  it  has  become  something  quite  different  from  history.  It 
has  become  like  psychology  with  which  it  is  most  intimately  related, 
a  natural  and  relatively  abstract  science,  and  auxiliary  to  the  study 
of  history,  but  not  a  substitute  for  it.  The  whole  matter  may  be 
summed  up  in  this  general  statement:  history  interprets,  natural 
science  explains.  It  is  upon  the  interpretation  of  the  facts  of  expe- 
rience that  we  formulate  our  creeds  and  found  our  faiths.  Our 

1  Edward  A.  Freeman,  Comparative  Politics  (London,  1873),  P-  23- 


24  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

explanations  of  phenomena,  on  the  other  hand,  are  the  basis  for 
technique  and  practical  devices  for  controlling  nature  and  human 
nature,  man  and  the  physical  world. 

V.      THE   SOCIAL  ORGANISM:    HUMANITY  OR  LEVIATHAN? 

After  Comte  the  first  great  name  in  the  history  of  sociology  is 
Spencer.  It  is  evident  in  comparing  the  writings  of  these  two  men 
that,  in  crossing  the  English  Channel,  sociology  has  suffered  a  sea 
change.  In  spite  of  certain  similarities  in  their  points  of  view  there 
are  profound  and  interesting  differences.  These  differences  exhibit 
themselves  in  the  different  ways  in  which  they  use  the  term  "social 
organism." 

Comte  calls  society  a  "  collective  organism  "  and  insists,  as  Spencer 
does,  upon  the  difference  between  an  organism  like  a  family,  which  is 
made  up  of  independent  individuals,  and  an  organism  like  a  plant  or 
an  animal,  which  is  a  physiological  unit  in  which  the  different  organs 
are  neither  free  nor  conscious.  But  Spencer,  if  he  points  out  the 
differences  between  the  social  and  the  biological  organisms,  is  inter- 
ested in  the  analogy.  Comte,  on  the  other  hand,  while  he  recognizes 
the  analogy,  feels  it  important  to  emphasize  the  distinctions. 

Society  for  Comte  is  not,  as  Levy-Bruhl  puts  it,  "a  polyp." 
It  has  not  even  the  characteristics  of  an  animal  colony  in  which  the 
individuals  are  physically  bound  together,  though  physiologically 
independent.  On  the  contrary,  "this  'immense  organism'  is  espe- 
cially distinguished  from  other  beings  in  that  it  is  made  up  of  separable 
elements  of  which  each  one  can  feel  its  own  co-operation,  can  will  it, 
or  even  withhold  it,  so  long  as  it  remains  a  direct  one."1 

On  the  other  hand,  Comte,  although  he  characterized  the  social 
consensus  and  solidarity  as  "collective,"  nevertheless  thought  of 
the  relations  existing  between  human  beings  in  society — in  the 
family,  for  example,  which  he  regards  as  the  unit  and  model  of  all 
social  relations — as  closer  and  more  intimate  than  those  which  exist 
between  the  organs  of  a  plant  or  an  animal.  The  individual,  as 
Comt?  expressed  it,  is  an  abstraction.  Man  exists  as  man  only 
by  participation  in  the  life  of  humanity,  and  "although  the  individual 

1 L.  Le'vy-Bruhl,  The  Philosophy  of  Angus te  Comte,  authorized  translation;  an 
Introduction  by  Frederic  Harrison  (New  York,  1903),  p.  337. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  25 

elements  of  society  appear  to  be  more  separable  than  those  of  a  living 
being,  the  social  consensus  is  still  closer  than  the  vital."1 

Thus  the  individual  man  was,  in  spite  of  his  freedom  and  inde- 
pendence, in  a  very  real  sense  "an  organ  of  the  Great  Being"  and 
the  great  being  was  humanity.  Under  the  title  of  humanity  Comte 
included  not  merely  all  living  human  beings,  i.e.,  the  human  race, 
but  he  included  all  that  body  of  tradition,  knowledge,  custom,  cultural 
ideas  and  ideals,  which  make  up  the  social  inheritance  of  the  race,  an 
inheritance  into  which  each  of  us  is  born,  to  which  we  contribute, 
and  which  we  inevitably  hand  on  through  the  processes  of  education 
and  tradition  to  succeeding  generations.  This  is  what  Comte  meant 
by  the  social  organism. 

If  Comte  thought  of  the  social  organism,  the  great  being,  some- 
what mystically  as  itself  an  individual  and  a  person,  Herbert  Spencer, 
on  the  other  hand,  thought  of  it  realistically  as  a  great  animal,  a 
leviathan,  as  Hobbes  called  it,  and  a  very  low-order  leviathan  at 
that.* 

Spencer's  manner  of  looking  at  the  social  organism  may  be  illus- 
trated in  what  he  says  about  growth  in  "social  aggregates." 

When  we  say  that  growth  is  common  to  social  aggregates  and  organic 
aggregates,  we  do  not  thus  entirely  exclude  community  with  inorganic  aggre- 
gates. Some  of  these,  as  crystals,  grow  in  a  visible  manner;  and  all  of 
them  on  the  hypothesis' of  evolution,  have  arisen  by  integration  at  some 
time  or  other.  Nevertheless,  compared  with  things  we  call  inanimate, 
living  bodies  and  societies  so  conspicuously  exhibit  augmentation  of  mass, 
that  we  may  fairly  regard  this  as  characterizing  them  both.  Many  organ- 
isms grow  throughout  their  lives;  and  the  rest  grow  throughout  considerable 

1  Ibid.,  p.  234. 

3  Hobbes's  statement  is  as  follows:  "For  by  art  is  created  that  great  Leviathan 
called  a  Commonwealth,  or  State,  in  Latin  Civitas,  which  is  but  an  artificial  man; 
though  of  greater  stature  and  strength  than  the  natural,  for  whose  protection  and 
defence  it  was  intended;  and  in  which  the  sovereignty  is  an  artificial  soul,  as  giving 
life  and  motion  to  the  whole  body;  the  magistrates,  and  other  officers  of  judicature, 
artificial  joints;  reward  and  punishment,  by  which  fastened  to  the  seat  of  the  sover- 
eignty every  joint  and  member  is  moved  to  perform  his  duty,  are  the  nerves,  that  do 
the  same  in  the  body  natural."  Spencer  criticizes  this  conception  of  Hobbes  as 
representing  society  as  a  "factitious"  and  artificial  rather  than  a  "natural" 
product.  Herbert  Spencer,  The  Principles  of  Sociology  (London,  1893),  I,  437, 
579-80.  See  also  chap,  iii,  "Social  Growth,"  pp.  453-58. 


26  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

parts  of  their  lives.     Social  growth  usually  continues  either  up  to  times 
when  the  societies  divide,-  or  up  to  times  when  they  are  overwhelmed. 

Here,  then,  is  the  first  trait  by  which  societies  ally  themselves  with  the 
organic  world  and  substantially  distinguish  themselves  from  the  inorganic 
A-orld.1 

In  this  same  way,  comparing  the  characteristic  general  features 
of  "social"  and  "living  bodies,"  noting  likeness  and  differences, 
particularly  with  reference  to  complexity  of  structure,  differentiation 
of  function,  division  of  labor,  etc.,  Spencer  gives  a  perfectly  naturalistic 
account  of  the  characteristic  identities  and  differences  between 
societies  and  animals,  between  sociological  and  biological  organiza- 
tions. It  is  in  respect  to  the  division  of  labor  that  the  analogy 
between  societies  and  animals  goes  farthest  and  is  most  significant. 

This  division  of  labour,  first  dwelt  upon  by  political  economists  as  a 
social  phenomenon,  and  thereupon  recognized  by  biologists  as  a  phenomenon 
of  living  bodies,  which  they  called  the  "physiological  division  of  labour," 
is  that  which  in  the  society,  as  in  the  animal,  makes  it  a  living  whole. 
Scarcely  can  I  emphasize  enough  the  truth  that  in  respect  of  this  funda- 
mental trait,  a  social  organism  and  an  individual  organism  are  entirely 
alike.4 

The  "social  aggregate,"  although  it  is  "discrete"  instead  of 
"concrete" — that  is  to  say,  composed  of  spatially  separated  units — 
is  nevertheless,  because  of  the  mutual  dependence  of  these  units 
upon  one  another  as  exhibited  in  the  division  of  labor,  to  be  regarded 
as  a  living  whole.  It  is  "a  living  whole"  in  much  the  same  way  that 
the  plant  and  animal  communities,  of  which  the  ecologists  are  now 
writing  so  interestingly,  are  a  living  whole;  not  because  of  any 
intrinsic  relations  between  the  individuals  who  compose  them,  but 
because  each  individual  member  of  the  community,  finds  in  the  com- 
munity as  a  whole,  a  suitable  milieu,  an  environment  adapted  to 
his  needs  and  one  to  which  he  is  able  to  adapt  himself. 

Of  such  a  society  as  this  it  may  indeed  be  said,  that  it  "exists 
for  the  benefit  of  its  members,  not  its  members  for  the  benefit  of 
society.  It  has  ever  to  be  remembered  that  great  as  may  be  the 
efforts  made  for  the  prosperity  of  the  body  politic,  yet  the  claims  of 
the  body  politic  are  nothing  in  themselves,  and  become  something 

1  Herbert  Spencer,  op-  cit.,  I,  437. 
1  Ibid.,  p.  440. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  27 

only  in  so  far  as  they  embody  the  claims  of  its  component  indi- 
viduals."1 

In  other  words,  the  social  organism,  as  Spencer  sees  it,  exists 
not  for  itself  but  for  the  benefit  of  the  separate  organs  of  which  it  is 
composed,  whereas,  in  the  case  of  biological  organism  the  situation 
is  reversed.  There  the  parts  manifestly  exist  for  the  whole  and  not 
the  whole  for  the  parts. 

Spencer  explains  this  paradoxical  conclusion  by  the  reflection 
that  in  social  organisms  sentience  is  not  localized  as  it  is  in  biological 
organisms.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  cardinal  difference  between  the  two. 
There  is  no  social  sensorium. 

In  the  one  (the  individual),  consciousness  is  concentrated  in  a  small 
part  of  the  aggregate.  In  the  other  (society),  it  is  diffused  throughout  the 
aggregate:  all  the  units  possess  the  capacities  for  happiness  and  misery,  it 
not  in  equal  degrees,  still  in  degrees  that  approximate.  As  then,  there  is  no 
social  sensorium,  the  welfare  of  the  aggregate,  considered  apart  from  that  of 
the  units,  is  not  an  end  to  be  sought.  The  society  exists  for  the  benefit 
of  its  members;  not  its  members  for  the  benefit  of  the  society.2 

The  point  is  that  society,  as  distinct  from  the  individuals  who 
compose  it,  has  no  apparatus  for  feeling  pain  or  pleasure.  There 
are  no  social  sensations.  Perceptions  and  mental  imagery  are  indi- 
vidual and  not  social  phenomena.  Society  lives,  so  to  speak,  only 
in  its  separate  organs  or  members,  and  each  of  these  organs  has  its 
own  brain  and  organ  of  control  which  gives  it,  among  other  things, 
the  power  of  independent  locomotion.  This  is  what  is  meant  when 
society  is  described  as  a  collectivity. 

VI.      SOCIAL  CONTROL  AND   SCHOOLS   OF   THOUGHT 

The  fundamental  problem  which  Spencer's  paradox  raises  is 
that  of  social  control.  How  does  a  mere  collection  of  individuals 
succeed  in  acting  in  a  corporate  and  consistent  v/ay?  How  in  the 
case  of  specific  types  of  social  group,  for  example  an  animal  herd, 
a  boys'  gang,  or  a  political  party,  does  the  group  control  its  individual 
members;  the  whole  dominate  the  parts?  What  are  the  specific 
sociological  differences  between  plant  and  animal  communities  and 
human  society  ?  What  kind  of  differences  are  sociological  differences, 

llbid.,  p.  450.  '  Ibid.,  pp.  449-50. 


28  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  what  do  we  mean  in  general  by  the  expression  "sociological" 
anyway  ? 

Since  Spencer's  essay  on  the  social  organism  was  published  in  i860,1 
this  problem  and  these  questions,  in  one  form  or  another,  have  largely 
absorbed  the  theoretical  interest  of  students  of  society.  The  attempts 
to  answer  them  may  be  said  to  have  created  the  existing  schools  into 
which  sociologists  are  divided. 

A  certain  school  of  writers,  among  them  Paul  Lilienfeld,  Albert 
Schaeffle,  and  Rene  Worms,  have  sought  to  maintain,  to  extend,  or 
modify  the  biological  analogy  first  advanced  by  Spencer.  In  doing 
so  they  have  succeeded  sometimes  in  restating  the  problem  but  have 
not  solved  it.  Rene  Worms  has  been  particularly  ingenious  in  dis- 
covering identities  and  carrying  out  the  parallelism  between  the  social 
and  the  biological  organizations.  As  a  result  he  has  reached  the 
conclusion  that,  as  between  a  social  and  a  biological  organism,  there 
is  no  difference  of  kind  but  only  one  of  degree.  Spencer,  who  could 
not  find  a  "social  sensorium,"  said  that  society  was  conscious  only  in 
the  individuals  who  composed  it.  Worms,  on  the  other  hand,  declares 
that  we  must  assume  the  existence  of  a  social  consciousness,  even 
without  a  sensorium,  because  we  see  everywhere  the  evidence  of  its 
existence. 

Force  manifests  itself  by  its  effects.  If  there  are  certain  phenomena 
that  we  can  only  make  intelligible,  provided  we  regard  them  as  the  products 
of  collective  social  consciousness,  then  we  are  bound  to  assume  the  existence 
of  such  a  consciousness.  There  are  many  illustrations  ....  the  attitude 
for  example,  of  a  crowd  in  the  presence  of  a  crime.  Here  the  sentiment  of 
indignation  is  unanimous.  A  murderer,  if  taken  in  the  act,  will  get  summary 
justice  from  the  ordinary  crowd.  That  method  of  rendering  justice,  "lynch 
law,"  is  deplorable,  but  it  illustrates  the  intensity  of  the  sentiment  which, 
at  the  moment,  takes  possession  of  the  social  consciousness. 

Thus,  always  in  the  presence  of  great  and  common  danger  the  collective 
consciousness  of  society  is  awakened;  for  example  France  of  the  Valois 
after  the  Treaty  of  Troyes,  or  modern  France  before  the  invasion  of  1791 
and  before  the  German  invasion  in  1870;  or  Germany,  herself,  after  the 
victories  of  Napoleon  I.  This  sentiment  of  national  unity,  born  of  resistance 
to  the  stranger,  goes  so  far  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  members  of  society 
do  not  hesitate  to  give  their  lives  for  the  safety  and  glory  of  the  state; 
at  such  a  moment  the  individual  comprehends  that  he  is  only  a  small  part  of 

1  Westminster  Review,  January,  1860. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  29 

a  large  whole  and  that  he  belongs  to  the  collectivity  of  which  he  is  a  member. 
The  proof  that  he  is  entirely  penetrated  by  the  social  consciousness  is  the 
fact  that  in  order  to  maintain  its  existence  he  is  willing  to  sacrifice  his  own.1 

There  is  no  question  that  the  facts  of  crowd  excitement,  of  class, 
caste,  race,  and  national  consciousness,  do  show  the  way  in  which 
the  individual  members  of  a  group  are,  or  seem  to  be,  dominated, 
at  certain  moments  and  under  certain  circumstances,  by  the  group  as 
a  whole.  Worms  gives  to  this  fact,  and  the  phenomena  which 
accompany  it,  the  title  "collective  consciousness."  This  gives  the 
problem  a  name,  to  be  sure,  but  not  a  solution.  What  the  purpose 
of  sociology  requires  is  a  description  and  an  explanation.  Under 
what  conditions,  precisely,  does  this  phenomenon  of  collective  con- 
sciousness arise  ?  What  are  the  mechanisms — physical,  physiological, 
and  social — by  which  the  group  imposes  its  control,  or  what  seems  to 
be  control,  upon  the  individual  members  of  the  group  ? 

This  question  had  arisen  and  been  answered  by  political  phi- 
losophers, in  terms  of  political  philosophy,  long  before  sociology 
attempted  to  give  an  objective  account  of  the  matter.  Two  classic 
phrases,  Aristotle's  "Man  is  a  political  animal"  and  Hobbes's  "War 
of  each  against  all,"  omnes  bellum  omnium,  measure  the  range  and 
divergence  of  the  schools  upon  this  topic. 

According  to  Hobbes,  the  existing  moral  and  political  order — 
that  is  to  say  the  organization  of  control — is  in  any  community  a 
mere  artefact,  a  control  resting  on  consent,  supported  by  a  prudent 
calculation  of  consequences,  and  enforced  by  an  external  power. 
Aristotle,  on  the  other  hand,  taught  that  man  was  made  for  life  in 
society  just  as  the  bee  is  made  for  life  in  the  hive.  The  relations 
between  the  sexes,  as  well  as  those  between  mother  and  child,  are 
manifestly  predetermined  in  the  physiological  organization  of  the 
individual  man  and  woman.  Furthermore,  man  is,  by  his  instincts 
and  his  inherited  dispositions,  predestined  to  a  social  existence 
beyond  the  intimate  family  circle.  Society  must  be  conceived, 
therefore,  as  a  part  of  nature,  like  a  beaver's  dam  or  the  nests  of 
birds. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  man  and  society  present  themselves  in  a 
double  aspect.  They  are  at  the  same  time  products  of  nature  and 

1  Rene  Worms,  Organisme  et  Socitte,  "  BibliothSque  Sociologique  Interna- 
tionale" (Paris,  1896),  pp.  210-13. 


30  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  human  artifice.  Just  as  a  stone  hammer  in  the  hand  of  a  savage 
may  be  regarded  as  an  artificial  extension  of  the  natural  man,  so 
tools,  machinery,  technical  and  administrative  devices,  including 
the  formal  organization  of  government  and  the  informal  "political 
machine,"  may  be  regarded  as  more  or  less  artificial  extensions  of 
the  natural  social  group. 

So  far  as  this  is  true,  the  conflict  between  Hobbes  and  Aristotle 
is  not  absolute.  Society  is  a  product  both  of  nature  and  of  design, 
of  instinct  and  of  reason.  If,  in  its  formal  aspect,  society  is  therefore 
an  artefact,  it  is  one  which  connects  up  with  and  has  its  roots  in 
nature  and  in  human  nature. 

This  does  not  explain  social  control  but  simplifies  the  problem 
of  corporate  action.  It  makes  clear,  at  any  rate,  that  as  members 
of  society,  men  act  as  they  do  elsewhere  from  motives  they  do  not 
fully  comprehend,  in  order  to  fulfil  aims  of  which  they  are  but  dimly 
or  not  at  all  conscious.  Men  are  activated,  in  short,  not  merely  by 
interests,  in  which  they  are  conscious  of  the  end  they  seek,  but  also 
by  instincts  and  sentiments,  the  source  and  meaning  of  which  they 
do  not  clearly  comprehend.  Men  work  for  wages,  but  they  will  die 
to  preserve  their  status  in  society,  or  commit  murder  to  resent  an 
insult.  When  men  act  thus  instinctively,  or  under  the  influence  of 
the  mores,  they  are  usually  quite  unconscious  of  the  sources  of  the 
impulses  that  animate  them  or  of  the  ends  which  are  realized 
through  their  acts.  Under  the  influence  of  the  mores  men  act 
typically,  and  so  representatively,  not  as  individuals  but  as  members 
of  a  group. 

The  simplest  type  of  social  group  in  which  we  may  observe 
"social  control"  is  in  a  herd  or  a  flock.  The  behavior  of  a  herd  of 
cattle  is,  to  be  sure,  not  so  uniform  nor  so  simple  a  matter  as  it  seems 
to  the  casual  observer,  but  it  may  be  very  properly  taken  as  an 
illustration  of  the  sort  of  follow-the-leader  uniformity  that  is  more  or 
less  characteristic  of  all  social  groups.  We  call  the  disposition  to  live 
in  the  herd  and  to  move  in  masses,  gregarlousness,  and  this  gregarious- 
ness  is  ordinarily  regarded  as  an  instinct  and  undoubtedly  is  pretty 
regally  determined  in  the  original  nature  of  gregarious  animals. 

There  is  a  school  of  thought  which  seeks  in  the  so-called  gregari- 
ous instincts  an  explanation  of  all  that  is  characteristically  social  hi 
the  behavior  of  human  beings. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  31 

The  cardinal  quality  of  the  herd  is  homogeneity.  It  is  clear  that  the 
great  advantage  of  the  social  habit  is  to  enable  large  numbers  to  act  as  one, 
whereby  in  the  case  of  the  hunting  gregarious  animal  strength  in  pursuit 
and  attack  is  at  once  increased  to  beyond  that  of  the  creatures  preyed  upon, 
and  in  protective  socialism  the  sensitiveness  of  the  new  unit  to  alarms  is 
greatly  in  excess  of  that  of  the  individual  member  of  the  flock. 

To  secure  these  advantages  of  homogeneity,  it  is  evident  that  the  mem- 
bers of  the  herd  must  possess  sensitiveness  to  the  behaviour  of  their  fellows. 
The  individual  isolated  will  be  of  no  meaning,  the  individual  as  a  part  of 
the  herd  will  be  capable  of  transmitting  the  most  potent  impulses.  Each 
member  of  the  flock  tending  to  follow  its  neighbour  and  in  turn  to  be 
followed,  each  is  in  some  sense  capable  of  leadership;  but  no  lead  will 
be  followed  that  departs  widely  from  normal  behaviour.  A  lead  will  be 
followed  only  from  its  resemblance  to  the  normal.  If  the  leader  go  so 
far  ahead  as  definitely  to  cease  to  be  in  the  herd,  he  will  necessarily  be 
ignored. 

The  original  in  conduct,  that  is  to  say,  resistiveness  to  the  voice  of  the 
herd,  will  be  suppressed  by  natural  selection;  the  wolf  which  does  not  follow 
the  impulses  of  the  herd  will  be  starved;  the  sheep  which  does  not  respond 
to  the  flock  will  be  eaten. 

Again,  not  only  will  the  individual  be  responsive  to  impulses  coming 
from  the  herd,  but  he  will  treat  the  herd  as  his  normal  environment.  The 
impulse  to  be  in  and  always  to  remain  with  the  herd  will  have  the  strongest 
instinctive  weight.  Anything  which  tends  to  separate  him  from  his  fellows, 
as  soon  as  it  becomes  perceptible  as  such,  will  be  strongly  resisted.1 

According  to  sociologists  of  this  school,  public  opinion,  conscience, 
and  authority  in  the  state  rest  upon  the  natural  disposition  of  the 
animal  in  the  herd  to  conform  to  "the  decrees  of  the  herd." 

Conscience,  then,  and  the  feelings  of  guilt  and  of  duty  are  the  peculiar 
possessions  of  the  gregarious  animal.  A  dog  and  a  cat  caught  in  the  com- 
mission of  an  offence  will  both  recognize  that  punishment  is  coming;  but  the 
dog,  moreover,  knows  that  he  has  done  wrong,  and  he  will  come  to  be 
punished,  unwillingly  it  is  true,  and  as  if  dragged  along  by  some  power 
outside  him,  while  the  cat's  sole  impulse  is  to  escape.  The  rational  recog- 
nition of  the  sequence  of  act  and  punishment  is  equally  clear  to  the  gregari- 
ous and  to  the  solitary  animal,  but  it  is  the  former  only  who  understands 
that  he  has  committed  a  crime,  who  has,  in  fact,  the  sense  of  sin.2 

1 W.  Trotter,  Instincts  of  the  Herd  in  Peace  and  War  (New  York,  1916), 
pp.  29-30. 

2  Ibid.,  pp.  40-41. 


32  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  concept  upon  which  this  explanation  of  society  rests  is 
homogeneity.  If  animals  or  human  beings  act  under  all  circumstances 
in  the  same  way,  they  will  act  or  seem  to  act,  as  if  they  had  a  common 
purpose.  If  everybody  follows  the  crowd,  if  everyone  wears  the 
same  clothes,  utters  the  same  trite  remarks,  rallies  to  the  same 
battles  cries  and  is  everywhere  dominated,  even  in  his  most  char- 
acteristically individual  behavior,  by  an  instinctive  and  passionate 
desire  to  conform  to  an  external  model  and  to  the  wishes  of  the  herd, 
then  we  have  an  explanation  of  everything  characteristic  of  society — 
except  the  variants,  the  nonconformists,  the  idealists,  and  the  rebels. 
The  herd  instinct  may  be  an  explanation  of  conformity  but  it  does 
not  explain  variation.  Variation  is  an  important  fact  in  society  as  it 
is  in  nature  generally. 

Homogeneity  and  like-mindedness  are,  as  explanations  of  the 
social  behavior  of  men  and  animals,  very  closely  related  concepts. 
In  "like  response  to  like  stimulus,"  we  may  discern  the  beginning 
of  "concerted  action"  and  this,  it  is  urged,  is  the  fundamental  social 
fact.  This  is  the  "like-mindedness"  theory  of  society  which  has 
been  given  wide  popularity  in  the  United  States  through  the  writings 
of  Professor  Franklin  Henry  Giddings.  He  describes  it  as  a  "devel- 
oped form  of  the  instinct  theory,  dating  back  to  Aristotle's  aphorism 
that  man  is  a  political  animal." 

Any  given  stimulus  may  happen  to  be  felt  by  more  than  one  organism, 
at  the  same  or  at  different  times.  Two  or  more  organisms  may  respond  to 
the  same  given  stimulus  simultaneously  or  at  different  times.  They  may 
respond  to  the  same  given  stimulus  in  like  or  in  unlike  ways;  in  the  same  or 
in  different  degrees;  with  like  or  with  unlike  promptitude;  with  equal  or 
with  unequal  persistence.  I  have  attempted  to  show  that  in  like  response 
to  the  same  given  stimulus  we  have  the  beginning,  the  absolute  origin,  of  all 
concerted  activity — the  inception  of  every  conceivable  form  of  co-operation; 
while  in  unlike  response,  and  in  unequal  response,  we  have  the  beginning 
of  all  those  processes  of  individuation,  of  differentiation,  of  competition, 
which  in  their  endlessly  varied  relations  to  combination,  to  co-operation, 
bring  about  the  infinite  complexity  of  organized  social  life.1 

Closely  related,  logically  if  not  historically,  to  Giddings'  con- 
ception of  "like-mindedness"  is  Gabriel  Tarde's  conception  of 

1  Franklin  Henry  Giddings,  The  Concepts  and  Methods  of  Sociology,  Congress  of 
Arts  and  Science,  Universal  Exposition  (St.  Louis,  1904),  pp.  789-90. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  33 

"imitation."  If  for  Giddings  "like  response  to  like  stimulus"  is  the 
fundamental  social  fact,  for  Tarde  "imitation"  is  the  process  through 
which  alone  society  exists.  Society,  said  Tarde,  exists  in  imitation. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Tarde's  doctrine  may  be  regarded  as  a  corollary  to 
Giddings'.  Imitation  is  the  process  by  which  that  like-mindedness, 
by  which  Giddings  explains  corporate  action,  is  effected.  Men  are 
not  born  like-minded,  they  are  made  so  by  imitation. 

This  minute  inter-agreement  of  minds  and  wills,  which  forms  the  basis 
of  the  social  life,  even  in  troublous  times — this  presence  of  so  many  common 
ideas,  ends,  and  means,  in  the  minds  and  wills  of  all  members  of  the  same 
society  at  any  given  moment — is  not  due,  I  maintain,  to  organic  heredity, 
which  insures  the  birth  of  men  quite  similar  to  one  another,  nor  to  mere 
identity  of  geographical  environment,  which  offers  very  similar  resources 
to  talents  that  are  nearly  equal;  it  is  rather  the  effect  of  that  suggestion- 
imitation  process  which,  starting  from  one  primitive  creature  possessed  of  a 
single  idea  or  act,  passed  this  copy  on  to  one  of  its  neighbors,  then  to  another, 
and  so  on.  Organic  needs  and  spiritual  tendencies  exist  in  us  only  as 
potentialities  which  are  realizable  under  the  most  diverse  forms,  in  spite  of 
their  primitive  similarity;  and,  among  all  these  possible  realizations,  the 
indications  furnished  by  some  first  initiator  who  is  imitated  determine  which 
one  is  actually  chosen.1 

In  contrast  with  these  schools,  which  interpret  action  in  terms  of 
the  herd  and  the  flock — i.e.,  men  act  together  because  they  act 
alike — is  the  theory  of  Emile  Durkheim  who  insists  that  the  social 
group  has  real  corporate  existence  and  that,  in  human  societies  at 
least,  men  act  together  not  because  they  have  like  purposes  but 
a  common  purpose.  This  common  purpose  imposes  itself  upon  the 
individual  members  of  a  society  at  the  same  time  as  an  ideal,  a  wish 
and  an  obligation.  Conscience,  the  sense  of  obligation  which  mem- 
bers of  a  group  feel  only  when  there  is  conflict  between  the  wishes 
of  the  individual  and  the  will  of  the  group,  is  a  manifestation,  in  the 
individual  consciousness,  of  the  coUective  mind  and  the  group  will. 
The  mere  fact  that  in  a  panic  or  a  stampede,  human  beings  will  some- 
times, like  the  Gadarene  swine,  rush  down  a  steep  place  into  the  sea, 
is  a  very  positive  indication  of  like-mindedness  but  not  an  evidence  of 
a  common  purpose.  The  difference  between  an  animal  herd  and  a 
human  crowd  is  that  the  crowd,  what  Le  Bon  calls  the  "organized 
crowd,"  the  crowd  "in  being"  to  use  a  nautical  term,  is  dominated  by 

'G.  Tarde,  op.  cit.,  pp.  38-39. 


34  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

an  impulse  to  achieve  a  purpose  that  is  common  to  every  member  of 
the  group.  Men  hi  a  state  of  panic,  on  the  other  hand,  although 
equally  under  the  influence  of  the  mass  excitement,  act  not  corpo- 
rately  but  individually,  each  individual  wildly  seeking  to  save  his 
own  skin.  Men  in  a  state  of  panic  have  like  purposes  but  no 
common  purpose.  If  the  "organized  crowd,"  "the  psychological 
crowd,"  is  a  society  "in  being,"  the  panic  and  the  stampede  is  a 
society  "in  dissolution." 

Durkheim  does  not  use  these  illustrations  nor  does  he  express 
himself  in  these  terms.  The  conception  of  the  "organized"  or 
"psychological"  crowd  is  not  his,  but  Le  Bon's.  The  fact  is  that 
Durkheim  does  not  think  of  a  society  as  a  mere  sum  of  particulars. 
Neither  does  he  think  of  the  sentiments  nor  the  opinions  which 
dominate  the  social  group  as  private  and  subjective.  When  indi- 
viduals come  together  under  certain  circumstances,  the  opinions  and 
sentiments  which  they  held  as  individuals  are  modified  and  changed 
under  the  influence  of  the  new  contacts.  Out  of  the  fermentation 
which  association  breeds,  a  new  something  (autre  chose)  is  produced, 
an  opinion  and  sentiment,  in  other  words,  that  is  not  the  sum  of,  and 
not  like,  the  sentiments  and  opinions  of  the  individuals  from  which  it 
is  derived.  This  new  sentiment  and  opinion  is  public,  and  social, 
and  the  evidence  of  this  is  the  fact  that  it  imposes  itself  upon  the 
individuals  concerned  as  something  more  or  less  external  to  them. 
They  feel  it  either  as  an  inspiration,  a  sense  of  personal  release  and 
expansion,  or  as  an  obligation,  a  pressure  and  an  inhibition.  The 
characteristic  social  phenomenon  is  just  this  control  by  the  group 
as  a  whole  of  the  individuals  that  compose  it.  This  fact  of  control, 
then,  is  the  fundamental  social  fact. 

Now  society  also  gives  the  sensation  of  a  perpetual  dependence.  Since 
it  has  a  nature  which  is  peculiar  to  itself  and  different  from  our  individual 
nature,  it  pursues  ends  which  are  likewise  special  to  it;  but,  as  it  cannot 
attain  them  except  through  our  intermediacy,  it  imperiously  demands  our 
aid.  It  requires  that,  forgetful  of  our  own  interests,  we  make  ourselves 
its  servitors,  and  it  submits  us  to  every  sort  of  inconvenience,  privation 
and  sacrifice,  without  which  social  life  would  be  impossible.  It  is  because 
of  this  that  at  every  instant  we  are  obliged  to  submit  ourselves  to  rules  of 
conduct  and  of  thought  which  we  have  neither  made  nor  desired,  and  which 
are  sometimes  even  contrary  to  our  most  fundamental  inclinations  and 
instincts. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  35 

Even  if  society  were  unable  to  maintain  these  concessions  and  sacrifices 
from  us  except  by  a  material  constraint,  it  might  awaken  in  us  only  the  idea 
of  a  physical  force  to  which  we  must  give  way  of  necessity,  instead  of  that  of 
a  moral  power  such  as  religions  adore.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  empire 
which  it  holds  over  consciences  is  due  much  less  to  the  physical  supremacy 
of  which  it  has  the  privilege  than  to  the  moral  authority  with  which  it  is 
invested.  If  we  yield  to  its  orders,  it  is  not  merely  because  it  is  strong 
enough  to  triumph  over  our  resistance;  it  is  primarily  because  it  is  the 
object  of  a  venerable  respect. 

Now  the  ways  of  action  to  which  society  is  strongly  enough  attached  to 
impose  them  upon  its  members,  are,  by  that  very  fact,  marked  with  a  dis- 
tinctive sign  provocative  of  respect.  Since  they  are  elaborated  in  common, 
the  vigour  with  which  they  have  been  thought  of  by  each  particular  mind 
is  retained  in  all  the  other  minds,  and  reciprocally.  The  representations 
which  express  them  within  each  of  us  have  an  intensity  which  no  purely 
private  states  of  consciousness  could  ever  attain;  for  they  have  the  strength 
of  the  innumerable  individual  representations  which  have  served  to  form 
each  of  them.  It  is  society  who  speaks  through  the  mouths  of  those  who 
affirm  them  in  our  presence;  it  is  society  whom  we  hear  in  hearing 
them;  and  the  voice  of  all  has  an  accent  which  that  of  one  alone  could  never 
have.  The  very  violence  with  which  society  reacts,  by  way  of  blame  or 
material  suppression,  against  every  attempted  dissidence,  contributes  to 
strengthening  its  empire  by  manifesting  the  common  conviction  through 
this  burst  of  ardour.  In  a  word,  when  something  is  the  object  of  such  a 
state  of  opinion,  the  representation  which  each  individual  has  of  it  gains 
a  power  of  action  from  its  origins  and  the  conditions  in  which  it  was  born, 
which  even  those  feel  who  do  not  submit  themselves  to  it.  It  tends  to  repel 
the  representations  which  contradict  it,  and  it  keeps  them  at  a  distance; 
on  the  other  hand  it  commands  those  acts  which  will  realize  it,  and  it  does 
so,  not  by  a  material  coercion  or  by  the  perspective  of  something  of  this 
sort,  but  by  the  simple  radiation  of  the  mental  energy  which  it  contains.1 

But  the  same  social  forces,  which  are  found  organized  in  public 
opinion,  in  religious  symbols,  in  social  convention,  in  fashion,  and  in 
science — for  "if  a  people  did  not  have  faith  in  science  all  the  scientific 
demonstrations  in  the  world  would  be  without  any  influence  whatso- 
ever over  their  minds" — are  constantly  re-creating  the  old  order, 
making  new  heroes,  overthrowing  old  gods,  creating  new  myths,  and 
imposing  new  ideals.  And  this  is  the  nature  of  the  cultural  process 
of  which  sociology  is  a  description  and  an  explanation. 

1  Emile  Durkheim,  Elementary  Forms  of  Religious  Life  (New  York,  1915), 
pp.  206-8. 


36  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

VII.      SOCIAL  CONTROL  AND  THE   COLLECTIVE  MIND 

Durkheim  is  sometimes  referred  to,  in  comparison  with  other 
contemporary  sociologists,  as  a  realist.  This  is  a  reference  to  the 
controversy  of  the  medieval  philosophers  in  regard  to  the  nature  of 
concepts.  Those  who  thought  a  concept  a  mere  class-name  applied 
to  a  group  of  objects  because  of  some  common  characteristics  were 
called  nominalists.  Those  who  thought  the  concept  was  real,  and 
not  the  name  of  a  mere  collection  of  individuals,  were  realists.  In 
this  sense  Tarde  and  Giddings  and  all  those  writers  who  think  of 
society  as  a  collection  of  actually  or  potentially  like-minded  persons 
would  be  nominalists,  while  other  writers  like  Simmel,  Ratzenhofer, 
and  Small,  who  think  of  society  in  terms  of  interaction  and  social 
process  may  be  called  realists.  They  are  realist,  at  any  rate,  in  so 
far  as  they  think  of  the  members  of  a  society  as  bound  together  in  a 
system  of  mutual  influences  which  has  sufficient  character  to  be 
described  as  a  process. 

Naturally  this  process  cannot  be  conceived  of  in  terms  of  space 
or  physical  proximity  alone.  Social  contacts  and  social  forces  are  of 
a  subtler  sort  but  not  less  real  than  physical.  We  know,  for  example, 
that  vocations  are  largely  determined  by  personal  competition;  that 
the  solidarity  of  what  Sumner  calls  the  "in"  or  "we"  group  is  largely 
determined  by  its  conflict  with  the  "out"  or  "other"  groups.  We 
know,  also,  that  the  status  and  social  position  of  any  individual  inside 
any  social  group  is  determined  by  his  relation  to  all  other  members  of 
that  group  and  eventually  of  all  other  groups.  These  are  illustrations 
of  what  is  meant  concretely  by  social  interaction  and  social  process 
and  it  is  considerations  of  this  kind  which  seem  to  justify  certain 
writers  in  thinking  of  individual  persons  as  "parts"  and  of  society  as  a 
"  whole  "  in  some  other  sense  than  that  in  which  a  dust  heap  is  a  whole 
of  which  the  individual  particles  are  parts. 

Society  not  only  continues  to  exist  by  transmission,  by  communication, 
but  it  may  fairly  be  said  to  exist  in  transmission,  in  communication.  There 
is  more  than  a  verbal  tie  between  the  words  common,  community,  and  com- 
munication.1 

Communication,  if  not  identical  with,  is  at  least  a  form  of,  what 
has  been  referred  to  here  as  social  interaction.  But  communication 

1  John  Dewey,  Democracy  and  Education  (New  York,  1916),  p.  5. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  37 

as  Dewey  has  defined  the  term,  is  something  more  and  different 
than  what  Tarde  calls  "inter-stimulation."  Communication  is  a 
process  by  which  we  "transmit"  an  experience  from  an  individual 
to  another  but  it  is  also  a  process  by  which  these  same  individuals  get 
a  common  experience. 

Try  the  experiment  of  communicating,  with  fullness  and  accuracy,  some 
experience  to  another,  especially  if  it  be  somewhat  complicated,  and  you  will 
find  your  own  attitude  toward  your  experience  changing;  otherwise  you 
resort  to  expletives  and  ejaculations.  Except  in  dealing  with  common- 
places and  catch  phrases  one  has  to  assimilate,  imaginatively,  something  of 
another's  experience  in  order  to  tell  him  intelligently  of  one's  own  experience. 
All  communication  is  like  art.1 

Not  only  does  communication  involve  the  creation,  out  of  experi- 
ences that  are  individual  and  private,  of  an  experience  that  is  common 
and  public  but  such  a  common  experience  becomes  the  basis  for  a 
common  and  public  existence  in  which  every  individual,  to  greater 
or  less  extent,  participates  and  is  himself  a  part.  Furthermore,  as  a 
part  of  this  common  life,  there  grows  up  a  body  of  custom,  convention, 
tradition,  ceremonial,  language,  social  ritual,  public  opinion,  in 
short  all  that  Sumner  includes  under  the  term  "mores"  and  all  that 
ethnologists  include  under  the  term  "culture." 

The  thing  that  characterizes  Durkheim  and  his  followers  is  their 
insistence  upon  the  fact  that  all  cultural  materials,  and  expressions, 
including  language,  science,  religion,  public  opinion,  and  law,  since 
they  are  the  products  of  social  intercourse  and  social  interaction, 
are  bound  to  have  an  objective,  public,  and  social  character  such  as 
no  product  of  an  individual  mind  either  has  or  can  have.  Durkheim 
speaks  of  these  mental  products,  individual  and  social,  as  representa- 
tions. The  characteristic  product  of  the  individual  mind  is  the  per- 
cept, or,  as  Durkheim  describes  it,  the  "individual  representation." 
The  percept  is,  and  remains,  a  private  and  an  individual  matter. 
No  one  can  reproduce,  or  communicate  to  another,  subjective  impres- 
sions or  the  mental  imagery  in  the  concrete  form  in  which  they  come 
to  the  individual  himself.  My  neighbor  may  be  able  to  read  my 
"thoughts"  and  understand  the  motives  that  impel  me  to  action 
better  than  I  understand  myself,  but  he  cannot  reproduce  the  images, 
with  just  the  fringes  of  sense  and  feeling  with  which  they  come  to  my 
mind. 

1  Ibid.,  pp.  6-7. 


38  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  characteristic  product  of  a  group  of  individuals,  in  their 
efforts  to  communicate  is,  on  the  other  hand,  something  objective 
and  understood,  that  is,  a  gesture,  a  sign,  a  symbol,  a  word,  or  a 
concept  in  which  an  experience  or  purpose  that  was  private  becomes 
public.  This  gesture,  sign,  symbol,  concept,  or  representation  in 
which  a  common  object  is  not  merely  indicated,  but  in  a  sense  created, 
Durkheim  calls  a  "collective  representation." 

Dewey's  description  of  what  takes  place  in  communication  may  be 
taken  as  a  description  of  the  process  by  which  these  collective  repre- 
sentations come  into  existence.  "To  formulate  an  experience,"  as 
Dewey  says,  "requires  getting  outside  of  it,  seeing  it  as  another  would 
see  it,  considering  what  points  of  contact  it  has  with  the  life  of  another 
so  that  it  may  be  gotten  into  such  form  that  he  can  appreciate  its 
meaning."  The  result  of  such  a  conscious  effort  to  communicate 
an  experience  is  to  transform  it.  The  experience,  after  it  has  been 
communicated,  is  not  the  same  for  either  party  to  the  communication. 
To  publish  or  to  give  publicity  to  an  event  is  to  make  of  that  event 
something  other  than  it  was  before  publication.  Furthermore,  the 
event  as  published  is  still  something  different  from  the  event  as 
reflected  in  the  minds  of  the  individuals  to  whom  the  publication  is 
addressed. 

It  will  be  evident  upon  reflection  that  public  opinion  is  not  the 
opinion  of  all,  nor  even  of  a  majority  of  the  persons  who  compose  a 
public.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  what  we  ordinarily  mean  by  public 
opinion  is  never  the  opinion  of  anyone  in  particular.  It  is  composite 
opinion,  representing  a  general  tendency  of  the  public  as  a  whole. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  recognize  that  public  opinion  exists,  even 
when  we  do  not  know  of  any  individual  person,  among  those  who 
compose  the  public,  whose  private  and  personal  opinion  exactly  co- 
incides with  that  of  the  public  of  which  he  or  she  is  a  part. 

Nevertheless,  the  private  and  personal  opinion  of  an  individual 
who  participates  in  making  public  opinion  is  influenced  by  the  opinions 
of  those  around  him,  and  by  public  opinion.  In  this  sense  every 
opinion  is  public  opinion. 

Public  opinion,  in  respect  to  the  manner  in  which  it  is  formed  and 
the  manner  in  which  it  exists — that  is  to  say  relatively  independent 
of  the  individuals  who  co-operate  to  form  it — has  the  characteristics 
of  collective  representation  in  general.  Collective  representations  are 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  39 

objective,  in  just  the  sense  that  public  opinion  is  objective,  and  they 
impose  themselves  upon  the  individual  as  public  opinion  does,  as 
relatively  but  not  wholly  external  forces — stabilizing,  standardizing, 
conventionalizing,  as  well  as  stimulating,  extending,  and  generalizing 
individual  representations,  percepts. 

The  collective  representations  are  exterior  to  the  individual  conscious- 
ness because  they  are  not  derived  from  the  individuals  taken  in  isolation  but 

from  their  convergence  and  union  (concours) Doubtless,  in  the 

elaboration  of  the  common  result,  each  (individual)  bears  his  due  share;  but 
the  private  sentiments  do  not  become  social  except  by  combining  under 
the  action  of  the  forces  sui  generis  which  association  develops.  As  a  result 
of  these  combinations,  and  of  the  mutual  alterations  which  result  there- 
from, they  (the  private  sentiments)  become  something  else  (autre  chose). 
A  chemical  synthesis  results,  which  concentrates,  unifies,  the  elements 
synthetized,  and  by  that  very  process  transforms  them The  result- 
ant derived  therefrom  extends  then  beyond  (deborde)  the  individual  mind  as 
the  whole  is  greater  than  the  part.  To  know  really  what  it  is,  one  must 
take  the  aggregate  in  its  totality.  It  is  this  that  thinks,  that  feels,  that 
wills,  although  it  may  not  be  able  to  will,  feel,  or  act  save  by  the  inter- 
mediation of  individual  consciousnesses.1 

This,  then,  after  nearly  a  century  of  criticism,  is  what  remains 
of  Comte's  conception  of  the  social  organism.  If  society  is,  as  the 
realists  insist,  anything  more  than  a  collection  of  like-minded  indi- 
viduals, it  is  so  because  of  the  existence  (i)  of  a  social  process  and 
(2)  of  a  body  of  tradition  and  opinion — the  products  of  this  process — 
which  has  a  relatively  objective  character  and  imposes  itself  upon  the 
individual  as  a  form  of  control,  social  control.  This  process  and  its 
product  are  the  social  consciousness.  The  social  consciousness,  in  its 
double  aspect  as  process  and  product,  is  the  social  organism.  The 
controversy  between  the  realists  and  the  nominalists  reduces  itself 
apparently  to  this  question  of  the  objectivity  of  social  tradition  and 
of  public  opinion.  For  the  present  we  may  let  it  rest  there. 

Meanwhile  the  conceptions  of  the  social  consciousness  and  the 
social  mind  have  been  adopted  by  writers  on  social  topics  who  are 
not  at  all  concerned  with  their  philosophical  implications  or  legitimacy. 

1  fimile  Durkheim,  ''Representations  individuelles  et  representations  collect- 
ives," Revue  metaphysique,  VI  (1898),  295.  Quoted  and  translated  by  Charles 
Elmer  Gehlke,  ''Emile  Durkheim's  Contributions  to  Sociological  Theory,"  Studies 
in  History,  Economics,  and  Public  Law,  LXIII,  29-30. 


40  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

We  are  just  now  seeing  the  first  manifestations  of  two  new  types  of 
sociology  which  call  themselves,  the  One  rural  and  the  other  urban 
sociology.  Writers  belonging  to  these  two  schools  are  making  studies 
of  what  they  call  the  "rural"  and  the  "urban"  minds.  In  using 
these  terms  they  are  not  always  quite  certain  whether  the  mind  of 
which  they  are  thinking  is  a  collective  mind,  in  Durkheim's  realistic 
sense  of  the  word,  or  whether  it  is  the  mind  of  the  typical  inhabitant  of 
a  rural  or  an  urban  community,  an  instance  of  "like-mindedness," 
in  the  sense  of  Giddings  and  the  nominalists. 

A  similar  usage  of  the  word  "mind,"  "the  American  mind," 
for  example,  is  common  in  describing  characteristic  differences  in 
the  attitudes  of  different  nations  and  their  "nationals." 

The  origin  of  the  phrase,  "  the  American  mind,"  was  political.  Shortly 
after  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  there  began  to  be  a  distinctly 
American  way  of  regarding  the  debatable  question  of  British  Imperial 
control.  During  the  period  of  the  Stamp  Act  agitation  our  colonial-bred 
politicians  and  statesmen  made  the  discovery  that  there  was  a  mode  of 
thinking  and  feeling  which  was  native — or  had  by  that  time  become  a 
second  nature — to  all  the  colonists.  Jefferson,  for  example,  employs  those 
resonant  and  useful  words  "  the  American  mind"  to  indicate  that  throughout 
the  American  colonies  an  essential  unity  of  opinion  had  been  developed 
as  regards  the  chief  political  question  of  the  day.1 

Here  again,  it  is  not  quite  clear,  whether  the  American  mind  is  a 
name  for  a  characteristic  uniformity  in  the  minds  of  individual  Ameri- 
cans; whether  the  phrase  refers  rather  to  an  "essential  unity  of 
opinion,"  or  whether,  finally,  it  is  intended  to  cover  both  the  uniform- 
ity and  the  unity  characteristic  of  American  opinion. 

Students  of  labor  problems  and  of  the  so-called  class  struggle, 
on  the  other  hand,  use  the  term  "psychology"  in  much  the  same 
way  that  the  students  of  rural  and  urban  sociology  use  the  term 
"mind."  They  speak  of  the  "psychology"  of  the  laboring  class, 
the  "psychology"  of  the  capitalistic  class,  in  cases  where  psychology 
seems  to  refer  indifferently  either  to  the  social  attitudes  of  the  mem- 
bers of  a  class,  or  to  attitude  and  morale  of  the  class  as  a  whole. 

The  terms  "class-conscious"  and  "class-consciousness,"  "na- 
tional" and  "racial"  consciousness  are  now  familiar  terms  to  students 
although  they  seem  to  have  been  used,  first  of  all,  by  the  so-called 

1  Bliss  Perry,  The  American  Mind  (Boston,  1912),  p.  47. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  41 

"intelligentsia",  who  have  been  the  leaders  in  the  various  types  of 
mass  movement  to  which  these  terms  apply.  "Consciousnr  -,s,"  in 
the  sense  in  which  it  is  here  used,  has  a  similar,  though  somewhat 
different,  connotation  than  the  word  "mind"  when  applied  to  a 
group.  It  is  a  name  not  merely  for  the  attitudes  characteristic  of 
certain  races  or  classes,  but  for  these  attitudes  when  they  are  in  the 
focus  of  attention  of  the  group,  in  the  "fore-consciousness"  to  use  a 
Freudian  term.  In  this  sense  "conscious"  suggests  not  merely  the 
submergence  of  the  individual  and  the  consequent  solidarity  of  the 
group,  but  it  signifies  a  mental  mobilization  and  preparedness  of  the 
individual  and  of  the  group  for  collective  or  corporate  action.  To 
be  class-conscious  is  to  be  prepared  to  act  in  the  sense  of  that 
class. 

There  is  implicit  in  this  rather  ambiguous  popular  usage  of  the 
terms  "social  mind"  and  "social  consciousness"  a  recognition  of  the 
dual  aspect  of  society  and  of  social  groups.  Society  may  be  regarded 
at  the  same  time  from  an  individualistic  and  a  collectivistic  point  of 
view.  Looking  at  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  individual,  we 
regard  as  social  just  that  character  of  the  individual  which  has  been 
imparted  to,  and  impressed  upon,  him  as  a  result  of  his  participation  in 
the  life  of  the  group.  Social  psychology,  from  Baldwin's  first  studies 
of  the  development  of  personality  in  the  child  to  Ellwood's  studies 
of  the  society  in  its  "psychological  aspects"  has  been  mainly  con- 
cerned with  the  investigation  of  the  effects  upon  the  individual  of  his 
contacts  with  other  individuals.1 

On  the  other  hand,  we  have  had,  in  the  description  of  the  crowd 
and  the  public  by  Le  Bon,  Tarde,  Sighele,  and  their  successors, 
the  beginnings  of  a  study  of  collective  behavior  and  "corporate 
action."  In  these  two  points  of  view  we  seem  to  have  again  the 
contrast  and  the  opposition,  already  referred  to,  between  the  nominal- 
istic  and  realistic  conceptions  of  society.  Nominalism  represented 
by  social  psychology  emphasizes,  or  seems  to  emphasize,  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  individual.  Realism,  represented  by  collective 
psychology,  emphasizes  the  control  of  the  group  over  the  individual, 
of  the  whole  over  the  part. 

1  James  Mark  Baldwin,  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race  (New 
York  and  London,  1895);  Charles  A.  Ellwood,  Sociology  in  Its  Psychological 
Aspects  (New  York  and  London,  1912). 


42  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

While  it  is  true  that  society  has  this  double  aspect,  the  individual 
and  the  collective,  it  is  the  assumption  of  this  volume  that  the 
touchstone  of  society,  the  thing  that  distinguishes  a  mere  collection 
of  individuals  from  a  society  is  not  like-mindedness,  but  corporate 
action.  We  may  apply  the  term  social  to  any  group  of  individuals 
which  is  capable  of  consistent  action,  that  is  to  say,  action,  consciously 
or  unconsciously,  directed  to  a  common  end.  This  existence  of  a 
common  end  is  perhaps  all  that  can  be  legitimately  included  in  the 
conception  "organic"  as  applied  to  society. 

From  this  point  of  view  social  control  is  the  central  fact  and  the 
central  problem  of  society.  Just  as  psychology  may  be  regarded 
as  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  individual  organism,  as 
a  whole,  exercises  control  over  its  parts  or  rather  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  parts  co-operate  together  to  carry  on  the  corporate  existence 
of  the  whole,  so  sociology,  speaking  strictly,  is  a  point  of  view  and  a 
method  for  investigating  the  processes  by  which  individuals  are 
inducted  into  and  induced  to  co-operate  in  some  sort  of  permanent 
corporate  existence  which  we  call  society. 

To  put  this  emphasis  on  corporate  action  is  not  to  overlook  the 
fact  that  through  this  corporate  action  the  individual  member  of 
society  is  largely  formed,  not  to  say  created.  It  is  recognized,  however, 
that  if  corporate  action  tends  to  make  of  the  individual  an  instrument, 
as  well  as  an  organic  part,  of  the  social  group,  it  does  not  do  this  by 
making  him  "like"  merely;  it  may  do  so  by  making  him  "different." 
The  division  of  labor,  in  making  possible  an  ever  larger  and  wider 
co-operation  among  men,  has  indirectly  multiplied  individual  diversi- 
ties. What  like-mindedness  must  eventually  mean,  if  it  is  to  mean 
anything,  is  the  existence  of  so  much  of  a  consensus  among  the 
individuals  of  a  group  as  will  permit  the  group  to  act.  This,  then, 
is  what  is  meant  here  by  society,  the  social  organism  and  the  social 
group. 

Sociology,  so  far  as  it  can  be  regarded  as  a  fundamental  science 
and  not  mere  congeries  of  social-welfare  programs  and  practices, 
may  be  described  as  the  science  of  collective  behavior.  With  this 
definition  it  is  possible  to  indicate  in  a  general  and  schematic  way 
its  relation  to  the  other  social  sciences. 

Historically,  sociology  has  had  its  origin  in  history.  History  has 
been  and  is  the  great  mother  science  of  all  the  social  sciences.  Of 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES 


history  it  may  be  said  nothing  human  is  foreign  to  it.  Anthro- 
pology, ethnology,  folklore,  and  archaeology  have  grown  up  largely, 
if  not  wholly,  to  complete  the  task  which  history  began  and  answer 
the  questions  which  historical  investigation  first  raised.  In  history 
and  the  sciences  associated  with  it,  i.e.,  ethnology,  folklore,  and 
archaeology,  we  have  the  concrete  records  of  that  human  nature  and 
experience  which  sociology  has  sought  to  explain.  In  the  same  sense 
that  history  is  the  concrete,  sociology  is  the  abstract,  science  of 
human  experience  and  human  nature. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  technical  (applied)  social  sciences,  that 
is,  politics,  education,  social  service,  and  economics — so  far  as  eco- 
nomics may  be  regarded  as  the  science  of  business — are  related  to 


Archaeology 


Politics 


Educati 


Social  Service 
FIG.  i 


economics 


sociology  in  a  different  way.  They  are,  to  a  greater  or  lesser  extent, 
applications  of  principles  which  it  is  the  business  of  sociology  and  of 
psychology  to  deal  with  explicitly.  In  so  far  as  this  is  true,  sociology 
may  be  regarded  as  fundamental  to  the  other  social  sciences. 

VIII.      SOCIOLOGY  AND    SOCIAL  RESEARCH 

Among  the  schools  which,  since  Comte  and  Spencer,  have  divided 
sociological  thinking  between  them  the  realists  have,  on  the  whole, 
maintained  the  tradition  of  Comte;  the  nominalists,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  preserved  the  style  and  manner,  if  not  the  substance,  of 
Spencer's  thought.  Later  writers,  however,  realist  as  well  as  nominal- 
ist, have  directed  their  attention  less  to  society  than  to  societies,  i.e., 
social  groups;  they  have  been  less  interested  in  social  progress  than 


44  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

in  social  process;    more  concerned  with  social  problems  than  with 
social  philosophy. 

This  change  marks  the  transformation  of  sociology  from  a 
philosophy  of  history  to  a  science  of  society.  The  steps  in  this 
transition  are  periods  in  the  history  of  the  science,  that  is: 

1.  The  period  of  Comte  and  Spencer;    sociology,  conceived  in 
the  grand  style,  is  a  philosophy  of  history,  a  "science"  of  progress 
(evolution). 

2.  The  period  of  the  "schools";   sociological  thought,  dispersed 
among  the  various  schools,  is  absorbed  in  an  effort  to  define  its  point 
of  view  and  to  describe  the  kinds  of  facts  that  sociology  must  look  for 
to  answer  the  questions  that  sociology  asks. 

3.  The  period  of  investigation  and  research,   the  period  into 
which  sociology  is  just  now  entering. 

Sociological  research  is  at  present  (1921)  in  about  the  situation 
in  which  psychology  was  before  the  introduction  of  laboratory 
methods,  in  which  medicine  was  before  Pasteur  and  the  germ  theory 
of  disease.  A  great  deal  of  social  information  has  been  collected 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  determining  what  to  do  in  a  given  case. 
Facts  have  not  been  collected  to  check  social  theories.  Social  prob- 
lems have  been  defined  in  terms  of  common  sense,  and  facts  have 
been  collected,  for  the  most  part,  to  support  this  or  that  doctrine, 
not  to  test  it.  In  very  few  instances  have  investigations  been  made, 
disinterestedly,  to  determine  the  validity  of  a  hypothesis. 

Charles  Booth's  studies  of  poverty  in  London,  which  extended 
over  eighteen  years  and  were  finally  embodied  in  seventeen  volumes, 
is  an  example  of  such  a  disinterested  investigation.  It  is  an  attempt 
to  put  to  the  test  of  fact  the  popular  conception  of  the  relation  between 
wages  and  welfare.  He  says: 

My  object  has  been  to  attempt  to  show  the  numerical  relation  which 
poverty,  misery,  and  depravity  bear  to  regular  earnings  and  comparative 
comfort,  and  to  describe  the  general  conditions  under  which  each  class  lives. 

If  the  facts  thus  stated  are  of  use  in  helping  social  reformers  to  find 
remedies  for  the  evils  which  exist,  or  do  anything  to  prevent  the  adoption  of 
false  remedies,  my  purpose  is  answered.  It  was  not  my  intention  to  bring 
forward  any  suggestions  of  my  own,  and  if  I  have  ventured  here  and  there, 
and  especially  in  the  concluding  chapters,  to  go  beyond  my  programme,  it 
has  been  with  much  hesitation. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  45 

With  regard  to  the  disadvantages  under  which  the  poor  labour,  and  the 
evils  of  poverty,  there  is  a  great  sense  of  helplessness:  the  wage  earners  are 
helpless  to  regulate  their  work  and  cannot  obtain  a  fair  equivalent  for  the 
labour  they  are  willing  to  give;  the  manufacturer  or  dealer  can  only  work 
within  the  limits  of  competition ;  the  rich  are  helpless  to  relieve  want  without 
stimulating  its  sources.  To  relieve  this  helplessness  a  better  stating  of  the 

problems  involved  is  the  first  step In  this  direction  must  be  sought 

the  utility  of  my  attempt  to  analyze  the  population  of  a  part  of  London.1 

This  vast  study  did,  indeed,  throw  great  light,  not  only  upon 
poverty  in  London,  but  upon  human  nature  in  general.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  raised  more  questions  than  it  settled  and,  if  it  demon- 
strated anything,  it  was  the  necessity,  as  Booth  suggests,  for  a 
restatement  of  the  problem. 

Sociology  seems  now,  however,  in  a  way  to  become,  in  some 
fashion  or  other,  an  experimental  science.  It  will  become  so  as  soon 
as  it  can  state  existing  problems  in  such  a  way  that  the  results  in  one 
case  will  demonstrate  what  can  and  should  be  done  in  another. 
Experiments  are  going  on  in  every  field  of  social  life,  in  industry, 
in  politics,  and  in  religion.  In  all  these  fields  men  are  guided  by  some 
implicit  or  explicit  theory  of  the  situation,  but  this  theory  is  not  often 
stated  in  the  form  of  a  hypothesis  and  subjected  to  a  test  of  the 
negative  instances.  We  have,  if  it  is  permitted  to  make  a  distinction 
between  them,  investigation  rather  than  research. 

What,  then,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  expression  is  here  used,  is 
social  research?  A  classification  of  problems  will  be  a  sort  of  first 
aid  in  the  search  for  an  answer. 

i.  Classification  of  social  problems. — Every  society  and  every 
social  group,  capable  of  consistent  action,  may  be  regarded  as  an 
organization  of  the  wishes  of  its  members.  This  means  that  society 
rests  on,  and  embodies,  the  appetites  and  natural  desires  of  the 
individual  man;  but  it  implies,  also,  that  wishes,  in  becoming  organ- 
ized, are  necessarily  disciplined  and  controlled  in  the  interest  of  the 
group  as  a  whole. 

Every  such  society  or  social  group,  even  the  most  ephemeral, 
will  ordinarily  have  (a)  some  relatively  formal  method  of  defining 
its  aim  and  formulating  its  policies,  making  them  explicit,  and  (6)  some 
machinery,  functionary,  or  other  arrangement  for  realizing  its  aim 

1  Labour  and  Life  of  the  People  (London,  1889),  I,  pp.  6-7. 


46  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  carrying  its  policies  into  effect.  Even  in  the  family  there  is 
government,  and  this  involves  something  that  corresponds  to  legis- 
lation, adjudication,  and  administration. 

Social  groups,  however,  maintain  their  organizations,  agencies, 
and  all  formal  methods  of  behavior  on  a  basis  and  in  a  setting  of 
instinct,  of  habit,  and  of  tradition  which  we  call  human  nature. 
Every  social  group  has,  or  tends  to  have,  its  own  culture,  what 
Sumner  calls  "folkways,"  and  this  culture,  imposing  its  patterns 
upon  the  natural  man,  gives  him  that  particular  individuality  which 
characterizes  the  members  of  groups.  Not  races  merely  but  nationali- 
ties and  classes  have  marks,  manners,  and  patterns  of  life  by  which 
we  infallibly  recognize  and  classify  them. 

Social  problems  may  be  conveniently  classified  with  reference 
to  these  three  aspects  of  group  life,  that  is  to  say,  problems  of  (a) 
organization  and  administration,  (ti)  policy  and  polity  (legislation), 
and  (c)  human  nature  (culture). 

a)  Administrative  problems  are  mainly  practical  and  technical. 
Most  problems  of  government,  of  business  and  social  welfare,  are 
technical.    The  investigations,  i.e.,  social  surveys,  made  in  different 
parts  of  the  country  by  the  Bureau  of  Municipal  Research  of  New 
York  City,  are  studies  of  local  administration  made  primarily  for 
the  purpose  of  improving  the  efficiency  of  an  existing  administrative 
machine  and  its  personnel  rather  than  of  changing  the  policy  or 
purpose  of  the  administration  itself. 

b)  Problems  of  policy,  in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  is  used 
here,  are  political  and  legislative.     Most  social  investigations  in 
recent  years  have  been  made  in  the  interest  of  some  legislative  pro- 
gram or  for  the  purpose  of  creating  a  more  intelligent  public  opinion 
in  regard  to  certain  local  problems.    The  social  surveys  conducted 
by  the  Sage  Foundation,  as  distinguished  from  those  carried  out  by 
the  New  York  Bureau  of  Municipal  Research,  have  been  concerned 
with  problems  of  policy,  i.e.,  with  changing  the  character  and  policy 
of  social  institutions  rather  than  improving  their  efficiency.     This 
distinction  between  administration  and  policy  is  not  always  clear, 
but  it  is  always  important.    Attempts  at  reform  usually  begin  with 
an  effort  to  correct  administrative  abuses,  but  eventually  it  turns 
out  that  reforms  must  go  deeper  and  change  the  character  of  the 
institutions  themselves. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  47 

c)  Problems  of  human  nature  are  naturally  fundamental  to 
all  other  social  problems.  Human  nature,  as  we  have  begun  to 
conceive  it  in  recent  years,  is  largely  a  product  of  social  intercourse; 
it  is,  therefore,  quite  as  much  as  society  itself,  a  subject  for  sociological 
investigation.  Until  recent  years,  what  we  are  now  calling  the 
human  factor  has  been  notoriously  neglected  in  most  social  experi- 
ments. We  have  been  seeking  to  reform  human  nature  while  at  the 
same  time  we  refused  to  reckon  with  it.  It  has  been  assumed  that 
we  could  bring  about  social  changes  by  merely  formulating  our  wishes, 
that,  is,  by  "arousing"  public  opinion  and  formulating  legislation. 
This  is  the  "democratic"  method  of  effecting  reforms.  The  older 
"autocratic"  method  merely  decreed  social  changes  upon  the  author- 
ity of  the  monarch  or  the  ruling  class.  What  reconciled  men  to  it 
was  that,  like  Christian  Science,  it  frequently  worked. 

The  oldest  but  most  persistent  form  of  social  technique  is  that  of 
"ordering-and-forbidding" — that  is,  meeting  a  crisis  by  an  arbitrary  act 
of  will  decreeing  the  disappearance  of  the  undesirable  or  the  appearance  of 
the  desirable  phenomena,  and  the  using  arbitrary  physical  action  to  enforce 
the  decree.  This  method  corresponds  exactly  to  the  magical  phase  of 
natural  technique.  In  both,  the  essential  means  of  bringing  a  determined 
effect  is  more  or  less  consciously  thought  to  reside  in  the  act  of  will  itself 
by  which  the  effect  is  decreed  as  desirable  and  of  which  the  action  is  merely 
an  indispensable  vehicle  or  instrument;  in  both,  the  process  by  which  the 
cause  (act  of  will  and  physical  action)  is  supposed  to  bring  its  effect  to 
realization  remains  out  of  reach  of  investigation;  in  both,  finally,  if  the 
result  is  not  attained,  some  new  act  of  will  with  new  material  accessories  is 
introduced,  instead  of  trying  to  find  and  remove  the  perturbing  causes.  A 
good  instance  of  this  in  the  social  field  is  the  typical  legislative  procedure 
of  today.1 

2.  Types  of  social  group. — The  varied  interests,  fields  of  investi- 
gation, and  practical  programs  which  find  at  present  a  place  within 
the  limits  of  the  sociological  discipline  are  united  in  having  one 
common  object  of  reference,  namely,  the  concept  of  the  social  group. 
All  social  problems  turn  out  finally  to  be  problems  of  group  life, 
although  each  group  and  each  type  of  group  has  its  own  distinctive 

1  Thomas  and  Znaniecki,  The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and  America  (Boston, 
1918),  I,  3. 


48  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

problems.  Illustrations  may  be  gathered  from  the  most  widely 
separated  fields  to  emphasize  the  truth  of  this  assertion.1 

Religious  conversion  may  be  interpreted  from  one  point  of  view 
as  a  change  from  one  social  group  to  another.  To  use  the  language 
of  religious  sentiment,  the  convert  "comes  out  of  a  life  of  sin  and 
enters  into  a  life  of  grace."  To  be  sure,  this  change  involves  pro- 
found disturbances  of  the  personality,  but  permanence  of  the  change 
in  the  individual  is  assured  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  old  and  the 
establishment  of  new  associations.  So  the  process  by  which  the 
immigrant  makes  the  transition  from  the  old  country  to  the  new 
involves  profound  changes  in  thought  and  habit.  In  his  case  the 
change  is  likely  to  take  place  slowly,  but  it  is  not  less  radical  on  that 
account. 

The  following  paragraph  from  a  recent  social  survey  illustrates, 
from  a  quite  different  point  of  view,  the  manner  in  which  the  group 
is  involved  in  changes  in  community  life. 

In  short,  the  greatest  problem  for  the  next  few  years  in  Stillwater  is  the 
development  of  a  community  consciousness.  We  must  stop  thinking  in 
terms  of  city  of  Stillwater,  and  country  outside  of  Stillwater,  and  think  in 
terms  of  Stillwater  Community.  We  must  stop  thinking  in  terms  of  small 
groups  and  think  in  terms  of  the  entire  community,  no  matter  whether  it  is 
industry,  health,  education,  recreation  or  religion.  Anything  which  is 
good  will  benefit  the  entire  community.  Any  weakness  will  be  harmful  to 
all.  Community  co-operation  in  all  lines  indicated  in  this  report  will  make 
this,  indeed,  the  Queen  of  the  St.  Croix.2 

In  this  case  the  solution  of  the  community  problem  was  the 
creation  of  "community  consciousness."  In  the  case  of  the  pro- 
fessional criminal  the  character  of  the  problem  is  determined,  if 
we  accept  the  description  of  a  writer  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  by 
the  existence  among  professional  criminals  of  a  primary  group  con- 
sciousness : 

The  professional  criminal  is  peculiar  in  the  sense  that  he  lives  a  very 
intense  emotional  life.  He  is  isolated  in  the  community.  He  is  in  it,  but 
not  of  it.  His  social  life — for  all  men  are  social — is  narrow;  but  just 
because  it  is  narrow,  it  is  extremely  tense.  He  lives  a  life  of  warfare  and  has 

*  Walter  B.  Bodenhafer,  "The  Comparative  R6le  of  the  Group  Concept  in 
Ward's  Dynamic  Sociology  and  Contemporary  American  Sociology,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XXVI  (1920-21),  273-314;  425-74;  588-600;  716-43. 

1  Stillwater,  the  Queen  of  the  St.  Croix,  a  report  of  a  social  survey,  published  by 
The  Community  Service  of  Stillwater,  Minnesota,  1920,  p.  71. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  49 

the  psychology  of  the  warrior.  He  is  at  war  with  the  whole  community. 
Except  his  very  few  friends  in  crime  he  trusts  no  one  and  fears  everyone. 
Suspicion,  fear,  hatred,  danger,  desperation  and  passion  are  present  in  a 
more  tense  form  in  his  life  than  in  that  of  the  average  individual.  He  is 
restless,  ill-humored,  easily  roused  and  suspicious.  He  lives  on  the  brink 
of  a  deep  precipice.  This  helps  to  explain  his  passionate  hatred,  his  brutal- 
ity, his  fear,  and  gives  poignant  significance  to  the  adage  that  dead  men  tell 
no  tales.  He  holds  on  to  his  few  friends  with  a  strength  and  passion  rare 
among  people  who  live  a  more  normal  existence.  His  friends  stand  between 
him  and  discovery.  They  are  his  hold  upon  life,  his  basis  of  security. 

Loyalty  to  one's  group  is  the  basic  law  in  the  underworld.  Disloyalty  is 
treason  and  punishable  by  death;  for  disloyalty  may  mean  the  destruction 
of  one's  friends;  it  may  mean  the  hurling  of  the  criminal  over  the  precipice 
on  which  his  whole  life  is  built. 

To  the  community  the  criminal  is  aggressive.  To  the  criminal  his  life  is 
one  of  defense  primarily.  The  greater  part  of  his  energy,  of  his  hopes,  and 
of  his  successes,  centres  around  escapes,  around  successful  flight,  around 
proper  covering-up  of  his  tracks,  and  around  having  good,  loyal,  and  trust- 
worthy friends  to  participate  in  his  activities,  who  will  tell  no  tales  and  keep 
the  rest  of  the  community  outside.  The  criminal  is  thus,  from  his  own 
point  of  view — and  I  am  speaking  of  professional  criminals — living  a  We 
of  defensive  warfare  with  the  community;  and  the  odds  are  heavy  against 
him.  He  therefore  builds  up  a  defensive  psychology  against  it — a  psy- 
chology of  boldness,  bravado,  and  self -justification.  The  good  criminal — 
which  means  the  successful  one,  he  who  has  most  successfully  carried 
through  a  series  of  depradations  against  the  enemy,  the  common  enemy, 
the  public — is  a  hero.  He  is  recognized  as  such,  toasted  and  feasted,  trusted 
and  obeyed.  But  always  by  a  little  group.  They  live  in  a  world  of  their 
own,  a  life  of  their  own,  with  ideals,  habits,  outlook,  beliefs,  and  associations 
which  are  peculiarly  fitted  to  maintain  the  morale  of  the  group.  Loyalty, 
fearlessness,  generosity,  willingness  to  sacrifice  one's  self,  perseverance  hi  the 
face  of  prosecution,  hatred  of  the  common  enemy — these  are  the  elements 
that  maintain  the  morale,  but  all  of  them  are  pointed  against  the  community 
as  a  whole.1 

The  manner  in  which  the  principle  of  the  primary  group  was 
applied  at  Sing  Sing  in  dealing  with  the  criminal  within  the  prison 
walls  is  a  still  more  interesting  illustration  of  the  fact  that  social 
problems  are  group  problems.2 

1  Frank  Tannenbaum,  "Prison  Democracy,"  Atlantic  Monthly,  October.  1920, 
pp.  438-39.     (Psychology  of  the  criminal  group.) 
*  Ibid.,  pp.  443-46. 


50  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Assuming,  then,  that  every  social  group  may  be  presumed  to 
have  its  own  (a)  administrative,  (£>)  legislative,  and  (c)  human-nature 
problems,  these  problems  may  be  still  further  classified  with  reference 
to  the  type  of  social  group.  Most  social  groups  fall  naturally  into 
one  or  the  other  of  the  following  classes: 

a)  The  family. 

b)  Language  (racial)  groups. 

c)  Local  and  territorial  communities:  (i)  neighborhoods,  (ii)  rural 
communities,  (iii)  urban  communities. 

d)  Conflict  groups:    (i)  nationalities,  (ii)  parties,  (iii)  sects,  (iv) 
labor  organizations,  (v)  gangs,  etc. 

e)  Accommodation  groups:   (i)  classes,  (ii)  castes,  (iii)  vocational, 
(iv)  denominational  groups. 

The  foregoing  classification  is  not  quite  adequate  nor  wholly 
logical.  The  first  three  classes  are  more  closely  related  to  one  another 
than  they  are  to  the  last  two,  i.e.,  the  so-called  "accommodation" 
and  "conflict"  groups.  The  distinction  is  far-reaching,  but  its 
general  character  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  the  family,  language, 
and  local  groups  are,  or  were  originally,  what  are  known  as  primary 
groups,  that  is,  groups  organized  on  intimate,  face-to-face  relations. 
The  conflict  and  accommodation  groups  represent  divisions  which 
may,  to  be  sure,  have  arisen  within  the  primary  group,  but  which 
hav»i  usually  arisen  historically  by  the  imposition  of  one  primary 
group  upon  another. 

Every  state  in  history  was  or  is  a  state  of  classes,  a  polity  of  superior  and 
inferior  social  groups,  based  upon  distinctions  either  of  rank  or  of  property. 
This  phenomenon  must,  then,  be  called  the  "State."1 

It  is  the  existence  at  any  rate  of  conflict  and  accommodation 
within  the  limits  of  a  larger  group  which  distinguishes  it  from  groups 
based  on  primary  relations,  and  gives  it  eventually  the  character 
described  as  "secondary." 

When  a  language  group  becomes  militant  and  self-conscious, 
it  assumes  the  character  of  a  nationality.  It  is  perhaps  true,  also, 
that  the  family  which  is  large  enough  and  independent  enough  to 
be  self-conscious,  by  that  fact  assumes  the  character  of  a  clan. 
Important  in  this  connection  is  the  fact  that  a  group  in  becoming 

1  Franz  Oppenheimer,  The  State  (Indianapolis,  1914),  p.  5. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  51 

group-conscious  changes  its  character.  External  conflict  has  invari- 
ably reacted  powerfully  upon  the  internal  organization  of  social  groups. 
Group  self-consciousness  seems  to  be  a  common  characteristic  of 
conflict  and  accommodation  groups  and  distinguishes  them  from  the 
more  elementary  forms  of  society  represented  by  the  family  and  the 
local  community. 

3.  Organization  and  structure  of  social  groups. — Having  a  general 
scheme  for  the  classification  of  social  groups,  it  is  in  order  to  discover 
methods  of  analysis  that  are  applicable  to  the  study  of  all  types  of 
groups,  from  the  family  to  the  sect.     Such  a  scheme  of  analysis 
should  reveal  not  only  the  organization  and  structure  of  typical  groups, 
but  it  should  indicate  the  relation  of  this  organization  and  structure 
to  those  social  problems  that  are  actual  and  generally  recognized. 
The  sort  of  facts  which  are  now  generally  recognized  as  important 
in  the  study,  not  merely  of  society,  but  the  problems  of  society  are: 

a)  Statistics:  numbers,  local  distribution,  mobility,  incidence 
of  births,  deaths,  disease,  and  crime. 

6)  Institutions:  local  distribution,  classification  (i.e.,  (i)  indus- 
trial, (ii)  religious,  (iii)  political,  (iv)  educational,  (v)  welfare  and 
mutual  aid),  communal  organization. 

c)  Heritages:    the  customs  and  traditions  transmitted  by  the 
group,  particularly  in  relation  to  religion,  recreation  and  leisure  time, 
and  social  control  (politics). 

d)  Organization  of  public  opinion:    parties,  sects,  cliques,  and 
the  press. 

4.  Social  process  and  social  progress. — Social  process  is  the  name 
for  all  changes  which  can  be  regarded  as  changes  in  the  life  of  the  group. 
A  group  may  be  said  to  have  a  life  when  it  has  a  history.    Among 
social  processes  we  may  distinguish  (a)  the  historical,  (b)  the  cultural, 
(c)  the  political,  and  (d)  the  economic. 

a)  We  describe  as  historical  the  processes  by  which  the  fund 
of  social  tradition,  which  is  the  heritage  of  every  permanent  social 
group,  is  accumulated  and  transmitted  from  one  generation  to  another. 

History  plays  the  role  in  the  group  of  memory  in  the  individual. 
Without  history  social  groups  would,  no  doubt,  rise  and  decline, 
but  they  would  neither  grow  old  nor  make  progress. 

Immigrants,  crossing  the  ocean,  leave  behind  them  much  of  their 
local  traditions.  The  result  is  that  they  lose,  particularly  in  the 


52  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

second  generation,  that  control  which  the  family  and  group  tradition 
formerly  exercised  over  them;  but  they  are,  for  that  very  reason, 
all  the  more  open  to  the  influence  of  the  traditions  and  customs  of 
their  adopted  country. 

b)  If  it  is  the  function  of  the  historical  process  to  accumulate 
and  conserve  the  common  fund  of  social  experience,  it  is  the  function 
of  the  cultural  process  to  shape  and  define  the  social  forms  and  the 
social  patterns  which  each  preceding  generation  imposes  upon  its 
successors. 

The  individual  living  in  society  has  to  fit  into  a  pre-existing  social  world, 
to  take  part  in  the  hedonistic,  economic,  political,  religious,  moral,  aesthetic, 
intellectual  activities  of  the  group.  For  these  activities  the  group  has 
objective  systems,  more  or  less  complex  sets  of  schemes,  organized  either  by 
traditional  association  or  with  a  conscious  regard  to  the  greatest  possible 
efficiency  of  the  result,  but  with  only  a  secondary,  or  even  with  no  interest 
in  the  particular  desires,  abilities  and  experiences  of  the  individuals  who 
have  to  perform  these  activities. 

There  is  no  pre-existing  harmony  whatever  between  the  individual  and 
the  social  factors  of  personal  evolution,  and  the  fundamental  tendencies  of 
the  individual  are  always  in  some  disaccordance  with  the  fundamental 
tendencies  of  social  control.  Personal  evolution  is  always  a  struggle 
between  the  individual  and  society — a  struggle  for  self-expression  on  the  part 
of  the  individual,  for  his  subjection  on  the  part  of  society — and  it  is  in  the 
total  course  of  this  struggle  that  the  personality — not  as  a  static  "essence" 
but  as  a  dynamic,  continually  evolving  set  of  activities — manifests  and 
constructs  itself.1 

c)  In  general,  standards  of  behavior  that  are  in  the  mores  are  not 
the  subject  of  discussion,  except  so  far  as  discussion  is  necessary  to 
determine  whether  this  or  that  act  falls  under  one  or  the  other  of  the 
accepted  social  sanctions.    The  political  as  distinguished  from  the 
cultural  process  is  concerned  with  just  those  matters  in  regard  to 
which  there  is  division  and  difference.     Politics  is  concerned  with 
issues. 

The  Negro,  particularly  in  the  southern  states,  is  a  constant 
theme  of  popular  discussion.  Every  time  a  Negro  finds  himself  in  a 
new  situation,  or  one  in  which  the  white  population  is  unaccustomed 
to  see  him,  the  thing  provokes  comment  in  both  races.  On  the  other 
hand,  when  a  southerner  asks  the  question:  "Would  you  want  your 

1  Thomas  and  Znaniecki,  op.  cit.,  III,  34-36. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  53 

daughter  to  marry  a  Negro  ?"  it  is  time  for  discussion  to  cease.  Any 
questions  of  relations  between  the  races  can  always  be  immediately 
disposed  of  as  soon  as  it  is  seen  to  come,  directly  or  indirectly,  under 
the  intolerable  formula.  Political  questions  are  matters  of  com- 
promise and  expediency.  Miscegenation,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
contrary  to  the  mores.  As  such  the  rule  against  it  is  absolute. 

The  political  process,  by  which  a  society  or  social  group  formulates 
its  wishes  and  enforces  them,  goes  on  within  the  limits  of  the  mores 
and  is  carried  on  by  public  discussion,  legislation,  and  the  adjudication 
of  the  courts. 

d)  The  economic  process,  so  far  as  it  can  be  distinguished  from  the 
production  and  distribution  of  goods,  is  the  process  by  which  prices 
are  made  and  an  exchange  of  values  is  effected.  Most  values,  i.e., 
my  present  social  status,  my  hopes  of  the  future,  and  memory  of  the 
past,  are  personal  and  not  values  that  can  be  exchanged.  The 
economic  process  is  concerned  with  values  that  can  be  treated  as 
commodities. 

All  these  processes  may,  and  do,  arise  within  most  but  not  every 
society  or  social  group.  Commerce  presupposes  the  freedom  of  the 
individual  to  pursue  his  own  profit,  and  commerce  can  take  place  only 
to  the  extent  and  degree  that  this  freedom  is  permitted.  Freedom 
of  commerce  is,  however,  limited  on  the  one  hand  by  the  mores  and 
on  the  other  by  formal  law,  so  that  the  economic  process  takes  place 
ordinarily  within  limitations  that  are  defined  by  the  cultural  and  the 
political  processes.  It  is  only  where  there  is  neither  a  cultural  nor  a 
political  order  that  commerce  is  absolutely  free. 

The  areas  of  (i)  the  cultural,  (2)  the  political,  (3)  the  economic 
processes  and  their  relations  to  one  another  may  be  represented  by 
concentric  circles. 

In  this  representation  the  area  of  widest  cultural  influences  is 
coterminous  with  the  area  of  commerce,  because  commerce  in  its 
widest  extension  is  invariably  carried  on  under  some  restraints  of 
custom  and  customary  law.  Otherwise  it  is  not  commerce  at  all, 
but  something  predacious  outside  the  law.  But  if  the  area  of  the 
economic  process  is  almost  invariably  coterminous  with  the  widest 
areas  of  cultural  influence,  it  does  not  extend  to  the  smaller  social 
groups.  As  a  rule  trade  does  not  invade  the  family.  Family  inter- 
ests are  always  personal  even  when  they  are  carried  on  under  the 


54  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

forms  of  commerce.  Primitive  society,  within  the  limits  of  the 
village,  is  usually  communistic.  All  values  are  personal,  and  the 
relations  of  individuals  to  one  another,  economic  or  otherwise,  are 
preordained  by  custom  and  law. 

The  impersonal  values,  values  for  exchange,  seem  to  be  in  any 
given  society  or  social  group  in  inverse  relation  to  the  personal  values. 

The  attempt  to  describe  in  this  large  way  the  historical,  cultural, 
political,  and  economic  processes,  is  justified  in  so  far  as  it  enables 
us  to  recognize  that  the  aspects  of  social  life,  which  are  the  subject- 
matter  of  the  special  social  sciences,  i.e.,  history,  political  science, 
and  economics,  are  involved  in  specific  forms  of  change  that  can 


FIG.  2 

a  —  area  of  most  extended  cultural  influences  and  of  commerce;  J  =  area 
of  formal  political  control;  c  =  area  of  purely  personal  relationships,  communism. 

be  viewed  abstractly,  formulated,  compared,  and  related.  The 
attempt  to  view  them  in  their  interrelations  is  at  the  same  time  an 
effort  to  distinguish  and  to  see  them  as  parts  of  one  whole. 

In  contrast  with  the  types  of  social  change  referred  to  there  are 
other  changes  which  are  unilateral  and  progressive;  changes  which 
are  described  popularly  as  "movements,"  mass  movements.  These 
are  changes  which  eventuate  in  new  social  organizations  and  insti- 
tutions. 

All  more  marked  forms  of  social  change  are  associated  with  certain 
social  manifestations  that  we  call  social  unrest.  Social  unrest  issues, 
under  ordinary  conditions,  as  an  incident  of  new  social  contacts,  and 
is  an  indication  of  a  more  lively  tempo  in  the  process  of  communica- 
tion and  interaction. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  55 

All  social  changes  are  preceded  by  a  certain  degree  of  social  and 
individual  disorganization.  This  will  be  followed  ordinarily  under 
normal  conditions  by  a  movement  of  reorganization.  All  progress 
implies  a  certain  amount  of  disorganization.  In  studying  social 
changes,  therefore,  that,  if  not  progressive,  are  at  least  unilateral, 
we  are  interested  in: 

(1)  Disorganization:    accelerated  mobility,  unrest,  disease,  and 
crime  as  manifestations  and  measures  of  social  disorganization. 

(2)  Social  movements  (reorganization)  include:   (a)  crowd  move- 
ments (i.e.,  mobs,  strikes,  etc.);    (ft)  cultural  revivals,  religious  and 
linguistic;  (c)  fashion  (changes  in  dress,  convention,  and  social  ritual) ; 
(d)  reform  (changes  in  social  policy  and  administration);   (e)  revolu- 
tions (changes  in  institutions  and  the  mores). 

5.  The  individual  and  the  person. — The  person  is  an  individual 
who  has  status.  We  come  into  the  world  as  individuals.  We 
acquire  status,  and  become  persons.  Status  means  position  in  society. 
The  individual  inevitably  has  some  status  in  every  social  group  of 
which  he  is  a  member.  In  a  given  group  the  status  of  every  member 
is  determined  by  his  relation  to  every  other  member  of  that  group. 
Every  smaller  group,  likewise,  has  a  status  in  some  larger  group  of 
which  it  is  a  part  and  this  is  determined  by  its  relation  to  all  the 
other  members  of  the  larger  group. 

The  individual's  self-consciousness — his  conception  of  his  r61e 
in  society,  his  "self,"  hi  short — while  not  identical  with  his  person- 
ality is  an  essential  element  in  it.  The  individual's  conception  of 
himself,  however,  is  based  on  his  status  in  the  social  group  or  groups 
of  which  he  is  a  member.  The  individual  whose  conception  of  himself 
does  not  conform  to  his  status  is  an  isolated  individual.  The  com- 
pletely isolated  individual,  whose  conception  of  himself  is  in  no 
sense  an  adequate  reflection  of  his  status,  is  probably  insane. 

It  follows  from  what  is  said  that  an  individual  may  have  many 
"selves"  according  to  the  groups  to  which  he  belongs  and  the  extent 
to  which  each  of  these  groups  is  isolated  from  the  others.  It  is  true, 
also,  that  the  individual  is  influenced  in  differing  degrees  and  in  a 
specific  manner,  by  the  different  types  of  group  of  which  he  is  a 
member.  This  indicates  the  manner  in  which  the  personality  of  the 
individual  may  be  studied  sociologically. 


$6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Every  individual  comes  into  the  world  in  possession  of  certain 
characteristic  and  relatively  fixed  behavior  patterns  which  we  call 
instincts.  This  is  his  racial  inheritance  which  he  shares  with  all 
members  of  the  species.  He  comes  into  the  world,  also,  endowed 
with  certain  undefined  capacities  for  learning  other  forms  of  behavior, 
capacities  which  vary  greatly  in  different  individuals.  These  indi- 
vidual differences  and  the  instincts  are  what  is  called  original  nature.1 

Sociology  is  interested  in  "original  nature"  in  so  far  as  it  supplies 
the  raw  materials  out  of  which  individual  personalities  and  the  social 
order  are  created.  Both  society  and  the  persons  who  compose  society 
are  the  products  of  social  processes  working  in  and  through  the 
materials  which  each  new  generation  of  men  contributes  to  it. 

Charles  Cooley,  who  was  the  first  to  make  the  important  dis- 
tinction between  primary  and  secondary  groups,  has  pointed  out  that 
the  intimate,  face-to-face  associations  of  primary  groups,  i.e.,  the 
family,  the  neighborhood,  and  the  village  community,  are  funda- 
mental in  forming  the  social  nature  and  ideals  of  the  individual.2 

There  is,  however,  an  area  of  life  in  which  the  associations  are 
more  intimate  than  those  of  the  primary  group  as  that  group  is 
ordinarily  conceived.  Such  are  the  relations  between  mother  and 
child,  particularly  in  the  period  of  infancy,  and  the  relations  between 
men  and  women  under  the  influence  of  the  sexual  instinct.  These  are 
the  associations  in  which  the  most  lasting  affections  and  the  most 
violent  antipathies  are  formed.  We  may  describe  it  as  the  area  of 
touch  relationships. 

Finally,  there  is  the  area  of  secondary  contacts,  in  which  relation- 
ships are  relatively  impersonal,  formal,  and  conventional.  It  is  in 
this  region  of  social  life  that  the  individual  gains,  at  the  same  time,  a 
personal  freedom  and  an  opportunity  for  distinction  that  is  denied  him 
in  the  primary  group. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  many,  if  not  most,  of  our  present  social 
problems  have  their  source  and  origin  in  the  transition  of  great  masses 
of  the  population — the  immigrants,  for  example — out  of  a  society 

1  Original  nature  in  its  relation  to  social  welfare  and  human  progress  has 
been  made  the  subject-matter  of  a  special  science,  eugenics.  For  a  criticism  of 
the  claims  of  eugenics  as  a  social  science  see  Leonard  T.  Hobhouse,  Social  Evolu- 
tion and  Political  Theory  (Columbia  University  Press,  1917). 

'  Charles  H.  Cooley,  Social  Organization,  p.  28. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  57 

based  on  primary  group  relationships  into  the  looser,  freer,  and  less 
controlled  existence  of  life  in  great  cities. 

The  "moral  unrest"  so  deeply  penetrating  all  western  societies,  the 
growing  vagueness  and  indecision  of  personalities,  the  almost  complete 
disappearance  of  the  "strong  and  steady  character"  of  old  tunes,  in  short, 
the  rapid  and  general  increase  of  Bohemianism  and  Bolshevism  in  all 
societies,  is  an  effect  of  the  fact  that  not  only  the  early  primary  group 
controlling  all  interests  of  its  members  on  the  general  social  basis,  not  only 
the  occupational  group  of  the  mediaeval  type  controlling  most  of  the  inter- 
ests of  its  members  on  a  professional  basis,  but  even  the  special  modern 
group  dividing  with  many  others  the  task  of  organizing  permanently  the 
attitudes  of  each  of  its  members,  is  more  and  more  losing  ground.  The 
pace  of  social  evolution  has  become  so  rapid  that  special  groups  are  ceasing 
to  be  permanent  and  stable  enough  to  organize  and  maintain  organized 
complexes  of  attitudes  of  then*  members  which  correspond  to  then*  common 
pursuits.  In  other  words,  society  is  gradually  losing  all  its  old  machinery 
for  the  determination  and  stabilization  of  individual  characters.1 

Every  social  group  tends  to  create,  from  the  individuals  that 
compose  it,  its  own  type  of  character,  and  the  characters  thus  formed 
become  component  parts  of  the  social  structure  in  which  they  are 
incorporated.  All  the  problems  of  social  life  are  thus  problems  of  the 
individual;  and  all  problems  of  the  individual  are  at  the  same  time 
problems  of  the  group.  This  point  of  view  is  already  recognized  in 
preventive  medicine,  and  to  some  extent  in  psychiatry.  It  is  not 
yet  adequately  recognized  in  the  technique  of  social  case  work. 

Further  advance  in  the  application  of  social  principles  to  social 
practice  awaits  a  more  thoroughgoing  study  of  the  problems,  syste- 
matic social  research,  and  an  experimental  social  science. 


REPRESENTATIVE  WORKS  IN  SYSTEMATIC  SOCIOLOGY 
AND  METHODS  OF  SOCIOLOGICAL  RESEARCH 

I.      THE   SCIENCE   OF  PROGRESS 

(1)  Comte,   Auguste.    Cours  de  philosophic  positive,    5th   ed.     6    vols. 
Paris,  1892. 

(2)  .    Positive  Philosophy.    Translated  by  Harriet  Martineau,  3d 

ed.     London, 1893. 

1  Thomas  and  Znaniecki,  op.  cit.,  Ill,  63-64. 


58  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(3)  Spencer,  Herbert.    Principles  of  Sociology,  3d    ed.     3     vols.      New 
York,  1906. 

(4)  Schaeffle,  Albert.    Bau  und  Leben  des  sodden   Kdrpcrs.      2d    ed., 
2  vols.    Tuebingen,  1896. 

(5)  Lilienf eld,  Paul  von.     Gedanken  Uber  die  Socialwissenschaft  der  Zukunft. 
5  vols.    Mitau,  1873-81. 

(6)  Ward,  Lester  F.    Dynamic  Sociology.     2  vols.    New  York,  1883. 

(7)  De  Greef,  Guillaume.    Introduction    a  la  sociologie.    3    vols.     Paris, 
1886. 

(8)  Worms,  Rene1.    Organisme  et  societt.     Paris,  1896. 

n.      THE  SCHOOLS 

A.  Realists 

(1)  Ratzenhofer,  Gustav.     Die  sociologische  Erkenntnis.    Leipzig, 
1898. 

(2)  Small,  Albion  W.    General  Sociology.     Chicago,  1905. 

(3)  Durkheim,  Emile.    De  la  Division  du  travail  social.     Paris,  1893. 

(4)  Simmel,  Georg.    Soziologie.    Untersuchungen  iiber  die  Formen 
der  Vergesellschaftung.    Leipzig,  1908. 

(5)  Cooley,  Charles  Horton.    Social  Organization.    A  study  of  the 
larger  mind.    New  York,  1909. 

(6)  Ellwood,  Charles  A.    Sociology  in  Its  Psychological  Aspects. 
New  York  and  London,  1912. 

B.  Nominalists 

(1)  Tarde,  Gabriel.    Les  Lois  de  limitation.     Paris,  1895. 

(2)  Giddings,    Franklin   H.     The   Principles   of  Sociology.    New 
York,  1896. 

(3)  Ross,  Edward  Alsworth.     The  Principles  of  Sociology.    New 
York,  1920. 

C.  Collective  Behavior 

(1)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.     The  Crowd.    A  study  of  the  popular  mind. 
New  York,  1903. 

(2)  Sighele,  Scipio.     Psychologic  des  sectes.    Paris,  1898. 

(3)  Tarde,  Gabriel.    U 0 pinion  et  la  Joule.     Paris,  1901. 

(4)  McDougall,  William.     The  Group  Mind.     Cambridge,  1920. 

(5)  Vincent,  George  E.     The  Social  Mind  and  Education.     New 
York,  1897. 

III.      METHODS   OF  SOCIOLOGICAL  INVESTIGATION 

A.  Critical  Observation  on  Methods  of  Research 

(1)  Small,  Albion  W.     The  Meaning  of  Social  Science.     Chicago, 
1910. 

(2)  Durkheim,  Emile.     Les  Regies  de  la  methode  sociologique.    Paris, 
1904. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  59 

(3)  Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F.  The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe 
and  America.  "Methodological  Note,"  I,  1-86.  5  vols. 
Boston,  1918-20. 

B.  Studies  of  Communities 

(1)  Booth,  Charles.     Labour  and  Life  of  the  People:    London.     2 
vols.    London,  1891. 

(2)  ,  Life  and  Labour  of  the  People  in  London.    9  vols. 

London,  1892-97.     8  additional  vols.    London,  1902. 

(3)  The  Pittsburgh  Survey.    Edited  by  Paul  U.  Kellogg.    6  vols. 
Russell  Sage  Foundation.     New  York,  1909-14. 

(4)  The  Spring f.eld  Survey.    Edited  by  Shelby  M.  Harrison.    3 
vols.    Russell  Sage  Foundation.    New  York,  1918-20. 

(5)  Americanization  Studies  of  the  Carnegie  Corporation  of  New  York. 
Edited  by  Allen  T.  Burns.     10  vols.    New  York,  1920-22. 

(6)  Chapin,  F.   Stuart.    Field  Work  and  Social  Research.    New 
York,  1920. 

C.  Studies  of  the  Individual 

(1)  Healy,  William.     The  Individual  Delinquent.     Boston,  1915. 

(2)  Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F.     The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe 
and   America.     "Life   Record   of   an   Immigrant,"   Vol.   III. 
Boston,  1919. 

(3)  Richmond,  Mary.    Social  Diagnosis.    Russell  Sage  Foundation. 
New  York,  1917. 

IV.      PERIODICALS 

(1)  American  Journal  of  Sociology.     Chicago,  University  of  Chicago  Press, 

1896-. 

(2)  American    Sociological    Society,    Papers    and    Proceedings.     Chicago, 
University  of  Chicago  Press,  1907-. 

(3)  Annales  de  Vinstitut  international  de  sociologie.    Paris,  M.  Giard  et  Cie., 

1895-. 

(4)  UAnnee  sociologique.     Paris,  F.  Alcan,  1898-1912. 

(5)  The  Indian  Journal  of  Sociology.     Baroda,  India,  The  College,  1920-. 

(6)  Kolner  Vierteljahrshefte  fiir  Sozialwissenschaften.    Leipzig  and  Miinchen, 
Duncker  und  Humblot,  1921-. 

(7)  Rivista  italiana  di  sociologia.     Roma,  Fratelli  Bocca,  1897-. 

(8)  Revue  de  Vinstitut  de  sociologie.    Bruxelles,    1'Institut  de  Sociologie, 

1920-.    [Successor  to  Bulletin  de  Vinstitut  dt  sociologie  Solvay.     Brux- 
elles, 1910-14.] 

(9)  Revue  internationale  de  sociologie.    Paris,  M.  Giard  et  Cie.,  1893-. 


60  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(10)  The  Sociological  Review.  Manchester,  Sherratt  and  Hughes,  1908-.  [Pre- 
ceded by  Sociological  Papers,  Sociological  Society,  London,  1005-7.] 

n)  Schmollers  Jahrbuch  filr  Gesetzgebung,  Verwallung  und  Volkswirtschajt 
im  deutschen  Reiche.  Leipzig,  Duncker  und  Humblot,  1877-. 

(12)  Zeitschrift  filr  Sozialwissenschaft.     Berlin,  G.  Reimer,  1898-. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  Comte's  Conception  of  Humanity 

2.  Herbert  Spencer  on  the  Social  Organism 

3.  The  Social  Process  as  Defined  by  Small 

4.  Imitation  and  Like-mindedness  as  Fundamental  Social  Facts 

5.  Social  Control  as  a  Sociological  Problem 

6.  Group  Consciousness  and  the  Group  Mind 

7.  Investigation  and  Research  as  Illustrated  by  the  Pittsburgh  Survey 
and  the  Carnegie  Americanization  Studies 

(£8./rhe  Concept  of  the  Group  in  Sociology 
9.  The  Person,  Personality,  and  Status 
ro.  Sociology  in  Its  Relation  to  Economics  and  to  Politics 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1 .  What  do  you  understand  was  Comte's  purpose  in  demanding  for  sociol- 
ogy a  place  among  the  sciences  ? 

2.  Are  social  phenomena  susceptible  to  scientific  prevision?    Compare 
with  physical  phenomena. 

3.  What  is  Comte's  order  of  the  sciences?    What  is  your  explanation  for 
the  late  appearance  of  sociology  in  the  series  ? 

4.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  "positive"  when  applied  to  the 
social  sciences  ? 

5.  Can  sociology  become  positive  without  becoming  experimental  ? 

6.  "Natural  science  emphasizes  the  abstract,  the  historian  is  interested 
in  the  concrete."    Discuss. 

7.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  the  historical  method  and  the  method 
of  natural  science  in  dealing  with  the  following  phenomena:   (a)  elec- 
tricity, (b)  plants,  (c)  cattle,  (d)  cities? 

8.  Distinguish  between  history,  natural  history,  and  natural  science. 

9.  Is  Westermark's  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas  history, 
natural  history,  or  sociology?    Why? 

10.  "History  is  past  politics,  politics  is  present  history."    Do  you  agree? 
Elaborate  your  position. 

11.  What  is  the  value  of  history  to  the  person  ? 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  61 

12.  Classify  the  following  formulas  of  behavior  under  either  (a)  natural 
law  (social  law  in  the  scientific  sense),  and  (b)  moral  law  (customary 
sanction,  ethical  principles),  (c)  civil  law:    "birds  of  a  feather  flock 
together";    "thou  shalt  not  kill";    an  ordinance  against  speeding; 
"honesty  is  the  best  policy";   monogamy;   imitation  tends  to  spread 
in  geometric  ratio;   "women  first";   the  Golden  Rule;   "walk  in  the 
trodden  paths";  the  federal  child-labor  statute. 

13.  Give  an  illustration  of  a  sociological  hypothesis. 

14.  Of  the  following  statements  of  fact,  which  are  historical  and  which 
sociological  ? 

Auguste  Comte  suffered  from  myopia. 

"Man  is  born  free,  and  everywhere  he  is  in  chains." 

"Science  works  not  at  all  for  nationality  or  its  spirit.    It  makes  entirely 

for  cosmopolitanism." 

15.  How  would  you  verify  each  of  the  foregoing  statements?    Distinguish 
between  the  sociological  and  historical  methods  of  verification. 

1 6.  Is  the  use  of  the  comparative  method  that  of  history  or  that  of  natural 
science  ? 

17.  "The  social  organism:    humanity  or  Leviathan?"    What  is  your 
reaction  to  this  alternative  ?    Why  ? 

18.  What  was  the  difference  in  the  conception  of  the  social  organism  held 
by  Comte  and  that  held  by  Spencer  ? 

19.  "How  does  a  mere  collection  of  individuals  succeed  in  acting  in  a 
corporate  and  consistent  way  ?"    What  was  the  answer  to  this  question 
given  by  Hobbes,  Aristotle,  Worms  ? 

20.  "Man  and  society  are  at  the  same  time  products  of  nature  and  of 
human  artifice."    Explain. 

21.  What  are  the  values  and  limitations  of  the  following  explanations  of 
the  control  of  the  group  over  the  behavior  of  its  members:   (a)  homo- 
geneity, (b)  like-mindedness,  (c)  imitation,  (d)  common  purpose? 

22.  What  bearing  have  the  facts  of  a  panic  or  a  stampede  upon  the  theories 
of  like-mindedness,  imitation,  and  common  purpose  as  explanations  of 
group  behavior  ? 

23.  "The  characteristic  social  phenomenon  is  just  this  control  by  the  group 
as  a  whole  of  the  individuals  which  compose  it.    This  fact  of  control  is 
the  fundamental  social  fact."     Give  an  illustration  of  the  control  of 
the  group  over  its  members. 

24.  What  is  the  difference  between  group  mind  and  group  consciousness  as 
indicated  in  current  usage  in  the  phrases  "urban  mind,"  "rural  mind," 
"public  mind,"  "race  consciousness,"  "national  consciousness,"  "class 
consciousness  "  ? 


62  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

25.  What  do  you  understand  by  "a  group  in  being"  ?    Compare  with  the 
nautical  expression  "a  fleet  in  being."    Is  "a  fleet  in  being"  a  social 
organism?    Has  it  a  "social  mind"  and  "social  consciousness"  in  the 
sense  that  we  speak  of  "race  consciousness",  for  example,  or  "group 
consciousness"? 

26.  In  what  sense  is  public  opinion  objective  ?    Analyze  a  selected  case 
where  the  opinion  of  the  group  as  a  whole  is  different  from  the  opinion 
of  its  members  as  individuals. 

27.  For  what  reason  was  the  fact  of  "social  control"  interpreted  in  terms 
of  "the  collective  mind"  ? 

28.  Which  is  the  social  reality  (a)  that  society  is  a  collection  of  like-minded 
persons,  or  (b)  that  society  is  a  process  and  a  product  of  interaction  ? 
What  is  the  bearing  upon  this  point  of  the  quotation  from  Dewey: 
"Society  may  fairly  be  said  to  exist  in  transmission"  ? 

29.  What  three  steps  were  taken  in  the  transformation  of  sociology  from 
a  philosophy  of  history  to  a  science  of  society  ? 

30.  What  value  do  you  perceive  in  a  classification  of  social  problems  ? 

31.  Classify  the  following  studies  under  (a)  administrative  problems  or  (b) 
problems  of  policy  or  (c)  problems  of  human  nature:  a  survey  to  deter- 
mine the  feasibility  of  health  insurance  to  meet  the  problem  of  sickness; 
an  investigation  of  the  police  force;  a  study  of  attitudes  toward  war; 
a  survey  of  the  contacts  of  racial  groups;    an  investigation  for  the 
purpose  of  improving  the  technique  of  workers  in  a  social  agency;  a 
study  of  the  experiments  in  self-government  among  prisoners  in  penal 
institutions. 

32.  Is  the  description  of  great  cities  as  "social  laboratories"  metaphor  or 
fact? 

33.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  statement:  Sociology  will  become  an 
experimental  science  as  soon  as  it  can  state  its  problems  in  such  a  way 
that  the  results  in  one  instance  show  what  can  be  done  in  another  ? 

34.  What  would  be  the  effect  upon  political  life  if  sociology  were  able  to 
predict  with  some  precision  the  effects  of  political  action,  for  example, 
the  effect  of  prohibition  ? 

35.  Would  you  favor  turning  over  the  government  to  control  of  experts  as 
soon  as  sociology  became  a  positive  science  ?    Explain. 

36.  How  far  may  the  politician  who  makes  a  profession  of  controlling  elec- 
tions be  regarded  as  a  practicing  sociologist? 

37.  What  is  the  distinction  between  sociology  as  an  art  and  as  a  science? 

38.  Distinguish  between  research  and  investigation  as  the  terms  are  used 
in  the  text. 


SOCIOLOGY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCES  63 

39.  What  illustrations  in  American  society  occur  to  you  of  the  (a)  auto- 
cratic and  (6)  democratic  methods  of  social  change  ? 

40.  "All  social  problems  turn  out  finally  to  be  problems  of  group  life." 
Are  there  any  exceptions  ? 

41.  Select  twelve  groups  at  random  and  enter  under  the  heads  in  the 
classification  of  social  groups.    What  groups  are  difficult  to  classify? 

42.  Study  the  organization  and  structure  of  one  of  the  foregoing  groups  in 
terms  of  (a)  statistical  facts  about  it;    (b)  its  institutional  aspect; 
(c)  its  heritages;  and  (d)  its  collective  opinion. 

43.  "All  progress  implies  a  certain  amount  of  disorganization."    Explain. 

44.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  differences  between  the  various 
social  processes:  (a)  historical,  (b)  cultural,  (c)  economic,  (d)  political? 

45.  What  is  the  significance  of  the  relative  diameters  of  the  areas  of  the 
cultural,  political,  and  economic  processes  ? 

46.  "The  person  is  an  individual  who  has  status."    Does  an  animal  have 
status  ? 

47.  "In  a  given  group  the  status  of  every  member  is  determined  by  his 
relation  to  every  other  member  of  that  group."     Give  an  illustration. 

48.  Why  are  the  problems  of  the  person,  problems  of  the  group  as  well  ? 

49.  What  does  the  organization  of  the  bibliography  and  the  sequence  of 
the  volumes  referred  to  suggest  in  regard  to  the  development  of  socio- 
logical science  ? 

50.  How  far  does  it  seem  to  you  that  the  emphasis  upon  process  rather  than 
progress  accounts  for  the  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the  socio- 
logical theory  and  point  of  view  ? 


CHAPTER  II 

HUMAN  NATURE 

I.    INTRODUCTION 

i.    Human  Interest  in  Human  Nature 

The  human  interest  in  human  nature  is  proverbial.  It  is  an 
original  tendency  of  man  to  be  attentive  to  the  behavior  of  other 
human  beings.  Experience  heightens  this  interest  because  of  the 
dependence  of  the  individual  upon  other  persons,  not  only  for  physical 
existence,  but  for  social  life. 

The  literature  of  every  people  is  to  a  large  extent  but  the  crystal- 
lization of  this  persistent  interest.  Old  saws  and  proverbs  of  every 
people  transmit  from  generation  to  generation  shrewd  generalizations 
upon  human  behavior.  In  joke  and  in  epigram,  in  caricature  and 
in  burlesque,  in  farce  and  in  comedy,  men  of  all  races  and  times  have 
enjoyed  with  keen  relish  the  humor  of  the  contrast  between  the 
conventional  and  the  natural  motives  in  behavior.  In  Greek  mythol- 
ogy, individual  traits  of  human  nature  are  abstracted,  idealized, 
and  personified  into  gods.  The  heroes  of  Norse  sagas  and  Teutonic 
legends  are  the  gigantic  symbols  of  primary  emotions  and  sentiments. 
Historical  characters  live  in  the  social  memory  not  alone  because  they 
are  identified  with  political,  religious,  or  national  movements  but  also 
because  they  have  come  to  typify  human  relationships.  The  loyalty 
of  Damon  and  Pythias,  the  grief  of  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children, 
the  cynical  cruelty  of  the  egocentric  Nero,  the  perfidy  of  Benedict 
Arnold,  the  comprehending  sympathy  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  are  pro- 
verbial, and  as  such  have  become  part  of  the  common  language  of 
all  the  peoples  who  participate  in  our  occidental  culture. 

Poetry,  drama,  and  the  plastic  arts  are  interesting  and  significant 
only  so  far  as  they  reveal  in  new  and  ever  changing  circumstances 
the  unchanging  characteristics  of  a  fundamental  human  nature. 
Illustrations  of  this  na'ive  and  unreflecting  interest  in  the  study  of 
mankind  are  familiar  enough  in  the  experience  and  observation 

64 


HUMAN  NATURE  65 

of  any  of  us.  Intellectual  interest  in,  and  the  scientific  observation  of, 
human  traits  and  human  behavior  have  their  origin  in  this  natural 
interest  and  unreflective  observation  by  man  of  his  fellows.  History, 
ethnology,  folklore,  all  the  comparative  studies  of  single  cultural 
traits,  i.e.,  of  language,  of  religion,  and  of  law,  are  but  the  more 
systematic  pursuit  of  this  universal  interest  of  mankind  in  man. 

2.    Definition  of  Human  Nature 

The  natural  history  of  the  expression  "human  nature"  is  inter- 
esting. Usage  has  given  it  various  shades  of  meaning.  In  defining 
the  term  more  precisely  there  is  a  tendency  either  unwarrantedly  to 
narrow  or  unduly  to  extend  and  overemphasize  some  one  or  another 
of  the  different  senses  of  the  term.  A  survey  of  these  varied  uses 
reveals  the  common  and  fundamental  meaning  of  the  phrase. 

The  use  which  common  sense  makes  of  the  term  human  nature 
is  significant.  It  is  used  in  varied  contexts  with  the  most  divergent 
implications  but  always  by  way  of  explanation  of  behavior  that  is 
characteristically  human.  The  phrase  is  sometimes  employed  with 
cynical  deprecation  as,  "Oh,  that's  human  nature."  Or  as  often, 
perhaps,  as  an  expression  of  approbation,  "He's  so  human." 

The  weight  of  evidence  as  expressed  in  popular  sayings  is  dis- 
tinctly in  depreciation  of  man's  nature. 

It's  human  natur',  p'raps, — if  so, 
Oh,  isn't  human  natur'  low, 

are  two  lines  from  Gilbert's  musical  comedy  "Babette's  Love."  "To 
err  is  human,  to  forgive  divine"  reminds  us  of  a  familiar  contrast. 
"Human  nature  is  like  a  bad  clock;  it  might  go  right  now  and  then, 
or  be  made  to  strike  the  hour,  but  its  inward  frame  is  to  go  wrong," 
is  a  simile  that  emphasizes  the  popular  notion  that  man's  behavior 
tends  to  the  perverse.  An  English  divine  settles  the  question  with 
the  statement,  "Human  nature  is  a  rogue  and  a  scoundrel,  or  why 
would  it  perpetually  stand  in  need  of  laws  and  religion  ?" 

Even  those  who  see  good  in  the  natural  man  admit  his  native 
tendency  to  err.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  asserts  that  "human  nature 
knows  naturally  what  is  good  but  naturally  pursues  what  is  evil." 
The  Earl  of  Clarendon  gives  the  equivocal  explanation  that  "if  we 
did  not  take  great  pains  to  corrupt  our  nature,  our  nature  would 


66  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

never  corrupt  us."  Addison,  from  the  detached  position  of  an  obser- 
ver and  critic  of  manners  and  men,  concludes  that  "as  man  is  a 
creature  made  up  of  different  extremes,  he  has  something  in  him  very 
great  and  very  mean." 

The  most  commonly  recognized  distinction  between  man  and  the 
lower  animals  lies  in  his  possession  of  reason.  Yet  familiar  sayings 
tend  to  exclude  the  intellectual  from  the  human  attributes.  Lord 
Bacon  shrewdly  remarks  that  "  there  is  in  human  nature,  generally, 
more  of  the  fool  than  of  the  wise."  The  phrase  "he  is  a  child  of 
nature"  means  that  behavior  in  social  relations  is  impulsive,  simple, 
and  direct  rather  than  reflective,  sophisticated,  or  consistent.  Words- 
worth depicts  this  human  type  in  his  poem  "She  Was  a  Phantom 

of  Delight": 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears  and  smiles. 

The  inconsistency  between  the  rational  professions  and  the  impul- 
sive behavior  of  men  is  a  matter  of  common  observation.  "That's 
not  the  logic,  reason,  or  philosophy  of  it,  but  it's  the  human  nature 
of  it."  It  is  now  generally  recognized  that  the  older  English  con- 
ception of  the  "economic  man"  and  the  "rational  man,"  motivated 
by  enlightened  self-interest,  was  far  removed  from  the  "natural  man" 
impelled  by  impulse,  prejudice,  and  sentiment,  in  short,  by  human 
nature.  Popular  criticism  has  been  frequently  directed  against  the 
reformer  in  politics,  the  efficiency  expert  in  industry,  the  formalist  in 
religion  and  morals  on  the  ground  that  they  overlook  or  neglect  the 
so-called  "human  factor"  in  the  situation.  Sir  Arthur  Helps  says: 

No  doubt  hard  work  is  a  great  police-agent;  if  everybody  were  worked 
from  morning  till  night,  and  then  carefully  locked  up,  the  register  of  crimes 
might  be  greatly  diminished.  But  what  would  become  of  human  nature  ? 
Where  would  be  the  room  for  growth  in  such  a  system  of  things?  It  is 
through  sorrow  and  mirth,  plenty  and  need,  a  variety  of  passions,  circum- 
stances, and  temptations,  even  through  sin  and  misery,  that  men's  natures 
are  developed. 

Certain  sayings  already  quoted  imply  that  the  nature  of  man 
is  a  fact  to  be  reckoned  with  in  controlling  his  behavior.  "There  are 
limits  to  human  nature"  which  cannot  lightly  be  overstepped. 


HUMAN  NATURE  67 

"Human  nature,"  according  to  Periander,  "is  hard  to  overcome." 
Yet  we  also  recognize  with  Swift  that  "it  is  the  talent  of  human 
nature  to  run  from  one  extreme  to  another."  Finally,  nothing  is 
more  trite  and  familiar  than  the  statement  that  "human  nature  is 
the  same  all  over  the  world."  This  fundamental  likeness  of  human 
nature,  despite  artificiat  and  superficial  cultural  differences,  has  found 
a  classic  expression  in  Kipling's  line:  "The  Colonel's  Lady  an'  Judy 
O'Grady  are  sisters  under  ifceir  skins!" 

Human  nature,  then,  as  distinct  from  the  formal  wishes  of  the 
individual  and  the  conventional  order  of  society,  is  an  aspect  of 
human  life  that  must  be  reckoned  with.  Common  sense  has  long 
recognized  this,  but  until  recently  no  systematic  attempt  has  been 
made  to  isolate,  describe,  and  explain  the  distinctively  human  factors 
in  the  life  either  of  the  individual  or  of  society. 

Of  all  that  has  been  written  on  this  subject  the  most  adequate 
statement  is  that  of  Cooley.  He  has  worked  out  with  unusual  pene- 
tration and  peculiar  insight  an  interpretation  of  human  nature  as 
a  product  of  group  life. 


By  human_nature  we  may  understand—  those 
that  are  human  in  being  superior  to  those  of  lower  animals,  and  also  in  the 
sense  that  they  belong  to  mankind  at  large,  and  not  to  any  particular  race 
or  time.  It  means,  particularly,  sympathy  and  the  innumerable  senti- 
ments into  which  sympathy  enters,  such  as  love,  resentment,  ambition, 
vanity,  hero-worship,  and  the  feeling  of  social  right  and  wrong. 

Human  nature  in  this  sense  is  justly  regarded  as  a  comparatively 
permanent  element  in  society.  Always  and  everywhere  men  seek  honor 
and  dread  ridicule,  defer  to  public  opinion,  cherish  their  goods  and  their 
children,  and  admire  courage,  generosity,  and  success.  It  is  always  safe  to 
assume  that  people  are  and  have  been  human. 

Human  nature  is  not  something  existing  separately  in  the  individual, 
but  a  group  nature  or  primary  phase  of  society,  a  relatively  simple  and 
general  condition  of  the  social  mind.  It  is  something  more,  on  the  one 
hand,  than  the  mere  instinct  that  is  born  in  us  —  though  that  enters  into 
it  —  and  something  less,  on  the  other,  than  the  more  elaborate  development 
of  ideas  and  sentiments  that  makes  up  institutions.  It  is  the  nature  which 
is  developed  and  expressed  in  those  simple,  face-to-face  groups  that  are 
somewhat  alike  in  all  societies;  groups  of  the  family,  the  playground,  and 
the  neighborhood.  In  the  essential  similarity  of  these  is  to  be  found  the 
basis,  in  experience,  for  similar  ideas  and  sentiments  in  the  human  mind. 


68  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

In  these,  everywhere,  human  nature  comes  into  existence.  Man  does  not 
have  it  at  birth;  he  cannot  acquire  it  except  through  fellowship,  and  it 
decays  in  isolation.1 

3.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

With  the  tacit  acceptance  by  biologists,  psychologists,  and  sociolo- 
gists of  human  behavior  as  a  natural  phenomenon,  materials  upon 
human  nature  have  rapidly  accumulated.  The  wealth  and  variety 
of  these  materials  are  all  the  greater  because  of  the  diversity  of  the 
points  of  view  from  which  workers  in  this  field  have  attacked  the 
problem.  The  value  of  the  results  of  these  investigations  is  enhanced 
when  they  are  brought  together,  classified,  and  compared. 

The  materials  fall  naturally  into  two  divisions:  (a)  "The  Original 
Nature  of  Man"  and  (b)  "Human  Nature  and  Social  Life."  This 
division  is  based  upon  a  distinction  between  traits  that  are  inborn 
and  characters  socially  acquired;  a  distinction  found  necessary  by 
students  in  this  field.  Selections  under  the  third  heading,  "Person- 
ality and  the  Social  Self"  indicate  the  manner  in  which  the  individual 
develops  under  the  social  influences,  from  the  raw  material  of  "instinct" 
intd'the  social  product "  the  person."  Materials  in  the  fourth  division, 
"Biological  and  Social  Inheritance,"  contrast  the  method  of  the  trans- 
mission of  original  tendencies  through  the  germ  plasm  with  the 
communication  of  the  social  heritage  through  education. 

a)  The  original  nature  of  man. — No  one  has  stated  more  clearly 
than  Thorndike  that  human  nature  is  a  product  of  two  factors,  (a; 
tendencies  to  response  rooted  in  original  nature  and  (6)  the  accumu- 
lated effects  of  the  stimuli  of  the  external  and  social  environment. 
At  birth  man  is  a  bundle  of  random  tendencies  to  respond.  Through 
experience,  and  by  means  of  the  mechanisms  of  habit  and  character, 
control  is  secured  over  instinctive  reactions.  In  other  words,  the 
original  nature  of  man  is,  as  Comte  said,  an  abstraction.  It  exists 
only  in  the  psychic  vacuum  of  antenatal  life,  or  perhaps  only  in  the 
potentiality  of  the  germ  plasm.  The  fact  of  observation  is  that  the 
structure  of  the  response  is  irrevocably  changed  in  the  process  of 
reaction  to  the  stimulus.  The  Biography  of  a  Baby  gives  a  concrete 
picture  of  the  development  of  the  plastic  infant  in  the  environment 
of  the  social  group. 

1  Charles  H.  Cooley,  Social  Organization,  pp.  28-30. 


HUMAN  NATURE  69 

The  three  papers  on  differences  between  sexes,  races,  and  indi- 
viduals serve  as  an  introduction  into  the  problem  of  differentiating 
the  aspects  of  behavior  which  are  in  original  nature  from  those  that 
are  acquired  through  social  experience.  Are  the  apparent  differences 
between  men  and  women,  white  and  colored,  John  and  James,  those 
which  arise  from  differences  in  the  germ  plasm  or  from  differences  in 
education  and  in  cultural  contacts?  The  selections  must  not  be 
taken  as  giving  the  final  word  upon  the  subject.  At  best  they  repre- 
sent merely  the  conclusions  reached  by  three  investigators.  Attempts 
to  arrive  at  positive  differences  in  favor  either  of  original  nature  or 
of  education  are  frequently  made  in  the  interest  of  preconceived 
opinion.  The  problem,  as  far  as  science  is  concerned,  is  to  discover 
what  limitations  original  nature  places  upon  response  to  social  copies, 
and  the  ways  in  which  the  inborn  potentialities  find  expression  or 
repression  hi  differing  types  of  social  environment. 

b)  Human  nature  and  social  life. — Original  nature  is  represented 
in  human  responses  in  so  far  as  they  are  determined  by  the  innate 
structure  of  the  individual  organism.    The  materials  assembled  under 
this  head  treat  of  inborn  reactions  as  influenced,  modified,  and  recon- 
structed by  the  structure  of  the  social  organization. 

The  actual  reorganization  of  human  nature  takes  place  in  response 
to  the  folkways  and  mores,  the  traditions  and  conventions,  of  the 
group.  So  potentially  fitted  for  social  life  is  the  natural  man,  how- 
ever, so  manifold  are  the  expressions  that  the  plastic  original  ten- 
dencies may  take,  that  instinct  is  replaced  by  habit,  precedent,, 
personal  taboo,  and  good  form.  This  remade  structure  of  human 
nature,  this  objective  mind,  as  Hegel  caUed  it,  is  fixed  and  trans- 
mitted in  the  folkways  and  mores,  social  ritual,  i.e.,  Sittlichkeitt  to 
use  the  German  word,  and  convention. 

c)  Personality  and  the  social  self. — The  selections  upon  "Person- 
ality and  the  Social  Self"  bring  together  and  compare  the  different 
definitions  of  the  term.    These  definitions  fall  under  three  heads: 

(1)  The  organism  as  personality:   This  is  a  biological  statement, 
satisfactory  as  a  definition  only  as  preparatory  to  further  analysis. 

(2)  Personality  as  a  complex:  Personality  denned  in  terms  of  the 
unity  of  mental  life  is  a  conception  that  has  grown  up  in  the  recent 
"individual  psychology,"  so  called.    Personality  includes,  in  this 
case,  not  only  the  memories  of  the  individual  and  his  stream  of 


70  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

consciousness,  but  also  the  characteristic  organization  of  mental 
complexes  and  trends  which  may  be  thought  of  as  a  supercomplex. 
The  phenomena  of  double  and  multiple  personalities  occur  when  this 
unity  becomes  disorganized.  Disorganization  in  releasing  groups  of 
complexes  from  control  may  even  permit  the  formation  of  independent 
organizations.  Morton  Prince's  book  The  Dissociation  of  a  Person- 
ality is  a  classic  case  study  of  multiple  personality.  The  selections 
upon  "The  Natural  Person  versus  the  Social  and  Conventional 
Person"  and  "The  Divided  Self  and  the  Moral  Consciousness" 
indicate  the  more  usual  and  less  extreme  conflicts  of  opposing  senti- 
ments and  interests  within  the  organization  of  personality. 

(3)  Personality  as  the  role  of  the  individual  in  the  group:  The  word 
personality  is  derived  from  the  Latin  persona,  a  mask  used  by  actors. 
The  etymology  of  the  term  suggests  that  its  meaning  is  to  be  found 
in  the  role  of  the  individual  in  the  social  group.  By  usage,  person- 
ality carries  the  implication  of  the  social  expression  of  behavior. 
Personality  may  then  be  denned  as  the  sum  and  organization  of  those 
traits  which  determine  the  role  of  the  individual  in  the  group.  The 
following  is  a  classification  of  the  characteristics  of  the  person  which 
affect  his  social  status  and  efficiency: 

(a)  physical  traits,  as  physique,  physiognomy,  etc. ; 

(I]  temperament; 

(c)  character; 

(d)  social  expression,  as  by  facial  expression,  gesture,  manner, 

speech,  writing,  etc.; 

(e)  prestige,  as  by  birth,  past  success,  status,  etc. ; 
(/)  the  individual's  conception  of  his  role. 

The  significance  of  these  traits  consists  in  the  way  in  which  they 
enter  into  the  role  of  the  individual  in  his  social  milieu.  Chief  among 
these  may  be  considered  the  individual's  conception  of  the  part  which 
he  plays  among  his  fellows.  Cooley's  discriminating  description  of 
"the  looking-glass  self"  offers  a  picture  of  the  process  by  which  the 
person  conceives  himself  in  terms  of  the  attitudes  of  others  toward  him. 

The  reflected  or  looking-glass  self  seems  to  have  three  principal 
elements:  the  imagination  of  our  appearance  to  the  other  person;  the 
imagination  of  his  judgment  of  that  appearance;  and  some  sort  of  self- 
feeling,  such  as  pride  or  mortification.  The  comparison  with  a  looking- 
glass  self  hardly  suggests  the  second  element,  the  imagined  judgment, 


HUMAN  NATURE  71 

which  is  quite  essential.  The  thing  that  moves  us  to  pride  or  shame  is 
not  the  mere  mechanical  reflection  of  ourselves,  but  an  imputed  sentiment, 
the  imagined  effect  of  this  reflection  upon  another's  mind.  This  is  evident 
from  the  fact  that  the  character  and  weight  of  that  other,  in  whose  mind 
we  see  ourselves,  makes  all  the  difference  with  our  feeling.1 

Veblen  has  made  a  subtle  analysis  of  the  way  in  which  conduct 
is  controlled  by  the  individual's  conception  of  his  social  role  in  his 
analysis  of  " invidious, comparison "  and  "conspicuous  expenditure."2 

d)  Biological  and  social  inheritance. — The  distinction  between 
biological  and  social  inheritance  is  sharply  made  by  the  noted  biolo- 
gist, J.  Arthur  Thomson,  in  the  selection  entitled  "Nature  and  Nur- 
ture." The  so-called  "acquired  characters"  or  modifications  of 
original  nature  through  experience,  he  points  out,  are  transmitted  not 
through  the  germ  plasm  but  through  communication. 

Thorndike's  "Inventory  of  Original  Tendencies"  offers  a  detailed 
classification  of  the  traits  transmitted  biologically.  Since  there 
exists  no  corresponding  specific  analysis  of  acquired  traits,  the  fol- 
lowing brief  inventory  of  types  of  social  heritages  is  offered. 

TYPES  OF   SOCIAL  HERITAGES 

(a)  means  of  communication,  as  language,  gesture,  etc. ; 
(6)  social  attitudes,  habits,  wishes,  etc.; 

(c)  character; 

(d)  social    patterns,   as    folkways,   mores,   conventions,    ideals, 

etc.; 

(e)  technique; 

(/)  culture  (as  distinguished  from  technique,  formal  organiza- 
tion, and  machinery); 

(g)  social  organization  (primary  group  life,  institutions,  sects, 
secondary  groups,  etc.). 

On  the  basis  of  the  work  of  Mendel,  biologists  have  made  marked 
progress  in  determining  the  inheritance  of  specific  traits  of  original 
nature.  The  selection  from  a  foremost  American  student  of  heredity 
and  eugenics,  C.  B.  Davenport,  entitled  "Inheritance  of  Original 
Nature"  indicates  the  precision  and  accuracy  with  which  the  pre- 
diction of  the  inheritance  of  individual  innate  traits  is  made. 

1  Charles  H.  Cooley,  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order,  pp.  152-53. 

2  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Cla^s  (New  York,  1899). 


72  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  mechanism  of  the  transmission  of  social  heritages,  while  more 
open  to  observation  than  biological  inheritance,  has  not  been  sub- 
jected to  as  intensive  study.  The  transmission  of  the  social  heritage 
takes  place  by  communication,  as  Keller  points  out,  through  the 
medium  of  the  various  senses.  The  various  types  of  the  social 
heritages  are  transmitted  in  two  ways:  (a)  by  tradition,  as  from 
generation  to  generation,  and  (6)  by  acculturation,  as  from  group  to 
group. 

In  the  communication  of  the  social  heritages,  either  by  tradition 
or  by  acculturation,  two  aspects  of  the  process  may  be  distinguished: 
(a)  Because  of  temperament,  interest,  and  run  of  attention  of  the 
members  of  the  group,  the  heritage,  whether  a  word,  an  act  of  skill, 
or  a  social  attitude,  may  be  selected,  appropriated,  and  incorporated 
into  its  culture.  This  is  communication  by  imitation.  (6)  On  the 
other  hand,  the  heritage  may  be  imposed  upon  the  members  of  the 
group  through  authority  and  routine,  by  tabu  and  repression.  This 
is  communication  by  inculcation.  In  any  concrete  situation  the 
transmission  of  a  social  heritage  may  combine  varying  elements  of 
both  processes.  Education,  as  the  etymology  of  the  term  suggests, 
denotes  culture  of  original  tendencies;  yet  the  routine  of  a  school 
system  is  frequently  organized  about  formal  discipline  rather  than 
around  interest,  aptitude,  and  attention. 

Historically,  the  scientific  interest  in  the  question  of  biological 
and  social  inheritance  has  concerned  itself  with  the  rather  sterile 
problem  of  the  weight  to  be  attached  on  the  one  hand  to  physical 
heredity  and  on  the  other  to  social  heritage.  The  selection,"  Tempera- 
ment, Tradition,  and  Nationality"  suggests  that  a  more  important 
inquiry  is  to  determine  how  the  behavior  patterns  and  the  culture  of 
a  racial  group  or  a  social  class  are  determined  by  the  interaction  of 
original  nature  and  the  social  tradition.  According  to  this  conception, 
racial  temperament  is  an  active  selective  agency,  determining  interest 
and  the  direction  of  attention.  The  group  heritages  on  the  other 
hand  represent  a  detached  external  social  environment,  a  complex 
of  stimuli,  effective  only  in  so  far  as  they  call  forth  responses.  The 
culture  of  a  group  is  the  sum  total  and  organization  of  the  social 
heritages  which  have  acquired  a  social  meaning  because  of  racial 
temperament  and  of  the  historical  life  of  the  group. 


HUMAN  NATURE  73 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      THE  ORIGINAL  NATURE  OF  MAN 
i.     Original  Nature  Defined1 

A  man's  nature  and  the  changes  that  take  place  in  it  may  be 
described  in  terms  of  the  responses — of  thought,  feeling,  action,  and 
attitude — which  he  makes,  and  of  the  bonds  by  which  these  are 
connected  with  the  situations  which  life  offers.  Any  fact  of  intellect, 
character,  or  skill  means  a  tendency  to  respond  in  a  certain  way  to  a 
certain  situation — involves  a  situation  or  state  of  affairs  influencing 
the  man,  a  response  or  state  of  affairs  in  the  man,  and  a  connection  or 
bond  whereby  the  latter  is  the  result  of  the  former. 

Any  man  possesses  at  the  very  start  of  his  life — that  is,  at  the 
moment  when  the  ovum  and  spermatozoon  which  are  to  produce  him 
have  united — numerous  well-defined  tendencies  to  future  behavior. 
Between  the  situations  which  he  will  meet  and  the  responses  which 
he  will  make  to  them,  pre-formed  bonds  exist.  It  is  already  deter- 
mined by  the  constitution  of  these  two  germs  that  under  certain 
circumstances  he  will  see  and  hear  and  feel  and  act  in  certain  ways. 
His  intellect  and  morals,  as  well  as  his  bodily  organs  and  movements, 
are  in  part  the  consequence  of  the  nature  of  the  embryo  in  the  first 
moment  of  its  life.  What  a  man  is  and  does  throughout  life  is  a 
result  of  whatever  constitution  he  has  at  the  start  and  of  the  forces 
that  act  upon  it  before  and  after  birth.  I  shall  use  the  term  "original 
nature"  for  the  former  and  "environment"  for  the  latter.  His 
original  nature  is  thus  a  name  for  the  nature  of  the  combined  germ- 
cells  from  which  he  springs,  and  his  environment  is  a  name  for  the  rest 
of  the  universe,  so  far  as  it  may,  directly  or  indirectly,  influence  him. 

Three  terms,  reflexes,  instincts,  and  inborn  capacities,  divide  the 
work  of  naming  these  unlearned  tendencies.  When  the  tendency 
concerns  a  very  definite  and  uniform  response  to  a  very  simple  sen- 
sory situation,  and  when  the  connection  between  the  situation  and 
the  response  is  very  hard  to  modify  and  is  also  very  strong  so  that  it 
is  almost  inevitable,  the  connection  or  response  to  which  it  leads  is 
called  a  reflex.  Thus  the  knee-jerk  is  a  very  definite  and  uniform 
response  to  the  simple  sense-stimulus  of  sudden  hard  pressure  against 
a  certain  spot. 

1  From  Edward  L.  Thorndike,  The  Original  Nature  of  Man,  pp.  1-7.  (Teachers 
College,  Columbia  University,  1913.  Author's  copyright.) 


74  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

When  the  response  is  more  indefinite,  the  situation  more  complex, 
and  the  connection  more  modifiable,  instinct  becomes  the  customary 
term.  Thus  one's  misery  at  being  scorned  is  too  indefinite  a  response 
to  too  complex  a  situation  and  is  too  easily  modifiable  to  be  called  a 
reflex.  When  the  tendency  is  to  an  extremely  indefinite  response  or 
set  of  responses  to  a  very  complex  situation,  as  when  the  connection's 
final  degree  of  strength  is  commonly  due  to  very  large  contributions 
from  training,  it  has  seemed  more  appropriate  to  replace  reflex  and 
instinct  by  some  term  like  capacity,  or  tendency,  or  potentiality. 
Thus  an  original  tendency  to  respond  to  the  circumstances  of  school 
education  by  achievement  in  learning  the  arts  and  sciences  is  called 
the  capacity  for  scholarship. 

There  is,  of  course,  no  gap  between  reflexes  and  instincts,  or 
between  instincts  and  the  still  less  easily  describable  original  tenden- 
cies. The  fact  is  that  original  tendencies  range  with  respect  to  the 
nature  of  the  responses  from  such  as  are  single,  simple,  definite,  uni- 
form within  the  individual  and  only  slightly  variable  amongst  indi- 
viduals, to  responses  that  are  highly  compound,  complex,  vague,  and 
variable  within  one  individual's  life  and  amongst  individuals. 

A  typical  reflex,  or  instinct,  or  capacity,  as  a  whole,  includes  the 
ability  to  be  sensitive  to  a  certain  situation,  the  ability  to  make  a 
certain  response,  and  the  existence  of  a  bond  or  connection  whereby 
that  response  is  made  to  that  situation.  For  instance,  the  young 
chick  is  sensitive  to  the  absence  of  other  members  of  his  species,  is 
able  to  peep,  and  is  so  organized  that  the  absence  of  other  members 
of  the  species  makes  him  peep.  But  the  tendency  to  be  sensitive  to 
a  certain  situation  may  exist  without  the  existence  of  a  connection 
therewith  of  any  further  exclusive  response,  and  the  tendency  to 
make  a  certain  response  may  exist  without  the  existence  of  a  connec- 
tion limiting  that  response  exclusively  to  any  single  situation.  The 
three-year-old  child  is  by  inborn  nature  markedly  sensitive  to  the 
presence  and  acts  of  other  human  beings,  but  the  exact  nature  of  his 
response  varies.  The  original  tendency  to  cry  is  very  strong,  but 
there  is  no  one  situation  to  which  it  is  exclusively  bound.  Original 
nature  seems  to  decide  that  the  individual  will  respond  somehow 
to  certain  situations  more  often  than  it  decides  just  what  he  will  do, 
and  to  decide  that  he  will  make  certain  responses  more  often  than  it 
decides  just  when  he  will  make  them.  So,  for  convenience  in  think- 


HUMAN  NATURE  7$ 

ing  about  man's  unlearned  equipment,  this  appearance  of  multiple 
response  to  one  same  situation  and  multiple  causation  of  one  same 
response  may  be  taken  roughly  as  the  fact. 

2.    Inventory  of  Original  Tendencies1 
I.  Sensory  capacities 
II.  Original  attentiveness 

III.  Gross  bodily  control 

IV.  Food  getting  and  habitation 

A.  Food  getting 

i.  Eating.  2.  Reaching,  grasping,  putting  into  the  mouth. 
3.  Acquisition  and  possession.  4.  Hunting  (a)  a  small 
escaping  object,  (6)  a  small  or  moderate-sized  object  not  of 
offensive  mien,  moving  away  from  or  past  him.  5.  Pos- 
sible specialized  tendencies.  6.  Collecting  and  hoarding. 
7.  Avoidance  and  repulsion.  8.  Rivalry  and  co-operation 

B.  Habitation 

i.  Responses  to  confinement.  2.  Migration  and  domes- 
ticity 

V.  Fear,  fighting,  and  anger 

A.  Fear 

i.  Unpleasant  expectation  and  dread.  2.  Anxiety  and 
worry.  3.  Dislike  and  avoidance.  4.  Shock.  5.  Flight, 
paralysis,  etc. 

B.  Fighting 

i.  Escape  from  restraint.  2.  Overcoming  a  moving  ob- 
stacle. 3.  Counter-attack.  4.  Irrational  response  to  pain. 
5.  Combat  in  rivalry.  6.  Resentment  of  presence  of  other 
males  in  courtship.  7.  Angry  behavior  at  persistent 
thwarting 

C.  Anger 

VI.  Responses  to  the  behavior  of  other  human  beings 

A.  Motherly  behavior 

B.  Filial  behavior 

1  Compiled   from    Edward   L.   Thorndike,    The   Original   Nature   of  Man, 
pp.  43-194.    (Teachers  College,  Columbia  University,  1913.     Author's  copyright.) 


76  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

C.  Responses  to  presence,  approval,  and  scorn  of  men 

i.  Gregariousness.  2.  Attention  to  human  beings.  3.  At- 
tention-getting. 4.  Responses  to  approval  and  scorn. 
5.  Responses  by  approval  and  scorn 

D.  Mastering  and  submissive  behavior 

i.  Display.     2.  Shyness.     3.  Self-conscious  behavior 

E.  Other  social  instincts 

i.  Sex  behavior.  2.  Secretiveness.  3.  Rivalry.  4.  Co- 
operation. 5.  Suggestibility  and  opposition.  6.  Envious 
and  jealous  behavior.  7.  Greed.  8.  Ownership.  9.  Kind- 
liness. 10.  Teasing,  tormenting,  and  bullying 

F.  Imitation 

i.  General  imitativeness.  2.  Imitation  of  particular  forms 
of  behavior 

VII.  Original  satisfiers  and  annoyers 
VIII.  Minor  bodily  movements  and  cerebral  connections 

A.  Vocalization 

B.  Visual  exploration 

C.  Manipulation 

D.  Other  possible  specializations 

i.  Constructiveness.  2.  Cleanliness.  3.  Adornment  and 
art 

E.  Curiosity  and  mental  control 

i.  Curiosity.  2.  The  instinct  of  multiform  mental  activ- 
ity. 3.  The  instinct  of  multiform  physical  activity. 
4.  The  instinct  of  workmanship  and  the  desire  for  excellence 

F.  Play 

IX.  The  emotions  and  their  expression 
X.  Consciousness,  learning,  and  remembering 

3.    Man  Not  Born  Human1 

Man  is  not  born  human.  It  is  only  slowly  and  laboriously,  in 
fruitful  contact,  co-operation,  and  conflict  with  his  fellows,  that  he 
attains  the  distinctive  qualities  of  human  nature.  In  the  course  of 
his  prenatal  life  he  has  already  passed  roughly  through,  or,  as  the 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  Principles  of  Human  Behavior,  pp.  9-16.  (The  Zalaz 
Corporation,  1915.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  77 

biologists  say,  "recapitulated,"  the  whole  history  of  his  animal 
ancestors.  He  brings  with  him  at  birth  a  multitude  of  instincts  and 
tendencies,  many  of  which  persist  during  life  and  many  of  which  are 
only  what  G.  Stanley  Hall  calls  "vestigial  traces"  of  his  brute  ances- 
try, as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  they  are  no  longer  useful  and  soon 
disappear. 

These  non-volitional  movements  of  earliest  infancy  and  of  later  child- 
hood (such  as  licking  things,  clicking  with  the  tongue,  grinding  the  teeth, 
biting  the  nails,  shrugging  corrugations,  pulling  buttons,  or  twisting  gar- 
ments, strings,  etc.,  twirling  pencils,  etc.)  are  relics  of  past  forms  of  utilities 
now  essentially  obsolete.  Ancient  modes  of  locomotion,  prehension, 
balancing,  defense,  attack,  sensuality,  etc.,  are  all  rehearsed,  some  quite 
fully  and  some  only  by  the  faintest  mimetic  suggestion,  flitting  spasmodic 
tensions,  gestures,  or  facial  expressions. 

Human  nature  may  therefore  be  regarded  on  the  whole  as 
a  superstructure  founded  on  instincts,  dispositions,  and  tendencies, 
inherited  from  a  long  line  of  human  and  animal  ancestors.  It  con- 
sists mainly  in  a  higher  organization  of  forces,  a  more  subtle  distilla- 
tion of  potencies  latent  in  what  Thorndike  calls  "  the  original  nature 
of  man." 

The  original  nature  of  man  is  roughly  what  is  common  to  all  men  minus 
all  adaptations  to  tools,  houses,  clothes,  furniture,  words,  beliefs,  religions, 
laws,  science,  the  arts,  and  to  whatever  in  other  men's  behavior  is  due  to 
adaptations  to  them.  'From  human  nature  as  we  find  it,  take  away,  first, 
all  that  is  in  the  European  but  not  in  the  Chinaman,  all  that  is  in  the  Fiji 
Islander  but  not  in  the  Esquimaux,  all  that  is  local  or  temporary.  Then 
take  away  also  the  effects  of  all  products  of  human  art.  What  is  left  of 
human  intellect  and  character  is  largely  original — not  wholly,  for  all  those 
elements  of  knowledge  which  we  call  ideas  and  judgments  must  be  sub- 
tracted from  his  responses.  Man  originally  possesses  only  capacities 
which,  after  a  given  amount  of  education,  will  produce  ideas  and  judgments. 

Such,  in  general,  is  the  nature  of  human  beings  before  that  nature 
has  been  modified  by  experience  and  formed  by  the  education  and 
the  discipline  of  contact  and  intercourse  with  their  feUows. 

Several  writers,  among  them  William  James,  have  attempted  to 
make  a  rough  inventory  of  the  special  instinctive  tendencies  with 
which  human  beings  are  equipped  at  birth.  First  of  all  there  are 
the  simpler  reflexes  such  as  "crying,  sneezing,  snoring,  coughing, 


78  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

sighing,  sobbing,  gagging,  vomiting,  hiccuping,  starting,  moving  the 
limb  in  response  to  its  being  tickled,  touched  or  blown  upon,  spreading 
the  toes  in  response  to  its  being  touched,  tickled,  or  stroked  on  the  sole 
of  the  foot,  extending  and  raising  the  arms  at  any  sudden  sensory 
stimulus,  or  the  quick  pulsation  of  the  eyelid." 

Then  there  are  the  more  complex  original  tendencies  such  as 
sucking,  chewing,  sitting  up,  and  gurgling.  Among  the  more  general 
unlearned  responses  of  children  are  fear,  anger,  pugnacity,  envy, 
jealousy,  curiosity,  constructiveness,  love  of  festivities,  ceremonies 
and  ordeals,  sociability  and  shyness,  secretiveness,  etc.  Thorndike, 
who  quotes  this  list  at  length,  has  sought  to  give  definiteness  to  its 
descriptions  by  clearly  defining  and  distinguishing  the  character  of 
the  situation  to  which  the  behavior  cited  is  a  response.  For  example, 
to  the  situation,  "strange  man  or  animal,  to  solitude,  black  things, 
dark  places,  holes  and  corners,  a  human  corpse,"  the  native  and 
unlearned  response  is  fear.  The  original  response  of  man  to  being 
alone  is  an  experience  of  discomfort,  to  perceiving  a  crowd,  "a  ten- 
dency to  join  them  and  do  what  they  are  doing  and  an  unwillingness 
to  leave  off  and  go  home."  It  is  part  of  man's  original  nature  when 
he  is  in  love  to  conceal  his  love  affairs,  and  so  forth. 

It  is  evident  from  this  list  that  what  is  meant  by  original  nature 
is  not.  confined  to  the  behavior  which  manifests  itself  at  birth,  but 
includes  man's  spontaneous  and  unlearned  responses  to  situations  as 
they  arise  in  the  experience  of  the  individual. 

The  widespread  interest  in  the  study  of  children  has  inspired  in 
recent  years  a  considerable  literature  bearing  upon  the  original  and 
inherited  tendencies  of  human  nature.  The  difficulty  of  distinguish- 
ing between  what  is  original  and  what  is  acquired  among  the  forms  of 
behavior  reported  upon,  and  the  further  difficulty  of  obtaining 
accurate  descriptions  of  the  situations  to  which  the  behavior  described 
was  a  response,  has  made  much  of  this  literature  of  doubtful  value  for 
scientific  purposes.  These  studies  have,  nevertheless,  contributed  to 
a  radical  change  in  our  conceptions  of  human  nature.  They  have 
shown  that  the  distinction  between  the  mind  of  man  and  that  of  the 
lower  animals  is  not  so  wide  nor  so  profound  as  was  once  supposed. 
They  have  emphasized  the  fact  that  human  nature  rests  on  animal 
nature,  and  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other,  in  spite  of  the  con- 
trast in  their  separate  achievements,  has  been  made  by  imperceptible 


HUMAN  NATURE  79 

gradations.  In  the  same  way  they  have  revealed,  beneath  differ- 
ences in  culture  and  individual  achievement,  the  outlines  of  a  per- 
vasive and  relatively  unchanging  human  nature  in  which  all  races 
and  individuals  have  a  common  share. 

The  study  of  human  nature  begins  with  description,  but  it  goes 
on  from  that  point  to  explanation.  If  the  descriptions  which  we 
have  thus  far  had  of  human  nature  are  imperfect  and  lacking  in 
precision,  it  is  equally  true  that  the  explanations  thus  far  invented 
have,  on  the  whole,  been  inadequate.  One  reason  for  this  has  been 
the  difficulty  of  the  task.  The  mechanisms  which  control  human 
behavior  are,  as  might  be  expected,  tremendously  complicated,  and 
the  problem  of  analyzing  them  into  their  elementary  forms  and 
reducing  their  varied  manifestations  to  precise  and  lucid  formulas  is 
both  intricate  and  perplexing. 

The  foundation  for  the  explanation  of  human  nature  has  been 
laid,  however,  by  the  studies  of  behavior  in  animals  and  the  com- 
parative study  of  the  physiology  of  the  nervous  system.  Progress 
has  been  made,  on  the  one  hand,  by  seeking  for  the  precise  psycho- 
chemical  process  involved  in  the  nervous  reactions,  and  on  the  other, 
by  reducing  all  higher  mental  processes  to  elementary  forms  repre- 
sented by  the  tropisms  and  reflex  actions. 

In  this,  science  has  made  a  considerable  advance  upon  common 
sense  in  its  interpretations  of  human  behavior,  but  has  introduced 
no  new  principle;  it  has  simply  made  its  statements  more  detailed 
and  exact.  For  example,  common  sense  has  observed  that  '''the 
burnt  child  shuns  the  fire,"  that  "the  moth  seeks  the  flame."  These 
are  both  statements  of  truths  of  undoubted  generality.  In  order  to 
give  them  the  validity  of  scientific  truth,  however,  we  need  to  know 
what  there  is  in  the  nature  of  the  processes  involved  that  makes  it 
inevitable  that  the  child  should  shun  the  fire  and  the  moth  should 
seek  the  flame.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  say  that  the  action  in  one  case 
is  instinctive  and  in  the  other  intelligent,  unless  we  are  able  to  give 
precise  and  definite  meanings  to  those  terms;  unless,  in  short,  we 
are  able  to  point  out  the  precise  mechanisms  through  which  these 
reactions  are  carried  out.  The  following  illustration  from  Loeb's 
volume  on  the  comparative  physiology  of  the  brain  will  illustrate 
the  distinction  between  the  common  sense  and  the  more  precise 
scientific  explanation  of  the  behavior  in  man  and  the  lower  animals. 


8o  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  if  an  ant  be  removed  from  a  nest  and 
afterward  put  back  it  will  not  be  attacked,  while  almost  invariably  an  ant 
belonging  to  another  nest  will  be  attacked.  It  has  been  customary  to  use 
the  words  memory,  enmity,  friendship,  in  describing  this  fact.  Now  Bethe 
made  the  following  experiment:  an  ant  was  placed  in  the  liquids  (blood  and 
lymph)  squeezed  out  from  the  bodies  of  nest  companions  and  was  then  put 
back  into  its  nest;  it  was  not  attacked.  It  was  then  put  in  the  juice  taken 
from  the  inmates  of  a  "hostile"  nest  and  was  at  once  attacked  and  killed. 
Bethe  was  able  to  prove  by  special  experiments  that  these  reactions  of  ants 
are  not  learned  by  experience,  but  are  inherited.  The  "knowing"  of 
"friend  and  foe"  among  ants  is  thus  reduced  to  different  reactions,  depend- 
ing upon  the  nature  of  the  chemical  stimulus  and  in  no  way  depending  upon 
memory. 

Here,  again,  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  the  common 
sense  and  the  scientific  explanation  of  the  behavior  of  the  ant  except 
so  far  as  the  scientific  explanation  is  more  accurate,  defining  the  pre- 
cise mechanisms  by  which  the  recognition  of  "friend  and  foe"  is 
effected,  and  the  limitations  to  which  it  is  subject. 

Another  result  of  the  study  of  the  comparative  behavior  of  man 
and  the  lower  animals  has  been  to  convince  students  that  there  is  no 
fundamental  difference  between  what  was  formerly  called  intelligent 
and  instinctive  behavior;  that  they  may  rather  be  reduced,  as  has 
been  said,  to  the  elementary  form  of  reaction  represented  by  the 
simple  reflex  in  animals  and  the  tropism  in  plants.  Thus  Loeb  says: 

A  prominent  psychologist  has  maintained  that  reflexes  are  to  be  con- 
sidered as  the  mechanical  effects  of  acts  of  volition  of  past  generations. 
The  ganglion-cell  seems  the  only  place  where  such  mechanical  effects  could 
be  stored  up.  It  has  therefore  been  considered  the  most  essential  element 
of  the  reflex  mechanism,  the  nerve-fibers  being  regarded,  and  probably 
correctly,  merely  as  conductors. 

Both  the  authors  who  emphasize  the  purposefulness  of  the  reflex  act, 
and  those  who  see  in  it  only  a  physical  process,  have  invariably  looked 
upon  the  ganglion-cell  as  the  principal  bearer  of  the  structures  for  the 
complex  co-ordinated  movements  in  reflex  action. 

I  should  have  been  as  little  inclined  as  any  other  physiologist  to  doubt 
the  correctness  of  this  conception  had  not  the  establishment  of  the  identity 
of  the  reactions  of  animals  and  plants  to  light  proved  the  untenability  of 
this  view  and  at  the  same  time  offered  a  different  conception  of  reflexes. 


HUMAN  NATURE  81 

The  flight  of  the  moth  into  the  flame  is  a  typical  reflex  process.  The  light 
stimulates  the  peripheral  sense  organs,  the  stimulus  passes  to  the  central 
nervous  system,  and  from  there  to  the  muscles  of  the  wings,  and  the  moth 
is  caused  to  fly  into  the  flame.  This  reflex  process  agrees  in  every  point 
with  the  heliotropic  effects  of  light  on  plant  organs.  Since  plants  possess 
no  nerves,  this  identity  of  animal  with  plant  heliotropism  can  offer  but  one 
inference — these  heliotropic  effects  must  depend  upon  conditions  which  are 
common  to  both  animals  and  plants. 

On  the  other  hand,  Watson,  in  his  Introduction  to  Comparative 
Psychology,  defines  the  reflex  as  "a  unit  of  analysis  of  instinct,"  and' 
this  means  that  instinctive  actions  in  man  and  in  animals  may  be 
regarded  as  combinations  of  simple  reflex  actions,  that  is  to  say  of 
"fairly  definite  and  generally  predictable  but  unlearned  responses  of 
lower  and  higher  organisms  to  stimuli."  Many  of  these  reflex 
responses  are  not  fixed,  as  they  were  formerly  supposed  to  be,  but 
"highly  unstable  and  indefinite."  This  fact  makes  possible  the  forma- 
tion of  habits,  by  combination  and  fixation  of  these  inherited  responses. 

These  views  in  the  radical  form  in  which  they  are  expressed  by 
Loeb  and  Watson  have  naturally  enough  been  the  subject  of  con- 
siderable controversy,  both  on  scientific  and  sentimental  grounds. 
They  seem  to  reduce  human  behavior  to  a  system  of  chemical  and 
physical  reactions,  and  rob  life  of  all  its  spiritual  values.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  must  be  remembered  that  human  beings,  like  other 
forms  of  nature,  have  this  mechanical  aspect  and  it  is  precisely  the 
business  of  natural  science  to  discover  and  lay  them  bare.  It  is  only 
thus  that  we  are  able  to  gain  control  over  ourselves  and  of  others. 
It  is  a  matter  of  common  experience  that  we  do  form  habits  and  that 
education  and  social  control  are  largely  dependent  upon  our  ability 
to  establish  habits  in  ourselves  and  in  others.  Habit  is,  in  fact,  a 
characteristic  example  of  just  what  is  meant  by  "mechanism,"  in  the 
sense  in  which  it  is  here  used.  It  is  through  the  fixation  of  habit 
that  we  gain  that  control  over  our  "original  nature,"  which  lifts  us 
above  the  brutes  and  gives  human  nature  its  distinctive  character  as 
human.  Character  is  nothing  more  than  the  sum  and  co-ordination 
of  those  mechanisms  which  we  call  habit  and  which  are  formed  on 
the  basis  of  the  inherited  and  instinctive  tendencies  and  dispositions 
which  we  share  in  so  large  a  measure  with  the  lower  annuals. 


82  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

4.    The  Natural  Man1 

"Its  first  act  is  a  cry,  not  of  wrath,  as  Kant  said,  nor  a  shout  of 
joy,  as  Schwartz  thought,  but  a  snuffling,  and  then  a  long,  thin, 
tearless  a-a,  with  the  timbre  of  a  Scotch  bagpipe,  purely  automatic, 
but  of  discomfort.  With  this  monotonous  and  dismal  cry,  with  its 
red,  shriveled,  parboiled  skin  (for  the  child  commonly  loses  weight 
the  first  few  days),  squinting,  cross-eyed,  pot-bellied,  and  bow-legged, 
it  is  not  strange  that,  if  the  mother  has  not  followed  Froebel's  exhor- 
tations and  come  to  love  her  child  before  birth,  there  is  a  brief  interval 
occasionally  dangerous  to  the  child  before  the  maternal  instinct  is 
fully  aroused." 

The  most  curious  of  all  the  monkey  traits  shown  by  the  new-born 
baby  is  the  one  investigated  by  Dr.  Louis  Robinson.  It  was  sug- 
gested by  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp.  The  question  was  raised  in 
conversation  whether  a  limp  and  molluscous  baby,  unable  so  much  as 
to  hold  up  its  head  on  its  helpless  little  neck,  could  do  anything  so 
positive  as  to  "rastle  with"  Kentuck's  finger;  and  the  more  knowing 
persons  present  insisted  that  a  young  baby  does,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
have  a  good  firm  hand-clasp.  It  occurred  to  Dr.  Robinson  that  if 
this  was  true  it  was  a  beautiful  Darwinian  point,  for  clinging  and 
swinging  by  the  arms  would  naturally  have  been  a  specialty  with  our 
ancestors  if  they  ever  lived  a  monkey-like  life  in  the  trees.  The 
baby  that  could  cling  best  to  its  mother  as  she  used  hands,  feet,  and 
tail  to  flee  in  the  best  time  over  the  trees,  or  to  get  at  the  more  inac- 
cessible fruits  and  eggs  in  time  of  scarcity,  would  be  the  baby  that 
lived  to  bequeath  his  traits  to  his  descendants;  so  that  to  this  day 
our  housed  and  cradled  human  babies  would  keep  in  their  clinging 
powers  a  reminiscence  of  our  wild  tree  top  days. 

There  is  another  class  of  movements,  often  confused  with  the 
reflex — that  is,  instinctive  movements.  Real  grasping  (as  distin- 
guished from  reflex  grasping),  biting,  standing,  walking,  are  examples 
of  this  class.  They  are  race  movements,  the  habits  of  the  species  to 
which  the  animal  belongs,  and  every  normal  member  of  the  species  is 
bound  to  come  to  them;  yet  they  are  not  so  fixed  in  the  bodily 
mechanism  as  the  reflex  movements. 

1  Adapted  from  Milicent  W.  Shinn,  The  Biography  of  a  Baby,  pp.  20-77. 
(Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  1900.  Author's  copyright.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  83 

The  one  instinct  the  human  baby  always  brings  into  the  world 
already  developed  is  half  a  mere  reflex  act — that  of  sucking.  It  is 
started  as  a  reflex  would  be,  by  the  touch  of  some  object — pencil, 
finger,  or  nipple,  it  may  be — between  the  lips;  but  it  does  not  act 
like  a  reflex  after  that.  It  continues  and  ceases  without  reference 
to  this  external  stimulus,  and  a  little  later  often  begins  without  it, 
or  fails  to  begin  when  the  stimulus  is  given.  If  it  has  originally 
a  reflex  character,  that  character  fades  out  and  leaves  it  a  pure 
instinct. 

My  little  niece  evidently  felt  a  difference  between  light  and 
darkness  from  the  first  hour,  for  she  stopped  crying  when  her  face 
was  exposed  to  gentle  light.  Two  or  three  report  also  a  turning  of 
the  head  toward  the  light  within  the  first  week.  The  nurse,  who  was 
intelligent  and  exact,  thought  she  saw  this  in  the  case  of  my  niece. 
I  did  not,  but  I  saw  instead  a  constant  turning  of  the  eyes  toward  a 
person  coming  near  her — that  is,  toward  a  large  dark  mass  that 
interrupted  the  light.  No  other  sign  of  vision  appeared  in  the  little 
one  during  the  first  fortnight.  The  eyes  were  directed  to  nothing, 
fixed  on  nothing.  They  did  not  wink  if  one  made  a  pass  at  them. 
There  was  no  change  of  focus  for  near  or  distant  seeing. 

The  baby  showed  no  sign  of  hearing  anything  until  the  third  day, 
when  she  started  violently  at  the  sound  of  tearing  paper,  some  eight 
feet  from  her.  After  that,  occasional  harsh  or  sudden  sounds — 
oftener  the  rustling  of  paper  than  anything  else— could  make  her 
start  or  cry.  It  is  well  established  by  the  careful  tests  of  several 
physiologists  that  babies  are  deaf  for  a  period  lasting  from  several 
hours  to  several  days  after  birth. 

Taste  and  smell  were  senses  that  the  baby  gave  no  sign  of  owning 
till  much  later.  The  satisfaction  of  hunger  was  quite  enough  to 
account  for  the  contentment  she  showed  in  nursing;  and  when  she 
was  not  hungry  she  would  suck  the  most  tasteless  object  as  cheer- 
fully as  any  other. 

Our  baby  showed  from  the  first  that  she  was  aware  when  she  was 
touched.  She  stopped  crying  when  she  was  cuddled  or  patted.  She 
showed  comfort  in  the  bath,  which  may  have  been  in  part  due  to 
freedom  from  the  contact  of  clothes,  and  to  liking  for  the  soft  touches 
of  the  water.  She  responded  with  sucking  motions  to  the  first 
touch  of  the  nipple  on  her  lips. 


84  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Our  baby  showed  temperament — luckily  of  the  easy-going  and 
cheerful  kind — from  her  first  day,  though  we  could  hardly  see  this 
except  by  looking  backward.  On  the  twenty-fifth  day,  toward 
evening,  when  the  baby  was  lying  on  her  grandmother's  knee  by  the 
fire,  in  a  condition  of  high  well-being  and  content,  gazing  at  her 
grandmother's  face  with  an  expression  of  attention,  I  came  and  sat 
down  close  by,  leaning  over  the  baby,  so  that  my  face  must  have 
come  within  the  indirect  range  of  her  vision.  At  that  she  turned 
her  eyes  to  my  face  and  gazed  at  it  with  the  same  appearance  of 
attention,  and  even  of  some  effort,  shown  by  the  slight  tension  of 
brows  and  lips,  then  turned  her  eyes  back  to  her  grandmother's  face, 
and  again  to  mine,  and  so  several  times.  The  last  time  she  seemed 
to  catch  sight  of  my  shoulder,  on  which  a  high  light  struck  from  the 
lamp,  and  not  only  moved  her  eyes  but  threw  her  head  far  back  to 
see  it  better,  and  gazed  for  some  time  with  a  new  expression  on  her 
face — "a  sort  of  dim  and  rudimentary  eagerness."  says  my  note. 
She  no  longer  stared,  but  really  looked. 

The  baby's  increased  interest  in  seeing  centered  especially  on  the 
faces  about  her,  at  which  she  gazed  with  rapt  interest.  Even  during 
the  period  of  mere  staring,  faces  had  oftenest  held  her  eyes,  probably 
because  they  were  oftener  brought  within  the  range  of  her  clearest 
seeing  than  other  light  surfaces.  The  large,  light,  moving  patch  of 
the  human  face  (as  Preyer  has  pointed  out)  coming  and  going  in  the 
field  of  vision,  and  oftener  chancing  to  hover  at  the  point  of  clearest 
seeing  than  any  other  object,  embellished  with  a  play  of  high  lights 
on  cheeks,  teeth,  and  eyes,  is  calculated  to  excite  the  highest  degree 
of  attention  a  baby  is  capable  of  at  a  month  old.  So  from  the 
very  first — before  the  baby  has  yet  really  seen  his  mother — her  face 
and  that  of  his  other  nearest  friends  become  the  most  active 
agents  in  his  development  and  the  most  interesting  things  in  bis 
experience. 

Our  baby  was  at  this  time  in  a  way  aware  of  the  difference  between 
companionship  and  solitude.  In  the  latter  days  of  the  first  month 
she  would  lie  contentedly  in  the  room  with  people  near  by,  but  would 
fret  if  left  alone.  But  by  the  end  of  the  month  she  was  apt  to  fret 
when  she  was  laid  down  on  a  chair  or  lounge,  and  to  become  content 
only  when  taken  into  the  lap.  This  was  not  yet  distinct  memory 
and  desire,  but  it  showed  that  associations  of  pleasure  had  been 


HUMAN  NATURE  85 

formed  with  the  lap,  and  that  she  felt  a  vague  discomfort  in  the 
absence  of  these. 

Nature  has  provided  an  educational  appliance  almost  ideally 
adapted  to  the  child's  sense  condition,  in  the  mother's  face,  hovering 
close  above  him,  smiling,  laughing,  nodding,  with  all  manner  of 
delightful  changes  in  the  high  lights;  in  the  thousand  little  meaning- 
less caressing  sounds,  the  singing,  talking,  calling,  that  proceed  from 
it;  the  patting,  cuddling,  lifting,  and  all  the  ministrations  that  the 
baby  feels  while  gazing  at  it,  and  associates  with  it,  till  finally  they 
group  together  and  round  out  into  the  idea  of  his  mother  as  a  whole. 

Oiir  baby's  mother  rather  resented  the  idea  of  being  to  her  baby 
only  a  collection  of  detached  phenomena,  instead  of  a  mamma;  but 
the  more  you  think  of  it,  the  more  flattering  it  is  to  be  thus,  as  it 
were,  dissolved  into  your  elements  and  incorporated  item  by  item 
into  the  very  foundations  of  your  baby's  mental  life.  Herein  is 
hinted  much  of  the  philosophy  of  personality;  and  Professor  Baldwin 
has  written  a  solid  book,  mainly  to  show  from  the  development  of 
babies  and  little  children  that  all  other  people  are  part  of  each  of  us, 
and  each  of  us  is  part  of  all  other  people,  and  so  there  is  really  no 
separate  personality,  but  we  are  all  one  spirit,  if  we  did  but  know  it. 

5.    Sex  Differences1 

As  children  become  physically  differentiated  in  respect  of  sex,  so 
also  does  a  mental  differentiation  ensue.  Differences  are  observed 
in  the  matter  of  occupation,  of  games,  of  movements,  and  numerous 
other  details.  Since  man  is  to  play  the  active  part  in  life,  boys 
rejoice  especially  in  rough  outdoor  games.  Girls,  on  the  other  hand, 
prefer  such  games  as  correspond  to  their  future  occupations.  Hence 
their  inclination  to  mother  smaller  children,  and  to  play  with  dolls. 
Watch  how  a  little  girl  takes  care  of  her  doll,  washes  it,  dresses  and 
undresses  it.  When  only  six  or  seven  years  of  age  she  is  often  an 
excellent  nurse.  Her  need  to  occupy  herself  in  such  activities  is 
often  so  great  that  she  pretends  that  her  doll  is  ill. 

In  all  kinds  of  ways,  we  see  the  little  girl  occupying  herself  in  the 
activities  and  inclinations  of  her  future  existence.  She  practices 
house  work;  she  has  a  little  kitchen,  in  which  she  cooks  for  herself 

1  From  Albert  Moll,  Sexual  Life  of  the  Child,  pp.  38-49.  Translated  from  the 
German  by  Dr.  Eden  Paul.  (Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1902.  Reprinted 
by  permission.) 


86  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  her  doll.  She  is  fond  of  needlework.  The  care  of  her  own  per- 
son, and  more  especially  its  adornment,  is  not  forgotten.  I  remember 
seeing  a  girl  of  three  who  kept  on  interrupting  her  elders'  conversa- 
tion by  crying  out,  "New  clothes!"  and  would  not  keep  quiet  until 
these  latter  had  been  duly  admired.  The  love  of  self-adornment  is 
almost  peculiar  to  female  children;  boys,  on  the  other  hand,  prefer 
rough  outdoor  games,  in  which  their  muscles  are  actively  employed, 
robber-games,  soldier-games,  and  the  like.  And  whereas,  in  early 
childhood,  both  sexes  are  fond  of  very  noisy  games,  the  fondness  for 
these  disappears  earlier  in  girls  than  in  boys. 

Differences  between  the  sexes  have  been  established  also  by 
means  of  experimental  psychology,  based  upon  the  examination  of  a 
very  large  number  of  instances.  Berthold  Hartmann  has  studied  the 
childish  circle  of  thought,  by  means  of  a  series  of  experiments.  School- 
boys to  the  number  of  660  and  schoolgirls  to  the  number  of  652,  at 
ages  between  five  and  three-fourths  and  six  and  three-fourths  years, 
were  subjected  to  examination.  It  was  very  remarkable  to  see  how, 
in  respect  to  certain  ideas,  such  as  those  of  the  triangle,  cube,  and 
circle,  the  girls  greatly  excelled  the  boys;  whereas  in  respect  of 
animals,  minerals,  and  social  ideas,  the  boys  were  better  informed 
than  the  girls.  Characteristic  of  the  differences  between  the  sexes, 
according  to  Meumann,  from  whom  I  take  these  details  and  some  of 
those  that  follow,  is  the  fact  tLat  the  idea  of  "marriage"  was  known 
to  only  70  boys  as  compared  to  227  girls;  whilst  the  idea  of  "infant 
baptism"  was  known  to  180  boys  as  compared  to  220  girls.  The 
idea  of  "pleasure"  was  also  much  better  understood  by  girls  than 
by  boys.  Examination  of  the  memory  has  also  established  the 
existence  of  differences  between  the  sexes  in  childhood.  In  boys  the 
memory  for  objects  appears  to  be  at  first  the  best  developed;  to  this 
succeeds  the  memory  for  words  with  a  visual  content;  in  the  case  of 
girls,  the  reverse  of  this  was  observed.  In  respect  of  numerous 
details,  however,  the  authorities  conflict.  Very  striking  is  the  fact, 
one  upon  which  a  very  large  number  of  investigators  are  agreed,  that 
girls  have  a  superior  knowledge  of  colors. 

There  are  additional  psychological  data  relating  to  the  differences 
between  the  sexes  in  childhood.  I  may  recall  Stern's  investigations 
concerning  the  psychology  of  evidence,  which  showed  that  girls  were 
much  more  inaccurate  than  boys. 


HUMAN  NATURE  87 

It  has  been  widely  assumed  that  these  psychical  differences 
between  the  sexes  result  from  education,  and  are  not  inborn.  Others, 
however,  assume  that  the  psychical  characteristics  by  which  the  sexes 
are  differentiated  result  solely  from  individual  differences  in  educa- 
tion. Stern  believes  that  in  the  case  of  one  differential  character,  at 
least,  he  can  prove  that  for  many  centuries  there  has  been  no  differ- 
ence between  the  sexes  in  the  matter  of  education;  this  character  is 
the  capacity  for  drawing.  Kerschensteiner  has  studied  the  develop- 
ment of  this  gift,  and  considers  that  his  results  have  established 
beyond  dispute  that  girls  are  greatly  inferior  in  this  respect  to  boys  of 
like  age.  Stern  points  out  that  there  can  be  no  question  here  of 
cultivation  leading  to  a  sexual  differentiation  of  faculty,  since  there 
is  no  attempt  at  a  general  and  systematic  teaching  of  draughtsman- 
ship to  the  members  of  one  sex  to  the  exclusion  of  members  of  the 
other. 

I  believe  that  we  are  justified  in  asserting  that  at  the  present 
time  the  sexual  differentiation  manifested  in  respect  of  quite  a  num- 
ber of  psychical  qualities  is  the  result  of  direct  inheritance.  It  would 
be  quite  wrong  to  assume  that  all  these  differences  arise  in  each 
individual  in  consequence  of  education.  It  does,  indeed,  appear  to 
me  to  be  true  that  inherited  tendencies  may  be  increased  or  dimin- 
ished by  individual  education;  and  further,  that  when  the  inherited 
tendency  is  not  a  very  powerful  one,  it  may  in  this  way  even  be 
suppressed. 

We  must  not  forget  the  frequent  intimate  association  between 
structure  and  function.  Rough  outdoor  games  and  wrestling  thus 
correspond  to  the  physical  constitution  of  the  boy.  So,  also,  it  is  by 
no  means  improbable  that  the  little  girl,  whose  pelvis  and  hips  have 
already  begun  to  indicate  by  their  development  their  adaption  for 
the  supreme  functions  of  the  sexually  mature  woman,  should  experi- 
ence obscurely  a  certain  impulsion  toward  her  predestined  maternal 
occupation,  and  that  her  inclinations  and  amusements  should  hi  this 
way  be  determined.  Many,  indeed,  and  above  all  the  extreme 
advocates  of  women's  rights,  prefer  to  maintain  that  such  sexually 
differentiated  inclinations  result  solely  from  differences  in  individual 
education:  if  the  boy  has  no  enduring  taste  for  dolls  and  cooking, 
this  is  because  his  mother  and  others  have  told  him,  perhaps  with 
mockery,  that  such  amusements  are  unsuited  to  a  boy;  whilst  in  a 


88  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

similar  way  the  girl  is  dissuaded  from  the  rough  sports  of  boyhood. 
Such  an  assumption  is  the  expression  of  that  general  psychological 
and  educational  tendency,  which  ascribes  to  the  activity  of  the  will 
an  overwhelmingly  powerful  influence  upon  the  development  of  the 
organs  subserving  the  intellect,  and  secondarily  also  upon  that  of  the 
other  organs  of  the  body.  We  cannot  dispute  the  fact  that  in  such  a 
way  the  activity  of  the  will  may,  within  certain  limits,  be  effective, 
especially  in  cases  in  which  the  inherited  tendency  thus  counter- 
acted is  comparatively  weak;  but  only  within  certain  limits.  Thus 
we  can  understand  how  it  is  that  in  some  cases,  by  means  of  education, 
a  child  is  impressed  with  characteristics  normally  foreign  to  its  sex; 
qualities  and  tendencies  are  thus  developed  which  ordinarily  appear 
only  in  a  child  of  the  opposite  sex.  But  even  though  we  must  admit 
that  the  activity  of  the  individual  may  operate  in  this  way,  none  the 
less  we  are  compelled  to  assume  that  certain  tendencies  are  inborn. 
The  failure  of  innumerable  attempts  to  counteract  such  inborn 
tendencies  by  means  of  education  throws  a  strong  light  upon  the 
limitations  of  the  activity  of  the  individual  will;  and  the  same  must 
be  said  of  a  large  number  of  other  experiences. 

Criminological  experiences  appear  also  to  confirm  the  notion  of 
an  inherited  sexual  differentiation,  in  children  as  well  as  in  adults. 
According  to  various  statistics,  embracing  not  only  the  period  of 
childhood,  but  including  as  well  the  period  of  youth,  we  learn  that 
girls  constitute  one-fifth  only  of  the  total  number  of  youthful  criminals. 
A  number  of  different  explanations  have  been  offered  to  account  for 
this  disproportion.  Thus,  for  instance,  attention  has  been  drawn  to 
the  fact  that  a  girl's  physical  weakness  renders  her  incapable  of 
attempting  violent  assaults  upon  the  person,  and  this  would  suffice 
to  explain  why  it  is  that  girls  so  rarely  commit  such  crimes.  In  the 
case  of  offenses  for  which  bodily  strength  is  less  requisite,  such  as 
fraud,  theft,  etc.,  the  number  of  youthful  female  offenders  is  propor- 
tionately larger,  although  here  also  they  are  less  numerous  than 
males  of  corresponding  age  charged  with  the  like  offenses.  It  has 
been  asserted  that  in  the  law  courts  girls  find  more  sympathy  than 
boys,  and  that  for  this  reason  the  former  receive  milder  sentences 
than  the  latter;  hence  it  results  that  in  appearance  merely  the 
criminality  of  girls  is  less  than  that  of  boys.  Others,  again,  refer  the 
differences  in  respect  of  criminality  between  the  youthful  members 


HUMAN  NATURE  89 

of  the  two  sexes  to  the  influences  of  education  and  general  environ- 
ment. Morrison,  however,  maintains  that  all  these  influences  com- 
bined are  yet  insufficient  to  account  for  the  great  disproportion 
between  the  sexes,  and  insists  that  there  exists  in  youth  as  well  as 
in  adult  life  a  specific  sexual  differentiation,  based,  for  the  most  part, 
upon  biological  differences  of  a  mental  and  physical  character. 

Such  a  marked  differentiation  as  there  is  between  the  adult  man 
and  the  adult  woman  certainly  does  not  exist  in  childhood.  Similarly 
in  respect  of  many  other  qualities,  alike  bodily  and  mental,  in  respect 
of  many  inclinations  and  numerous  activities,  we  find  that  in  child- 
hood sexual  differentiation  is  less  marked  than  it  is  hi  adult  life. 
None  the  less,  a  number  of  sexual  differences  can  be  shown  to  exist 
even  in  childhood;  and  as  regards  many  other  differences,  though 
they  are  not  yet  apparent,  we  are  nevertheless  compelled  to  assume 
that  they  already  exist  potentially  in  the  organs  of  the  child. 

6.    Racial  Differences1 

The  results  of  the  Cambridge  expedition  to  the  Torres  Straits 
have  shown  that  in  acuteness  of  vision,  hearing,  smell,  etc.,  these 
peoples  are  not  noticeably  different  from  our  own.  We  conclude 
that  the  remarkable  tales  adduced  to  the  contrary  by  various  travelers 
are  to  be  explained,  not  by  the  acuteness  of  sensation,  but  by  the 
acuteness  of  interpretation  of  primitive  peoples.  Take  the  savage 
into  the  streets  of  a  busy  city  and  see  what  a  number  of  sights  and 
sounds  he  will  neglect  because  of  their  meaninglessness  to  him.  Take 
the  sailor  whose  powers  of  discerning  a  ship  on  the  horizon  appear  to 
the  landsman  so  extraordinary,  and  set  him  to  detect  micro-organisms 
in  the  field  of  a  microscope.  Is  it  then  surprising  that  primitive  man 
should  be  able  to  draw  inferences  which  to  the  stranger  appear  mar- 
velous, from  the  merest  specks  in  the  far  distance  or  from  the  faintest 
sounds,  odors,  or  tracks  in  the  jungle?  Such  behavior  serves  only 
to  attest  the  extraordinary  powers  of  observation  in  primitive  man 
with  respect  to  things  which  are  of  use  and  hence  of  interest  to  him. 
The  same  powers  are  shown  in  the  vast  number  of  words  he  will  coin 
to  denote  the  same  object,  say  a  certain  tree  at  different  stages  of 
its  growth. 

1  From  C.  S.  Myers,  "On  the  Permanence  of  Racial  Differences,"  in  Papers 
on  Inter-racial  Problems,  edited  by  G.  Spiller,  pp.  74-76.  (P.  S.  King  &  Son,  1911.) 


QO  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

We  concluded,  then,  that  no  fundamental  difference  in  powers  of 
sensory  acuity,  nor,  indeed,  in  sensory  discrimination,  exists  between 
primitive  and  civilized  communities.  Further,  there  is  no  proof  of 
any  difference  in  memory  between  them,  save,  perhaps,  in  a  greater 
tendency  for  primitive  folk  to  use  and  to  excel  in  mere  mechanical 
learning,  in  preference  to  rational  learning.  But  this  surely  is  also 
the  characteristic  of  the  European  peasant.  He  will  never  commit 
things  to  memory  by  thinking  of  their  meaning,  if  he  can  learn  them 
by  rote. 

In  temperament  we  meet  with  just  the  same  variations  hi  primi- 
tive as  in  civilized  communities.  In  every  primitive  society  is  to  be 
found  the  flighty,  the  staid,  the  energetic,  the  indolent,  the  cheer- 
ful, the  morose,  the  even-,  the  hot-tempered,  the  unthinking,  the 
philosophical  individual.  At  the  same  time,  the  average  differences 
between  different  primitive  peoples  are  as  striking  as  those  between 
the  average  German  and  the  average  Italian. 

It  is  a  common  but  manifest  error  to  suppose  that  primitive  man 
is  distinguished  from  the  civilized  peasant  in  that  he  is  freer  and  that 
his  conduct  is  less  under  control.  On  the  contrary,  the  savage  is 
probably  far  more  hidebound  than  we  are  by  social  regulations.  His 
life  is  one  round  of  adherence  to  the  demands  of  custom.  For 
instance,  he  may  be  compelled  even  to  hand  over  his  own  children 
at  their  birth  to  others;  he  may  be  prohibited  from  speaking  to 
certain  of  his  relatives;  his  choice  of  a  wife  may  be  very  strictly 
limited  by  traditional  laws;  at  every  turn  there  are  ceremonies  to  be 
performed  and  presents  to  be  made  by  him  so  that  misfortune  may 
be  safely  averted.  As  to  the  control  which  primitive  folk  exercise 
over  their  conduct,  this  varies  enormously  among  different  peoples; 
but  if  desired,  I  could  bring  many  instances  of  self-control  before  you 
which  would  put  to  shame  the  members  even  of  our  most  civilized 
communities. 

Now  since  in  all  these  various  mental  characters  no  appreciable 
difference  exists  between  primitive  and  advanced  communities,  the 
question  arises,  what  is  the  most  important  difference  between  them  ? 
I  shall  be  told,  in  the  capacity  for  logical  and  abstract  thought.  But 
by  how  much  logical  and  abstract  thought  is  the  European  peasant 
superior  to  his  primitive  brother?  Study  our  country  folklore, 
study  the  actual  practices  in  regard  to  healing  and  religion  which 


HUMAN  NATURE  91 

prevail  in  every  European  peasant  community  today,  and  what 
essential  differences  are  discoverable?  Of  course,  it  will  be  urged 
that  these  practices  are  continued  unthinkingly,  that  they  are  merely 
vestiges  of  a  period  when  once  they  were  believed  and  were  full  of 
meaning.  But  this,  I  am  convinced,  is  far  from  being  generally 
true,  and  it  also  certainly  applies  to  many  of  the  ceremonies  and 
customs  of  primitive  peoples. 

It  will  be  said  that  although  the  European  peasant  may  not  in 
the  main  think  more  logically  and  abstractly,  he  has,  nevertheless, 
the  potentiality  for  such  thought,  should  only  the  conditions  for  its 
manifestations — education  and  the  like — ever  be  given.  From  such 
as  he  have  been  produced  the  geniuses  of  Europe— the  long  line  of 
artists  and  inventors  who  have  risen  from  the  lowest  ranks. 

I  will  consider  this  objection  later.  At  present  it  is  sufficient  for 
my  purpose  to  have  secured  the  admission  that  the  peasants  of 
Europe  do  not  as  a  whole  use  their  mental  powers  in  a  much  more 
logical  or  abstract  manner  than  do  primitive  people.  I  maintain 
that  such  superiority  as  they  have  is  due  to  differences  (i)  of  environ- 
ment and  (2)  of  variability. 

We  must  remember  that  the  European  peasant  grows  up  in  a 
(more  or  less)  civilized  environment;  he  learns  a  (more  or  less)  well- 
developed  and  written  language,  which  serves  as  an  easier  instrument 
and  a  stronger  inducement  for  abstract  thought;  he  is  born  into 
a  (more  or  less)  advanced  religion.  All  these  advantages  and  the 
advantage  of  a  more  complex  education  the  European  peasant  owes 
to  his  superiors  in  ability  and  civilization.  Rob  the  peasant  of  these 
opportunities,  plunge  him  into  the  social  environment  of  present 
primitive  man,  and  what  difference  in  thinking  power  will  be  left 
between  them  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  brings  me  to  the  second  point  of 
difference  which  I  have  mentioned — the  difference  in  variability.  I 
have  already  alluded  to  the  divergencies  in  temperament  to  be 
found  among  the  members  of  every  primitive  community.  But  well 
marked  as  are  these  and  other  individual  differences,  I  suspect  that 
they  are  less  prominent  among  primitive  than  among  more  advanced 
peoples.  This  difference  in  variability,  if  really  existent,  is  probably 
the  outcome  of  more  frequent  racial  admixture  and  more  complex 
social  environment  in  civilized  communities.  In  another  sense,  the 


92  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

variability  of  the  savage  is  indicated  by  the  comparative  data  afforded 
by  certain  psychological  investigations.  A  civilized  community  may 
not  differ  much  from  a  primitive  one  in  the  mean  or  average  of  a 
given  character,  but  the  extreme  deviations  which  it  shows  from 
that  mean  will  be  more  numerous  and  more  pronounced.  This  kind 
of  variability  has  probably  another  source.  The  members  of  a  primi- 
tive community  behave  toward  the  applied  test  in  the  simplest  man- 
ner, by  the  use  of  a  mental  process  which  we  will  call  A,  whereas 
those  of  a  more  advanced  civilization  employ  other  mental  processes, 
in  addition  to  A,  say  B,  C,  D,  or  E,  each  individual  using  them  in 
different  degrees  for  the  performance  of  one  and  the  same  test. 
Finally,  there  is  in  all  likelihood  a  third  kind  of  variability,  whose 
origin  is  ultimately  environmental,  which  is  manifested  by  extremes 
of  nervous  instability.  Probably  the  exceptionally  defective  and  the 
exceptional  genius  are  more  common  among  civilized  than  among 
primitive  peoples. 

Similar  features  undoubtedly  meet  us  in  the  study  of  sexual  differ- 
ences. The  average  results  of  various  tests  of  mental  ability  applied 
to  men  and  women  are  not,  on  the  whole,  very  different  for  the  two 
sexes,  but  the  men  always  show  considerably  greater  individual 
variation  than  the  women.  And  here,  at  all  events,  the  relation 
between  the  frequency  of  mental  deficiency  and  genius  in  the  two 
sexes  is  unquestionable.  Our  asylums  contain  a  considerably  greater 
number  of  males  than  of  females,  as  a  compensation  for  which  genius 
is  decidedly  less  frequent  in  females  than  in  males. 

7.    Individual  Differences1 

The  life  of  a  man  is  a  double  series — a  series  of  effects  produced 
hi  him  by  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  a  series  of  effects  produced  in  that 
world  by  him.  A  man's  make-up  or  nature  equals  his  tendencies 
to  be  influenced  in  certain  ways  by  the  world  and  to  react  in  certain 
ways  to  it. 

If  we  could  thus  adequately  describe  each  of  a  million  human 
beings — if,  for  each  one,  we  could  prophesy  just  what  the  response 
would  be  to  every  possible  situation  of  life — the  million  men  would 
be  found  to  differ  widely.  Probably  no  two  out  of  the  million  would 

1  From  Edward  L.  Thorndike,  Individuality,  pp.  1-8.  (By  permission  of  and 
special  arrangement  with  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  1911.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  93 

be  so  alike  in  mental  nature  as  to  be  indistinguishable  by  one  who 
knew  their  entire  natures.  Each  has  an  individuality  which  marks 
him  off  from  other  men.  We  may  study  a  human  being  in  respect  to 
his  common  humanity,  or  in  respect  to  his  individuality.  In  other 
words,  we  may  study  the  features  of  intellect  and  character  which 
are  common  to  all  men,  to  m^,n  as  a  species;  or  we  may  study  the 
differences  in  intellect  and  character  which  distinguish  individual  men. 

Individuals  are  commonly  considered  as  differing  in  respect  to 
such  traits  either  quantitatively  or  qualitatively,  either  in  degree  or 
in  kind.  A  quantitative  difference  exists  when  the  individuals  have 
different  amounts  of  the  same  trait.  Thus,  "John  is  more  attentive 
to  his  teacher  than  James  is";  "Mary  loves  dolls  less  than  Lucy 
does";  "A  had  greater  devotion  to  his  country  than  B  had";  are 
reports  of  quantitative  differences,  of  differences  in  the  amount  of 
what  is  assumed  to  be  the  same  kind  of  thing.  A  qualitative  differ- 
ence exists  when  some  quality  or  trait  possessed  by  one  individual 
is  lacking  in  the  other.  Thus,  "Tom  knows  German,  Dick  does  not"; 
"A  is  artistic,  B  is  scientific";  " C  is  a  man  of  thought,  D  is  a  man  of 
action";  are  reports  of  the  fact  that  Tom  has  some  positive  amount 
or  degree  of  the  trait  "knowledge  of  German"  while  Dick  has  none  of 
it;  that  A  has  some  positive  amount  of  ability  and  interest  in  art 
while  B  has  zero;  whereas  B  has  a  positive  amount  of  ability  in 
science,  of  which  A  has  none;  and  so  on. 

A  qualitative  difference  in  intellect  or  character  is  thus  really  a 
quantitative  difference  wherein  one  term  is  zero,  or  a  compound  of 
two  or  more  quantitative  differences.  All  intelligible  differences  are 
ultimately  quantitative.  The  difference  between  any  two  individuals, 
if  describable  at  all,  is  described  by  comparing  the  amounts  which 
A  possesses  of  various  traits  with  the  amounts  which  B  possesses  of 
the  same  traits.  In  intellect  and  character,  differences  of  kind 
between  one  individual  and  another  turn  out  to  be  definable,  if  defined 
at  all,  as  compound  differences  of  degree. 

If  we  could  list  all  the  traits,  each  representing  some  one  char- 
acteristic of  human  nature,  and  measure  the  amount  of  each  of  them  t 
possessed  by  a  man,  we  could  represent  his  nature — read  his  character 
— in  a  great  equation.  John  Smith  would  equal  so  many  units  of 
this,  plus  so  many  units  of  that,  and  so  on.  Such  a  mental  inventory 
would  express  his  individuality  conceivably  in  its  entirety  and  with 


94  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

great  exactitude.  No  such  list  has  been  made  for  any  man,  much 
less  have  the  exact  amounts  of  each  trait  possessed  by  him  been 
measured.  But  in  certain  of  the  traits,  many  individuals  have  been 
measured;  and  certain  individuals  have  been  measured,  each  in  a 
large  number  of  traits. 

It  is  useless  to  recount  the  traits  in  which  men  have  been  found  to 
differ.  For  there  is  no  trait  in  which  they  do  not  differ.  Of  course, 
if  the  scale  by  which  individuals  are  measured  is  very  coarsely  divided, 
their  differences  may  be  hidden.  If,  for  example,  ability  to  learn  is 
measured  on  a  scale  with  only  two  divisions,  (i)  "ability  to  learn  less 
than  the  average  kitten  can"  and  (2)  "ability  to  learn  more  than  the 
average  kitten  can,"  all  men  may  be  put  in  class  two,  just  as  if  their 
heights  were  measured  on  a  scale  of  one  yard,  two  yards,  or  three 
yards,  nearly  all  men  would  alike  be  called  two  yards  high.  But 
whenever  the  scale  of  measurement  is  made  fine  enough,  differences 
at  once  appear.  Their  existence  is  indubitable  to  any  impartial 
observer.  The  early  psychologists  neglected  or  failed  to  see  them 
precisely  because  the  early  psychology  was  partial.  It  believed  in  a 
typical  or  pattern  mind,  after  the  manner  of  which  all  minds  were 
created,  and  from  whom  they  differed  only  by  rare  accidents.  It 
studied  "the  mind,"  and  neglected  individual  minds.  It  studied 
"the  will"  of  "man,"  neglecting  the  interests,  impulses,  and  habits 
of  actual  men. 

The  differences  exist  at  birth  and  commonly  increase  with  prog- 
ress toward  maturity.  Individuality  is  already  clearly  manifest  in 
children  of  school  age.  The  same  situation  evokes  widely  differing 
responses;  the  same  task  is  done  at  differing  speeds  and  with  different 
degrees  of  success;  the  same  treatment  produces  differing  results. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that  of  a  thousand  ten-year-olds  taken  at 
random,  some  will  be  four  times  as  energetic,  industrious,  quick, 
courageous,  or  honest  as  others,  or  will  possess  four  times  as  much 
refinement,  knowledge  of  arithmetic,  power  of  self-control,  sympathy, 
or  the  like.  It  has  been  found  that  among  children  of  the  same  age 
and,  in  essential  respects,  of  the  same  home  training  and  school 
advantages,  some  do  in  the  same  time  six  times  as  much,  or  do  the 
same  amount  with  only  one-tenth  as  many  errors. 


HUMAN  NATURE  95 

B.      HUMAN  NATURE  AND  SOCIAL  LIFE 
i.    Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking1 

Human  beings  as  we  find  them  are  artificial  products;  and  for 
better  or  for  worse  they  must  always  be  such.  Nature  has  made  us: 
social  action  and  our  own  efforts  must  continually  remake  us.  Any 
attempt  to  reject  art  for  "nature"  can  only  result  in  an  artificial 
naturalness  which  is  far  less  genuine  and  less  pleasing  than  the  natural 
work  of  art. 

Further,  as  self-consciousness  varies,  the  amount  or  degree  of 
this  remaking  activity  will  vary.  Among  the  extremely  few  respects 
in  which  human  history  shows  unquestionable  growth  we  must 
include  the  degree  and  range  of  self-consciousness.  The  gradual 
development  of  psychology  as  a  science  and  the  persistent  advance 
of  the  subjective  or  introspective  element  in  literature  and  in  all  fine 
art  are  tokens  of  this  change.  And  as  a  further  indication  and 
result,  the  art  of  human  reshaping  has  taken  definite  character,  has 
left  its  incidental  beginnings  far  behind,  has  become  an  institution, 
a  group  of  institutions. 

Wherever  a  language  exists,  as  a  magazine  of  established  meanings, 
there  will  be  found  a  repertoire  of  epithets  of  praise  and  blame,  at 
once  results  and  implements  of  this  social  process.  The  simple 
existence  of  such  a  vocabulary  acts  as  a  persistent  force;  but  the 
effect  of  current  ideals  is  redoubled  when  a  coherent  agency,  such 
as  public  religion,  assumes  protection  of  the  most  searching  social 
maxims  and  lends  to  them  the  weight  of  all  time,  all  space,  all  wonder, 
and  all  fear.  For  many  centuries  religion  held  within  itself  the 
ripening  self-knowledge  and  self-discipline  of  the  human  mind.  Now, 
beside  this  original  agency  we  have  its  offshoots,  politics,  education, 
legislation,  the  penal  art.  And  the  philosophical  sciences,  including 
psychology  and  ethics,  are  the  especial  servants  of  these  arts. 

As  to  structure,  human  nature  is  undoubtedly  the  most  plastic 
part  of  the  living  world,  the  most  adaptable,  the  most  educable.  Of 
all  animals,  it  is  man  in  whom  heredity  counts  for  least,  and  con- 
scious building  forces  for  most.  Consider  that  his  infancy  is  longest, 
his  instincts  least  fixed,  his  brain  most  unfinished  at  birth,  his  powers 
of  habit-making  and  habit-changing  most  marked,  his  susceptibility 

r  From  W.  E.  Hocking,  Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking,  pp.  2-12.  (Yale 
University  Press,  1918.) 


96  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  social  impressions  keenest;  and  it  becomes  clear  that  in  every  way 
nature,  as  a  prescriptive  power,  has  provided  in  him  for  her  own  dis- 
placement. His  major  instincts  and  passions  first  appear  on  the 
scene,  not  as  controlling  forces,  but  as  elements  of  play,  in  a  pro- 
longed life  of  play.  Other  creatures  nature  could  largely  finish: 
the  human  creature  must  finish  himself. 

And  as  to  history,  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  results  of  man's 
attempts  at  self-modeling  appear  to  belie  the  liberty  thus  promised 
in  his  constitution.  If  he  has  retired  his  natural  integument  in 
favor  of  a  device  called  clothing,  capable  of  expressing  endless  nuances, 
not  alone  of  status  and  wealth,  but  of  temper  and  taste  as  well — 
conservatism  or  venturesomeness,  solemnity,  gaiety,  profusion,  color, 
dignity,  carelessness  or  whim,  he  has  not  failed  to  fashion  his  inner 
self  into  equally  various  modes  of  character  and  custom.  That  is  a 
hazardous  refutation  of  socialism  which  consists  in  pointing  out  that 
its  success  would  require  a  change  in  human  nature.  Under  the 
spell  of  particular  ideas  monastic  communities  have  flourished,  in 
comparison  with  whose  demands  upon  human  nature  the  change 
required  by  socialism — so  far  as  it  calls  for  purer  altruism  and  not 
pure  economic  folly — is  trivial.  To  any  one  who  asserts  as  a  dogma 
that  "human  nature  never  changes,"  it  is  fair  to  reply,  "It  is  human 
nature  to  change  itself." 

When  one  reflects  to  what  extent  racial  and  national  traits  are 
manners  of  the  mind,  fixed  by  social  rather  than  by  physical  heredity, 
while  the  bodily  characters  themselves  may  be  due  in  no  small 
measure  to  sexual  choices  at  first  experimental,  then  imitative,  then 
habitual,  one  is  not  disposed  to  think  lightly  of  the  human  capacity 
for  self-modification.  But  it  is  still  possible  to  be  skeptical  as  to 
the  depth  and  permanence  of  any  changes  which  are  genuinely 
voluntary.  There  are  few  maxims  of  conduct,  and  few  laws  so  con- 
trary to  nature  that  they  could  not  be  put  into  momentary  effect  by 
individuals  or  by  communities.  Plato's  Republic  has  never  been 
fairly  tried;  but  fragments  of  this  and  other  Utopias  have  been 
common  enough  in  history.  No  one  presumes  to  limit  what  men  can 
attempt;  one  only  inquires  what  the  silent  forces  are  which  determine 
what  can  last. 

What,  to  be  explicit,  is  the  possible  future  of  measures  dealing  with 
divorce,  with  war,  with  political  corruption,  with  prostitution,  with 


HUMAN  NATURE  97 

superstition?  Enthusiastic  idealism  is  too  precious  an  energy  to 
be  wasted  if  we  can  spare  it  false  efforts  by  recognizing  those  perma- 
nent ingredients  of  our  being  indicated  by  the  words  pugnacity, 
greed,  sex,  fear.  Machiavelli  was  not  inclined  to  make  little  of  what 
an  unhampered  ruler  could  do  with  his  subjects;  yet  he  saw  in  such 
passions  as  these  a  fixed  limit  to  the  power  of  the  Prince.  "  It  makes 
him  hated  above  all  things  to  be  rapacious,  and  to  be  violator  of 
the  property  and  women  of  his  subjects,  from  both  of  which  he  must 
abstain."  And  if  Machiavelli's  despotism  meets  its  master  in  the 
undercurrents  of  human  instinct,  governments  of  less  determined 
stripe,  whether  of  states  or  of  persons,  would  hardly  do  well  to  treat 
these  ultimate  data  with  less  respect. 

2.    Human  Nature,  Folkways,  and  the  Mores1 

It  is  generally  taken  for  granted  that  men  inherited  some  guiding 
instincts  from  their  beast  ancestry,  and  it  may  be  true,  although  it 
has  never  been  proved.  If  there  were  such  inheritances,  they  con- 
trolled and  aided  the  first  efforts  to  satisfy  needs.  Analogy  makes 
it  easy  to  assume  that  the  ways  of  beasts  had  produced  channels  of 
habit  and  predisposition  along  which  dexterities  and  other  psycho- 
physical  activities  would  run  easily.  Experiments  with  new  born 
animals  show  that  in  the  absence  of  any  experience  of  the  relation 
of  means  to  ends,  efforts  to  satisfy  needs  are  clumsy  and  blundering. 
The  method  is  that  of  trial  and  failure,  which  produces  repeated 
pain,  loss,  and  disappointments.  Nevertheless,  it  is  the  method  of 
rude  experiment  and  selection.  The  earliest  efforts  of  men  were  of 
this  kind.  Need  was  the  impelling  force.  Pleasure  and  pain,  on 
the  one  side  and  the  other,  were  the  rude  constraints  which  defined 
the  line  on  which  efforts  must  proceed.  The  ability  to  distinguish 
between  pleasure  and  pain  is  the  only  psychical  power  which  is  to 
be  assumed.  Thus  ways  of  doing  things  were  selected  which  were 
expedient.  They  answered  the  purpose  better  than  other  ways,  or 
with  less  toil  and  pain.  Along  the  course  on  which  efforts  were 
compelled  to  go,  habit,  routine,  and  skill  were  developed.  The 
struggle  to  maintain  existence  was  carried  on,  not  individually,  but 
in  groups.  Each  profited  by  the  other's  experience;  hence  there 
was  concurrence  toward  that  which  proved  to  be  most  expedient. 

1  From  William  G.  Sumner,  Folkways,  pp.  2-8.     (Ginn  &  Co.,  1906.) 


98  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

All  at  last  adopted  the  same  way  for  the  same  purpose;  hence  the 
ways  turned  into  customs  and  became  mass  phenomena.  Instincts 
were  developed  in  connection  with  them.  In  this  way  folkways  arise. 
The  young  learn  them  by  tradition,  imitation,  and  authority.  The 
folkways,  at  a  time,  provide  for  all  the  needs  of  life  then  and  there. 
They  are  uniform,  universal  in  the  group,  imperative,  and  invariable. 

The  operation  by  which  folkways  are  produced  consists  in  the 
frequent  repetition  of  petty  acts,  often  by  great  numbers  acting  in 
concert  or,  at  least,  acting  in  the  same  way  when  face  to  face  with 
the  same  need.  The  immediate  motive  is  interest.  It  produces  habit 
in  the  individual  and  custom  in  the  group.  It  is,  therefore,  in  the 
highest  degree  original  and  primitive.  Out  of  the  unconscious  experi- 
ment which  every  repetition  of  the  ways  includes,  there  issues  pleasure 
or  pain,  and  then,  so  far  as  the  men  are  capable  of  reflection,  con- 
victions that  the  ways  are  conducive  to  social  welfare.  When  this 
conviction  as  to  the  relation  to  welfare  is  added  to  the  folkways,  they 
are  converted  into  mores,  and,  by  virtue  of  the  philosophical  and 
ethical  element  added  to  them,  they  win  utility  and  importance  and 
become  the  source  of  the  science  and  the  art  of  living. 

It  is  of  the  first  importance  to  notice  that,  from  the  first  acts  by 
which  men  try  to  satisfy  needs,  each  act  stands  by  itself,  and  looks 
no  further  than  immediate  satisfaction.  From  recurrent  needs  arise 
habits  for  the  individual  and  customs  for  the  group,  but  these  results 
are  consequences  which  were  never  conscious  and  never  foreseen  or 
intended.  They  are  not  noticed  until  they  have  long  existed,  and  it 
is  still  longer  before  they  are  appreciated.  Another  long  time  must 
pass,  and  a  higher  stage  of  mental  development  must  be  reached, 
before  they  can  be  used  as  a  basis  from  which  to  deduce  rules  for 
meeting,  in  the  future,  problems  whose  pressure  can  be  foreseen. 
The  folkways,  therefore,  are  not  creations  of  human  purpose  and  wit. 
They  are  like  products  of  natural  forces  which  men  unconsciously  set 
in  operation,  or  they  are  like  the  instinctive  ways  of  animals,  which 
are  developed  out  of  experience,  which  reach  a  final  form  of  maximum 
adaptation  to  an  interest,  which  are  handed  down  by  tradition  and 
admit  of  no  exception  or  variation,  yet  change  to  meet  new  condi- 
tions, still  within  the  same  limited  methods,  and  without  rational 
reflection  or  purpose.  From  this  it  results  that  all  the  life  of  human 
beings,  in  all  ages  and  stages  of  culture,  is  primarily  controlled  by  a 


HUMAN  NATURE  99 

vast  mass  of  folkways  handed  down  from  the  earliest  existence  of  the 
race,  having  the  nature  of  the  ways  of  other  animals,  only  the  top- 
most layers  of  which  are  subject  to  change  and  control,  and  have 
been  somewhat  modified  by  human  philosophy,  ethics,  and  religion, 
or  by  other  acts  of  intelligent  reflection.  We  are  told  of  savages  that 
"it  is  difficult  to  exhaust  the  customs  and  small  ceremonial  usages 
of  a  savage  people.  Custom  regulates  the  whole  of  a  man's  actions — 
his  bathing,  washing,  cutting  his  hair,  eating,  drinking,  and  fasting. 
From  his  cradle  to  his  grave  he  is  the  slave  of  ancient  usage.  In  his 
life  there  is  nothing  free,  nothing  original,  nothing  spontaneous,  no 
progress  toward  a  higher  and  better  life,  and  no  attempt  to  improve 
his  condition,  mentally,  morally,  or  spiritually."  All  men  act  in 
this  way,  with  only  a  little  wider  margin  of  voluntary  variation. 

The  folkways  are,  therefore:  (i)  subject  to  a  strain  of  improve- 
ment toward  better  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  as  long  as  the 
adaptation  is  so  imperfect  that  pain  is  produced.  They  are  also 
(2)  subject  to  a  strain  of  consistency  with  each  other,  because  they 
all  answer  their  several  purposes  with  less  friction  and  antagonism 
when  they  co-operate  and  support  each  other.  The  forms  of  indus- 
try, the  forms  of  the  family,  the  notions  of  property,  the  constructions 
of  rights,  and  the  types  of  religion  show  the  strain  of  consistency  with 
each  other  through  the  whole  history  of  civilization.  The  two  great 
cultural  divisions  of  the  human  race  are  the  oriental  and  occidental. 
Each  is  consistent  throughout;  each  has  its  own  philosophy  and 
spirit;  they  are  separated  from  top  to  bottom  by  different  mores, 
different  standpoints,  different  ways,  and  different  notions  of  what 
societal  arrangements  are  advantageous.  In  their  contrast  they 
keep  before  our  minds  the  possible  range  of  divergence  in  the  solu- 
tion of  the  great  problems  of  human  life,  and  in  the  views  of  earthly 
existence  by  which  life-policy  may  be  controlled.  If  two  planets 
were  joined  in  one,  their  inhabitants  could  not  differ  more  widely  as 
to  what  things  are  best  worth  seeking,  or  what  ways  are  most  expedient 
for  well-living. 

Custom  is  the  product  of  concurrent  action  through  time.  We 
find  it  existent  and  in  control  at  the  extreme  reach  of  our  investiga- 
tions. Whence  does  it  begin,  and  how  does  it  come  to  be?  How 
can  it  give  guidance  "at  the  outset"?  All  mass  actions  seem  to 
begin  because  the  mass  wants  to  act  together.  The  less  they  know 


100  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

what  it  is  right  and  best  to  do,  the  more  open  they  are  to  suggestion 
from  an  incident  in  nature,  or  from  a  chance  act  of  one,  or  from  the 
current  doctrines  of  ghost  fear.  A  concurrent  drift  begins  which  is 
subject  to  later  correction.  That  being  so,  it  is  evident  that  instinc- 
tive action,  under  the  guidance  of  traditional  folkways,  is  an  operation 
of  the  first  importance  in  all  societal  matters.  Since  the  custom  never 
can  be  antecedent  to  all  action,  what  we  should  desire  most  is  to 
see  it  arise  out  of  the  first  actions,  but,  inasmuch  as  that  is  impossible, 
the  course  of  the  action  after  it  is  started  is  our  field  of  study.  The 
origin  of  primitive  customs  is  always  lost  in  mystery,  because  when 
the  action  begins  the  men  are  never  conscious  of  historical  action  or 
of  the  historical  importance  of  what  they  are  doing.  When  they 
become  conscious  of  the  historical  importance  of  their  acts,  the 
origin  is  already  far  behind. 

3.    Habit  and  Custom,  the  Individual  and  the  General  Will1 

The  term  Sitte  (mores)  is  a  synonym  of  habit  and  of  usage,  of 
convention  and  tradition,  but  also  of  fashion,  propriety,  practise,  and 
the  like.  Those  words  which  characterize  the  habitual  are  usually 
regarded  as  having  essentially  unequivocal  meanings.  The  truth  is 
that  language,  careless  of  the  more  fundamental  distinctions,  con- 
fuses widely  different  connotations.  For  example,  I  find  that  cus- 
tom— to  return  to  this  most  common  expression — has  a  threefold 
significance,  namely: 

1.  The  meaning  of  a  simple  objective  matter  of  fact. — In  this  sense 
we  speak  of  the  man  with  the  habit  of  early  rising,  or  of  walking  at  a 
particular  time,  or  of  taking  an  afternoon  nap.     By  this  we  mean 
merely  that  he  is  accustomed  to  do  so,  he  does  it  regularly,  it  is  a 
part  of  his  manner  of  life.     It  is  easily  understood  how  this  meaning 
passes  over  into  the  next: 

2.  The  meaning  of  a  rule,  of  a  norm  which  the  man  sets  up  for  him- 
self.— For  example,  we  say  he  has  made  this  or  that  a  custom,  and  in  a 
like  meaning,  he  has  made  it  a  rule,  or  even  a  law;   and  we  mean 
that  this  habit  works  like  a  law  or  a  precept.     By  it  a  person  governs 
himself  and  regards  habit  as  an  imperative  command,  a  structure  of 
subjective  kind,  that,  however,  has  objective  form  and  recognition. 

1  Translated  and  adapted  from  Ferdinand  Tonnies,  Die  Sitte,  pp.  7-14- 
(Literarische  Anstalt,  Riitten  und  Loening,  1909.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  IOI 

The  precept  will  be  formulated,  the  original  will  be  copied.  A  rule 
may  be  presented  as  enjoined,  insisted  upon,  imposed  as  a  command 
which  brings  up  the  third  meaning  of  habit: 

3.  An  expression  for  a  thing  willed,  or  a  will. — This  third  meaning, 
which  is  generally  given  the  least  consideration,  is  the  most  significant. 
If,  in  truth,  habit  is  the  will  of  man,  then  this  alone  can  be  his  real 
will.  In  this  sense  the  proverb  is  significant  that  habit  is  called  a 
second  nature,  and  that  man  is  a  creature  of  habit.  Habit  is,  in 
fact,  a  psychic  disposition,  which  drives  and  urges  to  a  specific  act, 
and  this  is  the  will  in  its  most  outstanding  form,  as  decision,  or  as 
"fixed"  purpose. 

Imperceptibly,  the  habitual  passes  over  into  the  instinctive  and 
the  impulsive.  What  we  are  accustomed  to  do,  that  we  do  "auto- 
matically." Likewise  we  automatically  make  gestures,  movements 
of  welcome  and  aversion  which  we  have  never  learned  but  which  we 
do  "naturally."  They  have  their  springs  of  action  in  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  and  in  the  feelings  connected  with  it.  But  what 
we  are  accustomed  to  do,  we  must  first  have  learned  and  practiced. 
It  is  just  that  practice,  the  frequent  repetition,  that  brings  about  the 
performance  of  the  act  "of  itself,"  like  a  reflex,  rapidly  and  easily. 
The  rope  dancer  is  able  to  walk  the  rope,  because  he  is  accustomed 
to  it.  Habit  and  practice  are  also  the  reasons  not  only  why  a  man 
can  perform  something  but  also  why  he  performs  it  with  relatively 
less  effort  and  attention.  Habit  is  the  basis  not  only  for  our  knowing 
something  but  also  for  our  actually  doing  it.  Habit  operates  as  a 
kind  of  stimulus,  and,  as  may  be  said,  as  necessity.  The  "power  of 
habit"  has  often  been  described  and  often  condemned. 

As  a  rule,  opinions  (mental  attitudes)  are  dependent  upon  habit, 
by  which  they  are  conditioned  and  circumscribed.  Yet,  of  course, 
opinions  can  also  detach  themselves  from  habit,  and  rise  above  it, 
and  this  is  done  successfully  when  they  become  general  opinions, 
principles,  convictions.  As  such  they  gain  strength  which  may  even 
break  down  and  overcome  habit.  Faith,  taken  in  the  conventional 
religious  sense  of  assurance  of  things  hoped  for,  is  a  primitive  form 
of  will.  While  in  general  habit  and  opinion  on  the  whole  agree, 
there  is  nevertheless  in  their  relations  the  seeds  of  conflict  and  struggle. 
Thought  continually  tends  to  become  the  dominating  element  of  the 
mind,  and  man  thereby  becomes  the  more  human. 


102  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  same  meaning  that  the  will,  in  the  usual  individual  sense,  has 
for  individual  man,  the  social  will  has  for  any  community  or  society, 
whether  there  be  a  mere  loose  relationship,  or  a  formal  union  and 
permanent  association.  And  what  is  this  meaning  ?  I  have  pointed 
this  out  in  my  discussion  of  habit,  and  present  here  the  more  general 
statement:  The  social  will  is  the  general  volition  which  serves  for 
the  government  and  regulation  of  individual  wills.  Every  general 
volition  can  be  conceived  as  corresponding  to  a  "  thou  shalt,"  and  in 
so  far  as  an  individual  or  an  association  of  individuals  directs  this 
"thou  shalt"  to  itself,  we  recognize  the  autonomy  and  freedom  of 
this  individual  or  of  this  association.  The  necessary  consequence 
of  this  is  that  the  individual  against  all  opposmg  inclinations  and 
opinions,  the  association  against  opposing  individuals,  wherever 
their  opposition  manifests  itself,  attempt,  at  least,  to  carry  through 
their  will  so  that  they  work  as  a  constraint  and  exert  pressure.  And 
this  is  essentially  independent  of  the  means  which  are  used  to  that 
end.  These  pressures  extend,  at  least  in  the  social  sense,  from  meas- 
ures of  persuasion,  which  appeal  to  a  sense  of  honor  and  of  shame, 
tc  actual  coercion  and  punishment  which  may  take  the  form  of 
physical  compulsion.  Sitte  develops  into  the  most  unbending,  over- 
powering force. 

4.    The  Law,  Conscience,  and  the  General  Will1 

In  the  English  language  we  have  no  name  for  it  (Sittlichkeif) ,  and 
this  is  unfortunate,  for  the  lack  of  a  distinctive  name  has  occasioned 
confusion  both  of  thought  and  of  expression.  Sittlichkeit  is  the 
system  of  habitual  or  customary  conduct,  ethical  rather  than  legal, 
which  embraces  all  those  obligations  of  the  citizen  which  it  is  "bad 
form"  or  "not  the  thing"  to  disregard.  Indeed,  regard  for  these 
obligations  is  frequently  enjoined  merely  by  the  social  penalty  of 
being  "  cut "  or  looked  on  askance.  And  yet  the  system  is  so  generally 
accepted  and  is  held  in  so  high  regard,  that  no  one  can  venture  to 
disregard  it  without  in  some  way  suffering  at  the  hands  of  his  neigh- 
bors for  so  doing.  If  a  man  maltreats  his  wife  and  children,  or 
habitually  jostles  his  fellow-citizens  in  the  street,  or  does  things 
flagrantly  selfish  or  in  bad  taste,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  find  himself  in  a 

1  From  Viscount  Haldane,  "Higher  Nationality,"  in  International  Conciliation, 
November,  1913,  No.  72,  pp.  4-12. 


HUMAN  NATURE  103 

minority  and  the  worse  of!  in  the  end.  But  not  only  does  it  not  pay 
to  do  these  things,  but  the  decent  man  does  not  wish  to  do  them.  A 
feeling  analogous  to  what  arises  from  the  dictates  of  his  more  private 
and  individual  conscience  restrains  him.  He  finds  himself  so 
restrained  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  daily  life.  But  he  is  guided 
in  his  conduct  by  no  mere  inward  feeling,  as  in  the  case  of  conscience. 
Conscience  and,  for  that  matter,  law,  overlap  parts  of  the  sphere  of 
social  obligation  about  which  I  am  speaking.  A  rule  of  conduct  may, 
indeed,  appear  in  more  than  one  sphere,  and  may  consequently  have 
a  twofold  sanction.  But  the  guide  to  which  the  citizen  mostly  looks 
is  just  the  standard  recognized  by  the  community,  a  community 
made  up  mainly  of  those  fellow-citizens  whose  good  opinion  he 
respects  and  desires  to  have.  He  has  everywhere  round  him  an 
object-lesson  in  the  conduct  of  decent  people  toward  each  other  and 
toward  the  community  to  which  they  belong.  Without  such  con- 
duct and  the  restraints  which  it  imposes  there  could  be  no  tolerable 
social  life,  and  real  freedom  from  interference  would  not  be  enjoyed. 
It  is  the  instinctive  sense  of  what  to  do  and  what  not  to  do  in  daily 
life  and  behavior  that  is  the  source  of  liberty  and  ease.  And  it  is 
this  instinctive  sense  of  obligation  that  is  the  chief  foundation  of 
society.  Its  reality  takes  objective  shape  and  displays  itself  in 
family  life  and  in  our  other  civic  and  social  institutions.  It  is  not 
limited  to  any  one  form,  and  it  is  capable  of  manifesting  itself,  in 
new  forms  and  of  developing  and  changing  old  forms.  Indeed,  the 
civic  community  is  more  than  a  political  fabric.  It  includes  all  the 
social  institutions  in  and  by  which  the  individual  life  is  influenced — 
such  as  are  the  family,  the  school,  the  church,  the  legislature,  and 
the  executive.  None  of  these  can  subsist  in  isolation  from  the  rest; 
together  they  and  other  institutions  of  the  kind  form  a  single  organic 
whole,  the  whole  which  is  known  as  the  nation.  The  spirit  and 
habit  of  life  which  this  organic  entirety  inspires  and  compels  are 
what,  for  my  present  purpose,  I  mean  by  SiUlichkeit. 

Sitte  is  the  German  for  custom,  and  Sittlichkeit  implies  custom 
and  a  habit  of  mind  and  action.  It  also  implies  a  little  more.  Fichte 
defines  it  hi  words  which  are  worth  quoting,  and  which  I  will  put 
into  English: 

What,  to  begin  with,  does  Sitte  signify,  and  in  what  sense  do  we  use 
the  word?  It  means  for  us,  and  means  in  every  accurate  reference  we 


104  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

make  of  it,  those  principles  of  conduct  which  regulate  people  in  their  rela- 
tions to  each  other,  and  which  have  become  matter  of  habit  and  second 
nature  at  the  stage  of  culture  reached,  and  of  which,  therefore,  we  are  not 
explicitly  conscious.  Principles,  we  call  them,  because  we  do  not  refer  to 
the  sort  of  conduct  that  is  casual  or  is  determined  on  casual  grounds,  but 
to  the  hidden  and  uniform  ground  of  action  which  we  assume  to  be  present 
in  the  man  whose  action  is  not  deflected  and  from  which  we  can  pretty 
certainly  predict  what  he  will  do.  Principles,  we  say,  whith  have  become  a 
second  nature  and  of  which  we  are  not  explicitly  conscious.  We  thus 
exclude  all  impulses  and  motives  based  on  free  individual  choice,  the  inward 
aspect  of  Sittlichkeit,  that  is  to  say,  morality,  and  also  the  outward  side,  or 
law,  alike.  For  what  a  man  has  first  to  reflect  over  and  then  freely  to 
resolve  is  not  for  him  a  habit  in  conduct;  and  in  so  far  as  habit  in  conduct 
is  associated  with  a  particular  age,  it  is  regarded  as  the  unconscious  instru- 
ment of  the  Time  Spirit. 

The  system  of  ethical  habit  in  a  community  is  of  a  dominating 
character,  for  the  decision  and  influence  of  the  whole  community  is 
embodied  in  that  social  habit.  Because  such  conduct  is  systematic 
and  covers  the  whole  of  the  field  of  society,  the  individual  will  is 
closely  related  by  it  to  the  will  and  the  spirit  of  the  community. 
And  out  of  this  relation  arises  the  power  of  adequately  controlling 
the  conduct  of  the  individual.  If  this  power  fails  or  becomes  weak, 
the  community  degenerates  and  may  fall  to  pieces.  Different 
nations  excel  in  their  Sittlichkeit  in  different  fashions.  The  spirit  of 
the  community  and  its  ideals  may  vary  greatly.  There  may  be  a  low 
level  of  Sittlichkeit;  and  we  have  the  spectacle  of  nations  which 
have  even  degenerated  in  this  respect.  It  may  possibly  conflict  with 
law  and  morality,  as  in  the  case  of  the  duel.  But  when  its  level  is 
high  in  a  nation  we  admire  the  system,  for  we  see  it  not  only  guiding 
a  people  and  binding  them  together  for  national  effort,  but  affording 
the  greatest  freedom  of  thought  and  action  for  those  who  in  daily 
life  habitually  act  in  harmony  with  the  General  Will. 

Thus  we  have  in  the  case  of  a  community,  be  it  the  city  or  be  it 
the  state,  an  illustration  of  a  sanction  which  is  sufficient  to  compel 
observance  of  a  rule  without  any  question  of  the  application  of  force. 
This  kind  of  sanction  may  be  of  a  highly  compelling  quality,  and  it 
often  extends  so  far  as  to  make  the  individual  prefer  the  good  of  the 
community  to  his  own.  The  development  of  many  of  our  social 
institutions,  of  our  hospitals,  of  our  universities,  and  of  other  estab- 


HUMAN  NATURE  105 

lishments  of  the  kind,  shows  the  extent  to  which  it  reaches  and  is 
powerful.  But  it  has  yet  higher  forms  in  which  it  approaches  very 
nearly  to  the  level  of  the  obligation  of  conscience,  although  it  is  dis- 
tinct from  that  form  of  obligation.  I  will  try  to  make  clear  what  I 
mean  by  illustrations.  A  man  may  be  impelled  to  action  of  a  high 
order  by  his  sense  of  unity  with  the  society  to  which  he  belongs, 
action  of  which,  from  the  civic  standpoint,  all  approve.  What  he 
does  in  such  a  case  is  natural  to  him,  and  is  done  without  thought  of 
reward  or  punishment;  but  it  has  reference  to  standards  of  conduct 
set  up  by  society  and  accepted  just  because  society  has  set  them  up. 
There  is  a  poem  by  the  late  Sir  Alfred  Lyall  which  exemplifies  the 
high  level  that  may  be  reached  in  such  conduct.  The  poem  is  called 
Theology  in  Extremis,  and  it  describes  the  feelings  of  an  Englishman 
who  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  Mahometan  rebels  in  the  Indian 
Mutiny.  He  is  face  to  face  with  a  cruel  death.  They  offer  him  his 
life  if  he  will  repeat  something  from  the  Koran.  If  he  complies,  no 
one  is  likely  ever  to  hear  of  it,  and  he  will  be  free  to  return  to  England 
and  to  the  woman  he  loves.  Moreover,  and  here  is  the  real  point, 
he  is  not  a  believer  in  Christianity,  so  that  it  is  no  question  of  deny- 
ing his  Savior.  What  ought  he  to  do?  Deliverance  is  easy,  and 
the  relief  and  advantage  would  be  unspeakably  great.  But  he  does 
not  really  hesitate,  and  every  shadow  of  doubt  disappears  when  he 
hears  his  fellow-prisoner,  a  half-caste,  pattering  eagerly  the  words 
demanded. 

I  will  take  another  example,  this  time  from  the  literature  of 
ancient  Greece.  In  one  of  the  shortest  but  not  least  impressive  of 
his  Dialogues,  the  "Crito,"  Plato  tells  us  of  the  character  of  Socrates, 
not  as  a  philosopher,  but  as  a  good  citizen.  He  has  been  unjustly 
condemned  by  the  Athenians  as  an  enemy  to  the  good  of  the  state. 
Crito  comes  to  him  in  prison  to  persuade  him  to  escape.  He  urges 
on  him  many  arguments,  his  duty  to  his  children  included.  But 
Socrates  refuses.  He  chooses  to  follow,  not  what  anyone  hi  the 
crowd  might  do,  but  the  example  which  the  ideal  citizen  should  set. 
It  would  be  a  breach  of  his  duty  to  fly  from  the  judgment  duly  passed 
in  the  Athens  to  which  he  belongs,  even  though  he  thinks  the  decree 
should  have  been  different.  For  it  is  the  decree  of  the  established 
justice  of  his  city  state.  He  will  not  "play  truant."  He  hears 
the  words,  "Listen,  Socrates,  to  us  who  have  brought  you  up"; 


io6          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  in  reply  he  refuses  to  go  away,  in  these  final  sentences:  "This  is 
the  voice  which  I  seem  to  hear  murmuring  in  my  ears,  like  the  sound 
of  the  flute  in  the  ears  of  the  mystic;  that  voice,  I  say,  is  murmuring 
in  my  ears,  and  prevents  me  from  hearing  any  other.  And  I  know 
that  anything  more  which  you  may  say  will  be  vain." 

Why  do  men  of  this  stamp  act  so,  it  may  be  when  leading  the 
battle  line,  it  may  be  at  critical  moments  of  quite  other  kinds  ?  It 
is,  I  think,  because  they  are  more  than  mere  individuals.  Individual 
they  are,  but  completely  real,  even  as  individual,  only  in  their  relation 
to  organic  and  social  wholes  in  which  they  are  members,  such  as  the 
family,  the  city,  the  state.  There  is  in  every  truly  organized  com- 
munity a  Common  Will  which  is  willed  by  those  who  compose  that 
community,  and  who  in  so  willing  are  more  than  isolated  men  and 
women.  It  is  not,  indeed,  as  unrelated  atoms  that  they  have  lived. 
They  have  grown,  from  the  receptive  days  of  childhood  up  to  matur- 
ity, in  an  atmosphere  of  example  and  general  custom,  and  their  lives 
have  widened  out  from  one  little  world  to  other  and  higher  worlds, 
so  that,  through  occupying  successive  stations  in  life,  they  more  and 
more  come  to  make  their  own  the  life  of  the  social  whole  in  which 
they  move  and  have  their  being.  They  cannot  mark  off  or  define 
their  own  individualities  without  reference  to  the  individualities  of 
others.  And  so  they  unconsciously  find  themselves  as  in  truth  pulse- 
beats  of  the  whole  system,  and  themselves  the  whole  system.  It  is 
real  in  them  and  they  in  it.  They  are  real  only  because  they  are 
social.  The  notion  that  the  individual  is  the  highest  form  of  reality, 
and  that  the  relationship  of  individuals  is  one  of  mere  contract,  the 
notion  of  Hobbes  and  of  Bentham  and  of  Austin,  turns  out  to  be 
quite  inadequate.  Even  of  an  every-day  contract,  that  of  marriage, 
it  has  been  well  said  that  it  is  a  contract  to  pass  out  of  the  sphere  of 
contract,  and  that  it  is  possible  only  because  the  contracting  parties 
are  already  beyond  and  above  that  sphere.  As  a  modern  writer, 
F.  H.  Bradley  of  Oxford,  to  whose  investigations  in  these  regions  we 
owe  much,  has  finely  said:  "The  moral  organism  is  not  a  mere  animal 
organism.  In  the  latter  the  member  is  not  aware  of  itself  as  such, 
while  in  the  former  it  knows  itself,  and  therefore  knows  the  whole 
in  itself.  The  narrow  external  function  of  the  man  is  not  the  whole 
man.  He  has  a  life  which  we  cannot  see  with  our  eyes,  and  there  is 
no  duty  so  mean  that  it  is  not  the  realization  of  this,  and  knowable 


HUMAN  NATURE  107 

as  such.  What  counts  is  not  the  visible  outer  work  so  much  as  the 
spirit  in  which  it  is  done.  The  breadth  of  my  life  is  not  measured 
by  the  multitude  of  my  pursuits,  nor  the  space  I  take  up  amongst 
other  men;  but  by  the  fulness  of  the  whole  life  which  I  know  as  mine. 
It  is  true  that  less  now  depends  on  each  of  us  as  this  or  that  man; 
it  is  not  true  that  our  individuality  is  therefore  lessened;  that  there- 
fore we  have  less  in  us." 

There  is,  according  to  this  view,  a  General  Will  with  which  the 
will  of  the  good  citizen  is  in  accord.  He  feels  that  he  would  despise 
himself  were  his  private  will  not  in  harmony  with  it.  The  notion 
of  the  reality  of  such  a  will  is  no  new  one.  It  is  as  old  as  the  Greeks, 
for  whom  the  moral  order  and  the  city  state  were  closely  related; 
and  we  find  it  in  modern  books  in  which  we  do  not  look  for  it.  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau  is  probably  best  known  to  the  world  by  the  famous 
words  in  which  he  begins  the  first  chapter  of  the  Social  Contract: 
"Man  is  born  free,  and  everywhere  he  is  in  chains.  Those  who 
think  themselves  to  be  the  masters  of  others  cease  not  to  be  greater 
slaves  than  the  people  they  govern."  He  goes  on  in  the  next  para- 
graph to  tell  us  that  if  he  were  only  to  consider  force  and  the  effects 
of  it,  he  would  say  that  if  a  nation  was  constrained  to  obey  and  did 
obey,  it  did  well,  but  that  whenever  it  could  throw  off  its  yoke  and 
did  throw  it  off,  it  acted  better.  His  words,  written  in  1762,  became 
a  text  for  the  pioneers  of  the  French  Revolution.  But  they  would 
have  done  well  to  read  further  into  the  book.  As  Rousseau  goes  on, 
we  find  a  different  conception.  He  passes  from  considering  the  fiction 
of  a  social  contract  to  a  discussion  of  the  power  over  the  individual  of 
the  General  Will,  by  virtue  of  which  a  people  becomes  a  people.  This 
General  Will,  the  Volonte  Generate,  he  distinguishes  from  *he  Volonte 
de  Tons,  which  is  a  mere  numerical  sum  of  individual  wills.  These 
particular  wills  do  not  rise  above  themselves.  The  General  Will,  on 
the  other  hand,  represents  what  is  greater  than  the  individual  volition 
of  those  who  compose  the  society  of  which  it  is  the  will.  On  occasions, 
this  higher  will  is  more  apparent  than  at  other  times.  But  it  may, 
if  there  is  social  slackness,  be  difficult  to  distinguish  from  a  mere 
aggregate  of  voices,  from  the  will  of  a  mob.  What  is  interesting  is 
that  Rousseau,  so  often  associated  with  doctrine  of  quite  another 
kind,  should  finally  recognize  the  bond  of  a  General  Will  as  what 
really  holds  the  community  together.  For  him,  as  for  those  who 


108  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

have  had  a  yet  clearer  grasp  of  the  principle,  in  willing  the  General 
Will  we  not  only  realize  our  true  selves  but  we  may  rise  above  our 
ordinary  habit  of  mind.  We  may  reach  heights  which  we  could  not 
reach,  or  which  at  all  events  most  of  us  could  not  reach,  in  isolation. 
There  are  few  observers  who  have  not  been  impressed  with  the  won- 
derful unity  and  concentration  of  purpose  which  an  entire  nation 
may  display — above  all,  in  a  period  of  crisis.  We  see  it  in  time  of 
war,  when  a  nation  is  fighting  for  its  life  or  for  a  great  cause.  We 
have  marvelled  at  the  illustrations  with  which  history  abounds  of 
the  General  Will  rising  to  heights  of  which  but  few  of  the  individual 
citizens  in  whom  it  is  embodied  have  ever  before  been  conscious 
even  in  their  dreams. 

By  leadership  a  common  ideal  can  be  made  to  penetrate  the  soul 
of  a  people  and  to  take  complete  possession  of  it.  The  ideal  may  be 
very  high,  or  it  may  be  of  so  ordinary  a  kind  that  we  are  not  con- 
scious of  it  without  the  effort  of  reflection.  But  when  it  is  there  it 
influences  and  guides  daily  conduct.  Such  idealism  passes  beyond 
the  sphere  of  law,  which  provides  only  what  is  necessary  for  mutual 
protection  and  liberty  of  just  action.  It  falls  short,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  quality  of  the  dictates  of  what  Kant  called  the  Categorical 
Imperative  that  rules  the  private  and  individual  conscience,  but 
that  alone,  an  Imperative  which  therefore  gives  insufficient  guidance 
for  ordinary  and  daily  social  life.  Yet  the  ideal  of  which  I  speak  is 
not  the  less  binding;  and  it  is  recognized  as  so  binding  that  the  con- 
duct of  all  good  men  conforms  to  it. 

C.      PERSONALITY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  SELF 
i.    The  Organism  as  Personality1 

The  organism  and  the  brain,  as  its  highest  representation,  con- 
stitute the  real  personality,  containing  in  itself  all  that  we  have 
been,  and  the  possibility  of  all  that  we  shall  be.  The  complete 
individual  character  is  inscribed  there  with  all  its  active  and  passive 
aptitudes,  sympathies,  and  antipathies;  its  genius,  talents,  or  stu- 
pidity; its  virtues,  vices,  torpor,  or  activity.  Of  all  these,  what 
emerges  and  actually  reaches  consciousness  is  only  a  small  item  com- 

1  From  Th.  Ribot,  The  Diseases  of  Personality,  pp.  156-57.  Translated  from 
the  French.  (The  Open  Court  Publishing  Co.,  1891.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  109 

pared  with  what  remains  buried  below,  albeit  still  active.  Conscious 
personality  is  always  but  a  feeble  portion  of  physical  personality. 

The  unity  of  the  ego,  consequently,  is  not  that  of  the  one-entity 
of  spiritualists  which  is  dispersed  into  multiple  phenomena,  but  the 
co-ordination  of  a  certain  number  of  incessantly  renascent  states, 
having  for  their  support  the  vague  sense  of  our  bodies.  This  unity 
does  not  pass  from  above  to  below,  but  from  below  to  above;  the 
unity  of  the  ego  is  not  an  initial,  but  a  terminal  point. 

Does  there  really  exist  a  perfect  unity?  Evidently  not  in  the 
strict,  mathematical  sense.  In  a  relative  sense  it  is  met  with,  rarely 
and  incidentally.  In  a  clever  marksman  in  the  act  of  taking  aim,  or 
in  a  skilled  surgeon  performing  a  difficult  operation  all  is  found  to 
converge,  both  physically  and  mentally.  Still,  let  us  take  note  of 
the  result:  in  these  conditions  the  awareness  of  real  personality  dis- 
appears; the  conscious  individual  is  reduced  to  an  idea;  whence  it 
would  follow  that  perfect  unity  of  consciousness  and  the  awareness 
of  personality  exclude  each  other.  By  a  different  course  we  again 
reach  the  same  conclusion;  the  ego  is  a  co-ordination.  It  oscillates 
between  two  extreme  points  at  which  it  ceases  to  exist:  viz.,  perfect 
unity  and  absolute  inco-ordination.  All  the  intermediate  degrees 
are  met  with,  in  fact,  and  without  any  line  of  demarcation  between 
the  healthy  and  the  morbid;  the  one  encroaches  upon  the  other. 

Even  in  the  normal  state  the  co-ordination  is  often  sufficiently 
loose  to  allow  several  series  to  co-exist  separately.  We  can  walk  or 
perform  manual  work  with  a  vague  and  intermittent  consciousness 
of  the  movements,  at  the  same  time  singing,  musing;  but  if  the  activ- 
ity of  thought  increases,  the  singing  will  cease.  With  many  people 
it  is  a  kind  of  substitute  for  intellectual  activity,  an  intermediate 
state  between  thinking  and  not-thinking. 

The  unity  of  the  ego,  in  a  psychological  sense,  is,  therefore,  the 
cohesion,  during  a  given  time,  of  a  certain  number  of  clear  states  of 
consciousness,  accompanied  by  others  less  clear,  and  by  a  multitude 
of  physiological  states  which,  without  being  accompanied  by  con- 
sciousness like  the  others,  yet  operate  as  much  as,  and  even  more 
than,  the  former.  Unity,  in  fact,  means  co-ordination.  The  con- 
clusion to  be  drawn  from  the  above  remarks  is  namely  this,  that  the 
consensus  of  consciousness  being  subordinate  to  the  consensus  of  the 
organism,  the  problem  of  the  unity  of  the  ego  is,  in  its  ultimate  form, 


110  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

a  biological  problem.  To  biology  pertains  the  task  of  explaining,  if 
it  can,  the  genesis  of  organisms  and  the  solidarity  of  their  component 
parts.  Psychological  interpretation  can  only  follow  in  its  wake. 

2.    Personality  as  a  Complex1 

Ideas,  after  being  experienced  in  consciousness,  become  dormant 
(conserved  as  physiological  dispositions)  and  may  or  may  not  after- 
ward be  reawakened  in  consciousness  as  memories.  Many  such  ideas, 
under  conditions  with  some  of  which  we  are  all  familiar,  tend  to  form 
part  of  our  voluntary  or  involuntary  memories  and  many  do  not.  But 
when  such  is  the  case,  the  memories  do  not  ordinarily  include  the 
whole  of  a  given  mental  experience,  but  only  excerpts  or  abstracts 
of  it.  Hence  one  reason  for  the  fallibility  of  human  memory  and 
consequent  testimony. 

Now  under  special  conditions,  the  ideas  making  up  an  experience 
at  any  given  moment  tend  to  become  organized  into  a  system  or 
complex,  so  that  when  we  later  think  of  the  experience  or  recall  any 
of  the  ideas  belonging  to  it,  the  complex  as  a  whole  is  revived.  This 
is  one  of  the  principles  underlying  the  mechanism  of  memory.  Thus 
it  happens  that  memory  may,  to  a  large  extent,  be  made  up  of  com- 
plexes. These  complexes  may  be  very  loosely  organized  in  that  the 
elementary  ideas  are  weakly  bound  together,  in  which  case,  when 
we  try  to  recall  the  original  experience,  only  a  part  of  it  is  recalled. 
Or  a  complex  may  be  very  strongly  organized,  owing  to  the  conditions 
under  which  it  is  formed,  and  then  a  large  part  of  the  experience  can 
be  recalled.  In  this  case,  any  idea  associated  with  some  element  in 
the  complex  may,  by  the  law  of  association,  revive  the  whole  original 
complex.  If,  for  instance,  we  have  gone  through  a  railroad  accident 
involving  exciting  incidents,  loss  of  life,  etc.,  the  words  "railroad," 
"accident,"  "death,"  or  a  sudden  crashing  sound,  or  the  sight  of 
blood,  or  even  riding  in  a  railroad  train  may  recall  the  experience 
from  beginning  to  end,  or  at  least  the  prominent  features  in  it,  i.e., 
so  much  as  was  organized.  The  memory  of  the  greater  part  of  this 
experience  is  well  organized,  while  the  earlier  events  and  those  suc- 
ceeding the  accident  may  have  passed  out  of  all  possibility  of  volun- 
tary recall. 

1  From  Morton  Prince,  "The  Unconscious,"  in  the  Journal  of  Abnormal  Psy- 
chology, III  (1908-9),  277-96,  426. 


HUMAN  NATURE  ill 

To  take  an  instance  commonplace  enough  but  which  happens 
to  have  just  come  within  my  observation:  A  fireman  was  injured 
severely  by  being  thrown  from  a  hose  wagon  rushing  to  a  fire  against 
a  telegraph  pole  with  which  the  wagon  collided.  He  narrowly 
escaped  death.  Although  three  years  have  passed  he  still  cannot 
ride  on  a  wagon  to  a  fire  without  the  memory  of  the  whole  accident 
rising  in  his  mind.  When  he  does  so  he  again  lives  through  the 
accident,  including  the  thoughts  just  previous  to  the  actual  collision 
when,  realizing  his  situation,  he  was  overcome  with  terror,  and  he 
again  manifests  all  the  organic  physical  expressions  of  fear,  viz. :  per- 
spiration, tremor,  and  muscular  weakness.  Here  is  a  well-organized 
and  fairly  limited  complex. 

Among  the  loosely  organized  complexes  in  many  individuals, 
and  possibly  in  all  of  us,  there  are  certain  dispositions  toward  views 
of  life  which  represent  natural  inclinations,  desires,  and  modes  of 
activity  which,  for  one  reason  or  another,  we  tend  to  suppress  or 
are  unable  to  give  full  play  to.  Many  individuals,  for  example,  are 
compelled  by  the  exactions  of  their  duties  and  responsibilities  to 
lead  serious  lives,  to  devote  themselves  to  pursuits  which  demand 
all  their  energies  and  thought  and  which,  therefore,  do  not  permit 
of  indulgence  in  the  lighter  enjoyments  of  life,  and  yet  there  may  be 
a  natural  inclination  to  partake  of  the  pleasures  which  innately  appeal 
to  all  mankind  and  which  many  pursue.  The  longing  for  these 
recurs  from  time  to  time.  The  mind  dwells  on  them,  the  imagination 
is  excited  and  weaves  a  fabric  of  pictures,  thoughts,  and  emotions 
which  thus  become  associated  into  a  complex.  There  may  be  a 
rebellion  and  "kicking  against  the  pricks"  and  thereby  a  liberation 
of  the  emotional  force  that  impresses  a  stronger  organization  on  the 
whole  process.  The  recurrence  of  such  a  complex  is  one  form  of 
what  we  call  a  "mood,"  which  has  a  distinctly  emotional  tone  of  its 
own.  The  revival  of  this  feeling  tone  tends  to  revive  the  associated 
ideas  and  vice  versa.  Such  a  feeling-idea  complex  is  often  spoken 
of  as  "a  side  to  one's  character,"  to  which  a  person  may  from  time 
to  time  give  play.  Or  the  converse  of  this  may  hold,  and  a  person 
who  devotes  his  life  to  the  lighter  enjoyments  may  have  aspirations 
and  longings  for  more  serious  pursuits,  and  in  this  respect  the  imagi- 
nation may  similarly  build  up  a  complex  which  may  express  itself 
in  a  mood.  Thus  a  person  is  often  said  to  have  "many  sides  to  his 


112  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

character,"  and  exhibits  certain  alternations  of  personality  which 
may  be  regarded  as  normal  prototypes  of  those  which  occur  as 
abnormal  states. 

Most  of  what  has  been  said  about  the  formation  of  complexes 
is  a  statement  of  commonplace  facts,  and  I  would  not  repeat  it  here 
were  it  not  that,  in  certain  abnormal  conditions,  disposition,  subject, 
and  other  complexes,  though  loosely  organized,  often  play  an  impor- 
tant part.  This  is  not  the  place  to  enter  into  an  explanation  of 
dissociated  personality,  but  in  such  conditions  we  sometimes  find  that 
disposition  complexes,  for  instance,  come  to  the  surface  and  displace 
or  substitute  themselves  for  the  other  complexes  which  make  up  a 
personality.  A  complex  which  is  only  a  mood  or  a  "side  of  the 
character"  of  a  normal  individual  may,  in  conditions  of  dissociation, 
become  the  main,  perhaps  sole,  complex  and  chief  characteristic  of 
the  new  personality.  In  Miss  Beauchamp,  for  instance,  the  per- 
sonality known  as  BI  was  made  up  almost  entirely  of  the  religious 
and  ethical  ideas  which  formed  one  side  of  the  original  self.  In  the 
personality  known  as  Sally  we  had  for  the  most  part  the  complex 
which  represented  the  enjoyment  of  youthful  pleasures  and  sports, 
the  freedom  from  conventionalities  and  artificial  restraints  generally 
imposed  by  duties  and  responsibilities.  In  BIV  the  complex  repre- 
sented the  ambitions  and  activities  of  practical  life.  In  Miss  Beau- 
champ  as  a  whole,  normal,  without  disintegration,  it  was  easy  to 
recognize  all  three  dispositions  as  "sides  of  her  character,"  though 
each  was  kept  ordinarily  within  proper  bounds  by  the  correcting 
influence  of  the  others.  It  was  only  necessary  to  put  her  in  an 
environment  which  encouraged  one  or  the  other  side,  to  associate 
her  with  people  who  strongly  suggested  one  or  the  other  of  her  own 
characteristics,  whether  religious,  social,  pleasure  loving,  or  intel- 
lectual, to  see  the  characteristics  of  BI,  Sally,  or  BIV  stand  out  in 
relief  as  the  predominant  personality.  Then  we  had  the  alternating 
play  of  these  different  sides  of  her  character. 

In  fact,  the  total  of  our  complexes,  which,  regarded  as  a  whole 
and  in  view  of  their  reaction  to  the  environment,  their  behavior  under 
the  various  conditions  of  social  life,  their  aptitudes,  feel  ing- tones, 
"habits,"  and  faculties,  we  term  character  and  personality,  are  in 
large  part  predetermined  by  the  mental  experiences  of  the  past  and 
the  vestiges  of  memory  which  have  been  left  as  residual  from  these 
experiences.  We  are  the  offspring  of  our  past. 


HUMAN  NATURE  113 

The  great  mass  of  our  ideas  involve  associations  of  the  origin  of 
which  we  are  unaware  because  the  memories  of  the  original  experience 
have  become  split  and  a  large  portion  thus  has  become  forgotten  even 
if  ever  fully  appreciated.  We  all  have  our  prejudices,  our  likes  and 
dislikes,  our  tastes  and  aversions;  it  would  tax  our  ingenuity  to  give 
a  sufficient  psychological  account  of  their  origin.  They  were  born 
long  ago  in  educational,  social,  personal,  and  other  experiences,  the 
details  of  which  we  have  this  many  a  year  forgotten.  It  is  the 
residua  of  these  experiences  that  have  persisted  and  become  associated 
into  complexes  which  are  retained  as  traits  of  our  personality. 

3.    The  Self  as  the  Individual's  Conception  of  His  R6lex 

Suggestion  may  have  its  end  and  aim  in  the  creation  of  a  new 
personality.  The  experimenter  then  chooses  the  sort  of  personality 
he  wishes  to  induce  and  obliges  the  subject  to  realize  it.  Experiments 
of  this  kind  succeeding  in  a  great  many  somnambulists,  and  usually 
producing  very  curious  results,  have  long  been  known  and  have  been 
repeated,  one  might  say,  almost  to  satiety  within  the  last  few  years. 

When  we  are  awake  and  in  full  possession  of  all  our  faculties  we 
can  imagine  sensations  different  from  those  which  we  ordinarily 
experience.  For  example,  when  I  am  sitting  quietly  at  my  table 
engaged  in  writing  this  book,  I  can  conceive  the  sensations  that  a 
soldier,  a  woman,  an  artist,  or  an  Englishman  would  experience  in 
such  and  such  a  situation.  But,  however  fantastic  the  conceptions 
may  be  that  we  form,  we  do  not  cease  to  be  conscious  withal  of  our 
own  personal  existence.  Imagination  has  taken  flight  fairly  in  space, 
but  the  memory  of  ourselves  always  remains  behind.  Each  of  us  knows 
that  he  is  himself  and  not  another,  that  he  did  this  yesterday,  that 
he  has  just  written  a  letter,  that  he  must  write  another  such  letter 
tomorrow,  that  he  was  out  of  Paris  for  a  week,  etc.  It  is  this  memory 
of  passed  facts — a  memory  always  present  to  the  mind — that  consti- 
tutes the  consciousness  of  our  normal  personality. 

It  is  entirely  different  in  the  case  of  the  two  women,  A and 

B ,  that  M.  Richet  studied. 

Put  to  sleep  and  subjected  to  certain  influences,  A and  B forget 

their  identity;  their  age,  their  clothing,  their  sex,  their  social  position,  their 
nationality,  the  place  and  the  time  of  their  life — all  this  has  entirely 

1  From  Alfred  Binet,  Alterations  of  Personality,  pp.  248-57.  (D.  Appleton 
&  Co.,  1896.) 


114  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

disappeared.  Only  a  single  idea  remains— a  single  consciousness — it  is  the 
consciousness  of  the  idea  and  of  the  new  being  that  dawns  upon  their 
imagination. 

They  have  lost  the  idea  of  their  late  existence.  They  live,  talk,  and 
think  exactly  like  the  type  that  is  suggested  to  them.  With  what  tre- 
mendous intensity  of  life  these  types  are  realized,  only  those  who  have  been 
present  at  these  experiments  can  know.  Description  can  only  give  a  weak 
and  imperfect  idea  of  it. 

Instead  of  imagining  a  character  simply,  they  realize  it,  objectify  it. 
It  is  not  like  a  hallucination,  of  which  one  witnesses  the  images  unfolding 
before  him,  as  a  spectator  would.  He  is  rather  like  an  actor  who  is  seized 
with  passion,  imagines  that  the  drama  he  plays  is  a  reality,  not  a  fiction, 
and  that  he  has  been  transformed,  body  and  soul,  into  the  personality  that 
he  sets  himself  to  play. 

In  order  to  have  this  transformation  of  personality  work  it  is  sufficient 

to  pronounce  a  word  with  some  authority.  I  say  to  A ,  "You  are  an 

old  woman,"  she  considers  herself  changed  into  an  old  woman,  and  her 
countenance,  her  bearing,  her  feelings,  become  those  of  an  old  woman. 

I  say  to  B ,  "You  are  a  little  girl,"  and  she  immediately  assumes  the 

language,  games,  and  tastes  of  a  little  girl. 

Although  the  account  of  these  scenes  is  quite  dull  and  colorless  com- 
pared with  the  sight  of  the  astonishing  and  sudden  transformations  them- 
selves, I  shall  attempt,  nevertheless,  to  describe  some  of  them.  I  quote 
some  of  M 's  objectivations: 

As  a  peasant. — She  rubs  her  eyes  and  stretches  herself.  "What  time  is 
it?  Four  o'clock  in  the  morning!"  She  walks  as  if  she  were  dragging 
sabots.  "Now,  then,  I  must  get  up.  Let  us  go  to  the  stable.  Come  up, 
red  one!  come  up,  get  about!"  She  seems  to  be  milking  a  cow.  "Let  me 
alone,  Gros-Jean,  let  me  alone,  I  tell  you.  When  I  am  through  my  work. 
You  know  well  enough  that  I  have  not  finished  my  work.  Oh!  yes,  yes, 
later." 

As  an  actress. — Her  face  took  a  smiling  aspect  instead  of  the  dull  and 
listless  manner  which  she  had  just  had.  "You  see  my  skirt?  Well,  my 
manager  makes  me  wear  it  so  long.  These  managers  are  too  tiresome.  As 
for  me,  the  shorter  the  skirt  the  better  I  like  it.  There  is  always  too  much 
of  it.  A  simple  fig  leaf!  Mon  Dieu,  that  is  enough!  You  agree  with  me, 
don't  you,  my  dear,  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  more  than  a  fig  leaf  ? 
Look  then  at  this  great  dowdy  Lucie — where  are  her  legs,  eh  ?" 

As  a  priest. — She  imagines  that  she  is  the  Archbishop  of  Paris.  Her 
face  becomes  very  grave.  Her  voice  is  mildly  sweet  and  drawling,  which 
forms  a  great  contrast  with  the  harsh,  blunt  tone  she  had  as  a  general. 


HUMAN  NATURE  11$ 

(Aside.)  "But  I  must  accomplish  my  charge."  She  leans  her  head  on  her 
hand  and  reflects.  (Aloud.)  "Ah!  it  is  you,  Monsieur  Grand  Vicar;  what 
is  your  business  with  me  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  be  disturbed.  Yes,  today  is 
the  first  of  January,  and  I  must  go  to  the  cathedral.  This  throng  of  people 
is  very  respectful,  don't  you  think  so,  monsieur  ?  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
religion  in  the  people,  whatever  one  does.  Ah!  a  child!  let  him  come  to 
me  to  be  blessed.  There,  my  child."  She  holds  out  to  him  her  imaginary 
bishop's  ring  to  kiss.  During  this  whole  scene  she  is  making  gestures  of 
benediction  with  her  right  hand  on  all  sides.  "Now  I  have  a  duty  to  per- 
form. I  must  go  and  pay  my  respects  to  the  president  of  the  Republic. 
Ah!  Mr.  President,  I  come  to  offer  you  my  allegiance.  It  is  the  wish  of 
the  church  that  you  may  have  many  years  of  life.  She  knows  that  she  has 
nothing  to  fear,  notwithstanding  cruel  attacks,  while  such  an  honorable 
man  is  at  the  head  of  the  Republic."  She  is  silent  and  seems  to  listen 
attentively.  (Aside.)  "Yes,  fair  promises.  Now  let  us  pray!"  She 
kneels  down. 

As  a  religious  sister. — She  immediately  kneels  down  and  begins  to  say 
her  prayers,  making  a  great  many  signs  of  the  cross ;  then  she  arises.  "Now 
to  the  hospital.  There  is  a  wounded  man  in  this  ward.  Well,  my  friend, 
you  are  a  little  better  this  morning,  aren't  you  ?  Now,  then,  let  me  take 
off  your  bandage."  She  gestures  as  if  she  were  unrolling  a  bandage.  "I 
shall  do  it  very  gently;  doesn't  that  relieve  you?  There!  my  poor  friend, 
be  as  courageous  before  pain  as  you  were  before  the  enemy." 

I  might  cite  other  objectivations  from  A 's  case,  in  the  character  of 

old  woman,  little  girl,  young  man,  gay  woman,  etc.  But  the  examples 
given  seem  sufficient  to  give  some  idea  of  the  entire  transformation  of  the 
personality  into  this  or  that  imaginary  type.  It  is  not  a  simple  dream, 
it  is  a  living  dream. 

The  complete  transformation  of  feelings  is  not  the  least  curious  phe- 
nomenon of  these  objectivations.  A is  timid,  but  she  becomes  very 

daring  when  she  thinks  herself  a  bold  person.  B is  silent,  she  becomes 

talkative  when  she  represents  a  talkative  person.  The  disposition  is  thus 
completely  changed.  Old  tastes  disappear  and  give  place  to  the  new 
tastes  that  the  new  character  represented  is  supposed  to  have. 

In  a  more  recent  paper,  prepared  with  the  co-operation  of 
M.  Ferrari  and  M.  Hericourt,  M.  Richet  has  added  a  curious  detail 
to  the  preceding  experiments.  He  has  shown  that  the  subject  on 
whom  a  change  of  personality  is  imposed  not  only  adapts  his  speech, 
gestures,  and  attitudes  to  the  new  personality,  but  that  even  his 
handwriting  is  modified  and  brought  into  relation  with  the  new  ideas 


Il6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

that  absorb  his  consciousness.  This  modification  of  handwriting  is 
an  especially  interesting  discovery,  since  handwriting,  according  to 
current  theories,  is  nothing  more  than  a  sort  of  imitation.  I  cite 
some  examples  borrowed  from  these  authors. 

It  is  suggested  in  succession  to  a  young  student  that  he  is  a  sly 
and  crafty  peasant,  then  a  miser,  and  finally  a  very  old  man.  While 
the  subject's  features  and  behavior  generally  are  modified  and  brought 
into  harmony  with  the  idea  of  the  personality  suggested,  we  may 
observe  also  that  his  handwriting  undergoes  similar  modifications 
which  are  not  less  marked.  It  has  a  special  character  peculiar  to 
each  of  the  new  states  of  personality.  In  short,  the  graphic  move- 
ments change  like  the  gestures  generally. 

In  a  note  on  the  handwriting  of  hysterical  patients,  I  have  shown 
that  under  the  influence  of  suggested  emotions,  or  under  the  influence 
of  sensorial  stimulations,  the  handwriting  of  a  hysterical  patient 
may  be  modified.  It  gets  larger,  for  example,  in  cases  of  dynamo- 
genie  excitation. 

The  characteristic  of  the  suggestion  that  we  have  just  studied 
is  that  it  does  not  bear  exclusively  on  perception  or  movement — 
that  is  to  say,  on  a  limited  psychic  element;  but  there  are  compre- 
hensive suggestions.  They  impose  a  topic  on  the  subject  that  he  is 
obliged  to  develop  with  all  the  resources  of  his  intellect  and  imagi- 
nation, and  if  the  observations  be  carefully  examined,  it  will  also  be 
seen  that  in  these  suggestions  the  faculties  of  perception  are  affected 
and  perverted  by  the  same  standard  as  that  of  ideation.  Thus  the 
subject,  under  the  influence  of  his  assumed  personality,  ceases  to 
perceive  the  external  world  as  it  exists.  He  has  hallucinations  in 
connection  with  his  new  psychological  personality.  When  a  bishop, 
he  thinks  he  is  in  Notre  Dame,  and  sees  a  host  of  the  faithful.  When 
a  general,  he  thinks  he  is  surrounded  by  troops,  etc.  Things  that 
harmonize  with  the  suggestion  are  conjured  up.  This  systematic 
development  of  states  of  consciousness  belongs  to  all  kinds  of  sug- 
gestions, but  is  perhaps  nowhere  else  so  marked  as  in  these  trans- 
formations of  personality. 

On  the  other  hand,  everything  that  is  inconsistent  with  the 
suggestion  gets  inhibited  and  leaves  the  subject's  consciousness.  As 
has  been  said,  alterations  of  personality  imply  phenomena  of  amnesia. 
In  order  that  the  subject  may  assume  the  fictitious  personality  he 


HUMAN  NATURE  117 

must  begin  by  forgetting  his  true  personality.  The  infinite  number 
of  memories  that  represent  his  past  experience  and  constitute  the 
basis  of  his  normal  ego  are  for  the  time  being  effaced,  because  these 
memories  are  inconsistent  with  the  ideal  of  the  suggestion. 

4.    The  Natural  Person  versus  the  Social  and  Conventional  Self1 

Somewhat  after  the  order  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  I  seem  to 
possess  two  distinct  personalities,  being  both  at  the  same  time  but 
presenting  no  such  striking  contrast  as  the  Jekyll-Hyde  combination. 
They  are  about  equally  virtuous.  Their  main  difference  seems  to  be 
one  of  age,  one  being  a  decade  or  so  in  advance  of  the  other. 

At  tunes  they  work  harmoniously  together  and  again  at  cross- 
purposes.  I  do  not  seem  to  have  developed  equally.  Part  of  me 
sits  humbly  at  the  feet  of  the  other  part  of  me  and  receives  advice 
and  instruction.  Part  of  me  feels  constrained  to  confess  to  the  other 
part  of  me  when  it  has  done  wrong  and  meekly  receives  rebuke. 
Part  of  me  tries  to  shock  the  other  part  of  me  and  to  force  the  more 
dignified  part  to  misbehave  and  giggle  and  do  things  not  considered 
correct  in  polite  society. 

My  younger  part  delights  to  tease  the  older,  to  doubt  her  motives, 
to  interrupt  her  meditations.  It  wants  to  play,  while  my  older  self 
is  more  seriously  inclined.  My  younger  self  is  only  twelve  years  old. 
This  is  my  real  self.  To  my  own  mind  I  am  still  a  little  girl  with 
short  dresses  and  a  bunch  of  curls.  For  some  reason  my  idea  of  self 
has  never  advanced  beyond  this  point.  The  long  dress  and  the  hair 
piled  high  will  never  seem  natural.  Sometimes  I  enjoy  this  duality 
and  again  I  do  not.  Sometimes  the  two  parts  mingle  delightfully 
together,  again  they  wrangle  atrociously,  while  I  (there  seems  to  be 
a  third  part  of  me)  sit  off  and  watch  the  outcome. 

The  older  part  gets  tired  before  the  younger.  The  younger,  still 
fresh  and  in  a  good  humor,  undertakes  to  furnish  amusement  for  the 
older.  I  have  often  thrown  myself  on  the  bed  wearied  and  exhausted 
and  been  made  to  shake  with  laughter  at  the  capers  of  the  younger 
part  of  me.  They  are  capers  indeed.  On  these  occasions  she  will 
carry  on  conversations  with  friends — real  friends — fairly  bristling 
with  witticisms,  and  although  taking  both  parts  herself,  the  parry 
and  thrust  is  delightful. 

1  From  L.  G.  Winston,  "Myself  and  I,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Psychology, 
XIX  (1908),  562-63. 


Ii8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Sometimes,  however,  the  younger  part  of  me  seems  to  get  up 
all  awry.  She  will  carry  on  quarrels — heated  quarrels — from  morn- 
ing to  night,  taking  both  sides  herself,  with  persons  whom  I  (the 
combination)  dearly  love,  and  against  whom  I  have  no  grievance 
whatever.  These  are  a  great  distress  to  my  older  self. 

On  other  days  she  seems  to  take  the  greatest  delight  in  torturing 
me  with  imaginary  horrors.  She  cuts  my  throat,  pulls  my  eyes  out 
of  their  sockets,  removes  tumors,  and  amputates  limbs  until  I 
wonder  that  there  is  anything  left  of  me.  She  does  it  all  without 
administering  anaesthetics  and  seems  to  enjoy  my  horror  and 
disgust. 

Again,  some  little  jingle  or  tune  will  take  her  fancy  and  she  will 
repeat  it  to  herself  until  I  am  almost  driven  to  madness.  Sometimes 
it  is  only  a  word,  but  it  seems  to  have  a  fascination  for  her  and  she 
rolls  it  as  a  sweet  morsel  under  her  tongue  until  sleep  puts  an  end  to  it. 

Again,  if  I  (the  combination)  fall  ill,  one  part  of  me,  I  have  never 
discovered  which,  invariably  hints  that  I  am  not  ill  at  all  but  merely 
pretending.  So  much  so  that  it  has  become  with  me  a  recognized 
symptom  of  incipient  illness. 

Moreover,  the  younger  and  older  are  never  on  the  same  side  of 
any  question.  One  leans  to  wisdom,  the  other  to  fun.  I  am  a 
house  divided  against  itself.  Thr?  younger  longs  to  dance,  to  go  to 
the  theater  and  to  play  cards,  all  of  which  the  older  disapproves. 
The  younger  mocks  the  older,  calls  her  a  hypocrite  and  the  like  until 
the  older  well-nigh  believes  it  herself  and  almost  yields  to  her  plead- 
ings. The  older  listens  sedately  to  the  sermon,  while  the  younger 
plans  her  Easter  suit  or  makes  fun  of  the  preacher. 

The  older  declares  she  will  never  marry,  while  the  younger 
scouts  the  idea  of  being  an  old  maid.  But  even  if  she  could  gain  the 
consent  of  the  older,  it  were  but  little  better,  they  differ  so  as  to 
their  ideals. 

In  society  the  difference  is  more  marked.  I  seem  to  be  a  combina- 
tion chaperone  and  protegee.  The  older  appears  at  ease,  the  younger 
shy  and  awkward — she  has  never  made  her  debut.  If  one  addresses 
a  remark  to  her  she  is  thrown  into  utter  confusion  until  the  older 
rushes  to  the  rescue.  My  sympathy  is  with  the  younger,  however, 
for  even  to  this  day  I,  the  combination,  can  scarce  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  say  nothing  when  there  is  nothing  to  say. 


HUMAN  NATURE  119 

There  is  something  tragic  to  me  in  this  Siamese-twins  arrange- 
ment of  two  so  uncongenial.  I  am  at  one  and  the  same  time  pupil 
and  teacher,  offender  and  judge,  performer  and  critic,  chaperone  and 
protegee,  a  prim,  precise,  old  maid  and  a  rollicking  schoolgirl,  a  tom- 
boy and  a  prude,  a  saint  and  sinner.  What  can  result  from  such  a 
combination?  That  we  get  on  tolerably  is  a  wonder.  Some  days, 
however,  we  get  on  admirably  together,  part  of  me  paying  compli- 
ments to  the  other  part  of  me — whole  days  being  given  to  this — 
until  each  of  us  has  such  a  good  opinion  of  herself  and  the  other  that 
we  feel  on  equal  terms  and  are  at  our  happiest. 

But  how  dreadful  are  the  days  when  we  turn  against  each  other! 
There  are  not  words  enough  to  express  the  contempt  which  we  feel 
for  ourselves.  We  seem  to  set  each  other  in  the  corner  and  the 
combination  as  a  whole  is  utterly  miserable. 

I  can  but  wonder  and  enjoy  and  wait  to  see  what  Myself  and  I 
will  make  of  Me. 

5.    The  Divided  Self  and  Moral  Consciousness1 

Two  ways  of  looking  at  life  are  characteristic  respectively  of 
what  we  call  the  healthy-minded,  who  need  to  be  born  only  once, 
and  of  the  sick  souls,  who  must  be  twice-born  in  order  to  be  happy. 
The  result  is  two  different  conceptions  of  'the  universe  of  our  experi- 
ence. In  the  religion  of  the  once-born  the  world  is  a  sort  of  rectilineal 
or  one-storied  affair,  whose  accounts  are  kept  in  one  denomination, 
whose  parts  have  just  the  values  which  naturally  they  appear  to 
have,  and  of  which  a  simple  algebraic  sum  of  pluses  and  minuses  will 
give  the  total  worth.  Happiness  and  religious  peace  consist  in  living 
on  the  plus  side  of  the  account.  In  the  religion  of  the  twice-born, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  world  is  a  double-storied  mystery.  Peace 
cannot  be  reached  by  the  simple  addition  of  pluses  and  elimination 
of  minuses  from  life.  Natural  good  is  not  simply  insufficient  in 
amount  and  transient;  there  lurks  a  falsity  in  its  very  being.  Can- 
celled as  it  all  is  by  death,  if  not  by  earlier  enemies,  it  gives  no  final 
balance,  and  can  never  be  the  thing  intended  for  our  lasting  worship. 
It  keeps  us  from  our  real  good,  rather;  and  renunciation  and  despair 
of  it  are  our  first  step  in  the  direction  of  the  truth.  There  are  two 

1  From  William  James,  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  pp.  166  -  73. 
(Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  1902.) 


120  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

lives,  the  natural  and  the  spiritual,  and  we  must  lose  the  one  before 
we  can  participate  in  the  other. 

In  their  extreme  forms,  of  pure  naturalism  and  pure  salvationism, 
the  two  types  are  violently  contrasted;  though  here,  as  in  most 
other  current  classifications,  the  radical  extremes  are  somewhat  ideal 
abstractions,  and  the  concrete  human  beings  whom  we  oftenest 
meet  are  intermediate  varieties  and  mixtures.  Practically,  however, 
you  all  recognize  the  difference:  you  understand,  for  example,  the 
disdain  of  the  Methodist  convert  for  the  mere  sky-blue  healthy- 
minded  moralist;  and  you  likewise  enter  into  the  aversion  of  the 
latter  to  what  seems  to  him  the  diseased  subjectivism  of  the  Methodist, 
dying  to  live,  as  he  calls  it,  and  making  of  paradox  and  the  inversion 
of  natural  appearances  the  essence  of  God's  truth. 

The  psychological  basis  of  the  twice-born  character  seems  to  be  a 
certain  discordancy  or  heterogeneity  in  the  native  temperament  of 
the  subject,  an  incompletely  unified  moral  and  intellectual  con- 
stitution. 

"Homo  duplex,  homo  duplex!"  writes  Alphonse  Daudet.  "The 
first  tune  that  I  perceived  that  I  was  two  was  at  the  death  of  my 
brother  Henri,  when  my  father  cried  out  so  dramatically,  'He  is 
dead,  he  is  dead!'  While  my  first  self  wept,  my  second  self  thought, 
'How  truly  given  was  that  cry,  how  fine  it  would  be  at  the  theater.' 
I  was  then  fourteen  years  old.  This  horrible  duality  has  often 
given  me  matter  for  reflection.  Oh,  this  terrible  second  me,  always 
seated  whilst  the  other  is  on  foot,  acting,  living,  suffering,  bestirring 
itself.  This  second  me  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  intoxicate,  to 
make  shed  tears,  or  put  to  sleep.  And  how  it  sees  into  things,  and 
how  it  mocks!" 

Some  persons  are  born  with  an  inner  constitution  which  is  har- 
monious and  well  balanced  from  the  outset.  Their  impulses  are 
consistent  with  one  another,  their  will  follows  without  trouble  the 
guidance  of  their  intellect,  their  passions  are  not  excessive,  and  their 
lives  are  little  haunted  by  regrets.  Others  are  oppositely  consti- 
tuted; and  are  so  in  degrees  which  may  vary  from  something  so 
slight  as  to  result  in  a  merely  odd  or  whimsical  inconsistency,  to  a 
discordancy  of  which  the  consequences  may  be  inconvenient  in  the 
extreme.  Of  the  more  innocent  kinds  of  heterogeneity  I  find  a  good 
example  in  Mrs.  Annie  Besant's  autobiography. 


HUMAN  NATURE  121 

I  have  ever  been  the  queerest  mixture  of  weakness  and  strength,  and 
have  paid  heavily  for  the  weakness.  As  a  child  I  used  to  suffer  tortures  of 
shyness,  and  if  my  shoe-lace  was  untied  would  feel  shamefacedly  that  every 
eye  was  fixed  on  the  unlucky  string;  as  a  girl  I  would  shrink  away  from 
strangers  and  think  myself  unwanted  and  unliked,  so  that  I  was  full  of 
eager  gratitude  to  anyone  who  noticed  me  kindly;  as  the  young  mistress 
of  a  house  I  was  afraid  of  my  servants,  and  would  let  careless  work  pass 
rather  than  bear  the  pain  of  reproving  the  ill-doer;  when  I  have  been 
lecturing  and  debating  with  no  lack  of  spirit  on  the  platform,  I  have  pre- 
ferred to  go  without  what  I  wanted  at  the  hotel  rather  than  to  ring  and 
make  the  waiter  fetch  it.  Combative  on  the  platform  in  defense  of  any 
cause  I  cared  for,  I  shrink  from  quarrel  or  disapproval  in  the  house,  and 
am  a  coward  at  heart  in  private  while  a  good  fighter  in  public.  How  often 
have  I  passed  unhappy  quarters  of  an  hour  screwing  up  my  courage  to 
find  fault  with  some  subordinate  whom  my  duty  compelled  me  to  reprove, 
and  how  often  have  I  jeered  at  myself  for  a  fraud  as  the  doughty  platform 
combatant,  when  shrinking  from  blaming  some  lad  or  lass  for  doing  their 
work  badly.  An  unkind  look  or  word  has  availed  to  make  me  shrink 
myself  as  a  snail  into  its  shell,  while,  on  the  platform,  opposition  makes  me 
speak  my  best. 

This  amount  of  inconsistency  will  only  count  as  amiable  weakness; 
but  a  stronger  degree  of  heterogeneity  may  make  havoc  of  the  sub- 
ject's life.  There  are  persons  whose  existence  is  little  more  than  a 
series  of  zigzags,  as  now  one  tendency  and  now  another  gets  the  upper 
hand.  Their  spirit  wars  with  their  flesh,  they  wish  for  incompatibles, 
wayward  impulses  interrupt  their  most  deliberate  plans,  and  their 
lives  are  one  long  drama  of  repentance  and  of  effort  to  repair  mis- 
demeanors and  mistakes. 

Whatever  the  cause  of  heterogeneous  personality  may  be,  we 
find  the  extreme  examples  of  it  in  the  psychopathic  temperament. 
All  writers  about  that  temperament  make  the  inner  heterogeneity 
prominent  in  their  descriptions.  Frequently,  indeed,  it  is  only  this 
trait  that  leads  us  to  ascribe  that  temperament  to  a  man  at  all.  A 
degenere  superieur  is  simply  a  man  of  sensibility  in  many  directions, 
who  finds  more  difficulty  than  is  common  in  keeping  his  spiritual 
house  in  order  and  running  his  furrow  straight,  because  his  feelings 
and  impulses  are  too  keen  and  too  discrepant  mutually.  In  the 
haunting  and  insistent  ideas,  in  the  irrational  impulses,  the  morbid 
scruples,  dreads,  and  inhibitions  which  beset  the  psychopathic 


122  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

temperament  when  it  is  thoroughly  pronounced,  we  have  exquisite 
examples  of  heterogeneous  personality.  Bunyan  had  an  obsession 
of  the  words,  "Sell  Christ  for  this,  sell  him  for  that,  sell  him,  sell 
him!"  which  would  run  through  his  mind  a  hundred  times  together, 
until  one  day  out  of  breath  with  retorting,  "I  will  not,  I  will  not," 
he  impulsively  said,  "Let  him  go  if  he  will,"  and  this  loss  of  the 
battle  kept  him  in  despair  for  over  a  year.  The  lives  of  the  saints 
are  full  of  such  blasphemous  obsessions,  ascribed  invariably  to  the 
direct  agency  of  Satan. 

St.  Augustine's  case  is  a  classic  example  of  discordant  personality. 
You  all  remember  his  half-pagan,  half-Christian  bringing  up  at 
Carthage,  his  emigration  to  Rome  and  Milan,  his  adoption  of  Mani- 
cheism  and  subsequent  skepticism,  and  his  restless  search  for  truth 
and  purity  of  life;  and  finally  how,  distracted  by  the  struggle  between 
the  two  souls  in  his  breast,  and  ashamed  of  his  own  weakness  of  will 
when  so  many  others  whom  he  knew  and  knew  of  had  thrown  off 
the  shackles  of  sensuality  and  dedicated  themselves  to  chastity  and 
the  higher  life,  he  heard  a  voice  in  the  garden  say,  "Sume,  lege" 
(take  and  read),  and  opening  the  Bible  at  random,  saw  the  text, 
"not  in  chambering  and  wantonness,"  etc.,  which  seemed  directly 
sent  to  his  address,  and  laid  the  inner  storm  to  rest  forever.  Augus- 
tine's psychological  genius  has  given  an  account  of  the  trouble  of 
having  a  divided  self  which  has  never  been  surpassed. 

The  new  will  which  I  began  to  have  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to 
overcome  that  other  will,  strengthened  by  long  indulgence.  So  these  two 
wills,  one  old,  one  new,  one  carnal,  the  other  spiritual,  contended  with 
each  other  and  disturbed  my  soul.  I  understood  by  my  own  experience 
what  I  had  read,  "Flesh  lusteth  against  spirit,  and  spirit  against  flesh." 
It  was  myself  indeed  in  both  the  wills,  yet  more  myself  in  that  which  I 
approved  in  myself  than  in  that  which  I  disapproved  in  myself.  Yet  it 
was  through  myself  that  habit  had  obtained  so  fierce  a  mastery  over  me, 
because  I  had  willingly  come  whither  I  willed  not.  Still  bound  to  earth,  I 
refused,  O  God,  to  fight  on  thy  side,  as  much  afraid  to  be  freed  from  all 
bonds  as  I  ought  to  have  feared  being  trammeled  by  them. 

Thus  the  thoughts  by  which  I  meditated  upon  thee  were  like  the 
efforts  of  one  who  would  awake,  but  being  overpowered  with  sleepiness  is 
soon  asleep  again.  Often  does  a  man  when  heavy  sleepiness  is  on  his 
limbs  defer  to  shake  it  off,  and  though  not  approving  it,  encourage  it; 
even  so  I  was  sure  it  was  better  to  surrender  to  thy  love  than  to  yield  to 


HUMAN  NATURE  123 

my  own  lusts,  yet,  though  the  former  course  convinced  me,  the  latter 
pleased  and  held  me  bound.  There  was  naught  in  me  to  answer  thy  call, 
''Awake,  thou  sleeper,"  but  only  drawling,  drowsy  words,  "Presently; 
yes,  presently;  wait  a  little  while."  But  the  "presently  "  had  no  "present," 
and  the  "little  while"  grew  long.  For  I  was  afraid  thou  wouldst  hear  me 
too  soon,  and  heal  me  at  once  of  my  disease  of  lust,  which  I  wished  to 
satiate  rather  than  to  see  extinguished.  With  what  lashes  of  words  did  I 
not  scourge  my  own  soul.  Yet  it  shrank  back;  it  refused,  though  it  had  no 
excuse  to  offer.  I  said  within  myself :  "Come,  let  it  be  done  now,"  and  as 
I  said  it,  I  was  on  the  point  of  the  resolve.  I  all  but  did  it,  yet  I  did  not 
do  it.  And  I  made  another  effort,  and  almost  succeeded,  yet  I  did  not 
reach  it,  and  did  not  grasp  it,  hesitating  to  die  to  death,  and  live  to  life; 
and  the  evil  to  which  I  was  so  wonted  held  me  more  than  the  better  life  I 
had  not  tried. 

There  could  be  no  more  perfect  description  of  the  divided  will, 
when  the  higher  wishes  lack  just  that  last  acuteness,  that  touch  of 
explosive  intensity,  of  dynamogenic  quality  (to  use  the  slang  of 
the  psychologists),  that  enables  them  to  burst  their  shell,  and  make 
irruption  efficaciously  into  life  and  quell  the  lower  tendencies  forever. 

6.    Personality  of  Individuals  and  of  Peoples1 

r 

/In  my  opinion  personality  is  not  merely  a  unifying  and  directing 

principle  which  controls  thought  and  action,  but  one  which,  at  the 
same  time,  defines  the  relation  of  individuals  to  their  fellows.;  The 
concept  of  personality  includes,  in  addition  to  inner  unity  and  co- 
ordination of  the  impulses,  a  definite  attitude  directed  toward  the 
outer  world  which  is  determined  by  the  manner  in  which  the  individual 
organizes  his  external  stimulations. 

In  this  definition  the  objective  aspect  of  personality  is  emphasized 
as  over  against  the  subjective.  We  should  not  in  psychological 
matters  be  satisfied  with  subjective  definitions.  The  mental  life  is 
not  only  a  sum  of  subjective  experiences  but  manifests  itself  invari- 
ably also  in  a  definite  series  of  objective  expressions.  These  objective 
expressions  are  the  contributions  which  the  personality  makes  to  its 
external  social  environment.  More  than  that,  only  these  objective 
expressions  of  personality  are  accessible  to  external  observation 
and  they  alone  have  objective  value. 

1  Translated  from  W.  v.  Bechtcrew  (V.  M.  Bekhterev),  Die  Personlichkeit  und 
die  Bedingungen  ihrer  Entwicklung  und  Gesundheit,  pp.  3-5.  (J.  F.  Bergmann,  1906.) 


124  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

According  to  Ribot,  the  real  personrlity  is  an  organism  which 
is  represented  at  its  highest  in  the  brain.  The  brain  embraces  all 
our  past  and  the  possibilities  of  our  future.  The  individual  character 
with  all  its  active  and  passive  peculiarities,  with  all  its  antipathies, 
genius,  talents,  stupidities,  virtues,  and  vices,  its  inertia  and  its 
energy  is  predetermined  in  the  brain. 

Personality,  from  the  objective  point  of  view,  is  the  psychic 
individual  with  all  his  original  characters,  an  individual  in  free  asso- 
ciation with  his  social  milieu.  Neither  innate  mental  ability,  nor 
creative  energy,  nor  what  we  call  will,  in  and  of  themselves,  consti- 
tutes personality.  Nothing  less  than  the  totality  of  psychical 
manifestations,  all  these  including  idiosyncrasies  which  distinguish 
one  man  from  another  and  determine  his  positive  individuality,  may 
be  said  to  characterize,  from  the  objective  point  of  view,  the  human 
personality. 

The  intellectual  horizon  of  persons  on  different  cultural  levels 
varies,  but  no  one,  for  that  reason  (because  of  intellectual  inferiority), 
loses  the  right  to  recognition  as  a  person,  provided  that  he  maintains, 
over  against  his  environment,  his  integrity  as  an  individual  and 
remains  a  self-determining  person.  It  is  the  loss  of  this  self-deter- 
mined individuality  alone  that  renders  man  completely  impersonal. 
When  individual  spontaneity  is  feebly  manifested,  we  speak  of  an 
ill-defined  or  a  "passive"  personality.  Personality  is,  in  short,  from 
the  objective  point  of  view,  a  self-determining  individual  with  a 
unique  nature  and  a  definite  status  in  the  social  world  around  him. 

If  now,  on  the  basis  of  the  preceding  definition,  we  seek  to  define 
the  significance  of  personality  in  social  and  public  life,  it  appears  that 
personality  is  the  basis  upon  which  all  social  institutions,  movements, 
and  conditions,  in  short  all  the  phenomena  of  social  life,  rest.j.  The 
people  of  our  time  are  no  more,  as  in  the  Golden  Age,  inarticulate 
masses.  They  are  a  totality  of  more  or  less  active  personalities 
connected  by  common  interests,  in  part  by  racial  origin,  and  by  a 
certain  similarity  of  fundamental  psychic  traits.  A  people  is  a  kind 
of  collective  personality  possessing  particular  ethnic  and  psycho- 
logical characteristics,  animated  by  common  political  aspirations  and 
political  traditions.  ^The  progress  of  peoples,  their  civilization,  and 
their  culture  naturally  are  determined  by  the  advancement  of  the 
personalities  which  compose  them.N  Since  the  emancipation  of  man- 


HUMAN  NATURE  125 

kind  from  a  condition  of  subjection,  the  life  of  peoples  and  of  societies 
has  rested  upon  the  active  participation  of  each  member  of  society 
in  the  common  welfare  which  represents  the  ami  of  all.  ^The  per- 
sonality, considered  as  a  psychic  self-determining  individual,  asserts 
itself  the  more  energetically  in  the  general  march  of  historical  events, 
the  farther  a  people  is  removed  from  the  condition  of  subjection  in 
which  the  rights  of  personality  are  denied.J 

/In  every  field  of  activity,  the  more  advanced  personality  "blazes 
a  new  trail."  The  passive  personality,  born  in  subjection,  is  disposed 
merely  to  imitate  and  to  repeat.  The  sheer  existence  of  modern 
states  depends  less  on  the  crude  physical  force  and  its  personified 
agencies,  than  on  the  moral  cohesion  of  the  personalities  who  consti- 
tute the  nation. 

Since  the  beginning  of  time,  it  is  only  the  moral  values  that  have 
endured.  Force  can  support  the  state  only  temporarily.  When  a 
nation  disregards  the  moral  forces  and  seeks  its  salvation  in  the  rude 
clash  of  arms,  it  bears  within  itself  the  seeds  of  its  own  destruction. 
No  army  in  the  world  is  strong  enough  to  maintain  a  state,  the  moral 
basis  of  which  is  shaken,  for  the  strength  of  the  army  rests  upon 
its  morale. 

-.  The  importance  of  personality  in  the  historic  life  of  peoples  is 
manifest  in  periods  when  social  conditions  accelerate  the  movement 
of  social  life.  Personality,  like  every  other  force,  reaches  its  maxi- 
mum when  it  encounters  resistance,  hi  conflict  and  in  rivalry — when 
it  fights — hence  its  great  value  in  friendly  rivalry  of  nations  in  industry 
and  culture,  and  especially  in  periods  of  natural  calamities  or  of 
enemies  from  without.  Since  the  fruits  of  individual  development 
contribute  to  the  common  fund  of  social  values,  it  is  clear  that  societies 
and  peoples  which,  other  things  being  equal,  possess  the  most  advanced 
and  active  personalities  contribute  most  to  the  enrichment  of  civili- 
zation. It  does  not  seem  necessary  to  demonstrate  that  the  pacific 
competition  of  nations  and  their  success  depends  on  the  development 
of  the  personalities  which  compose  them.  A  nation  weak  in  the 
development  of  individualities,  of  social  units  which  compose  it, 
could  not  defend  itself  against  the  exploitation  of  nations  composed 
of  personalities  with  a  superior  development. 


126  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

D.      BIOLOGICAL  AND  SOCIAL  HEREDITY 
i.    Nature  and  Nurture1 

We  have  seen  that  the  scientific  position  in  regard  to  the  transmissi- 
bility  of  modifications  should  be  one  of  active  scepticism,  that  there 
seems  to  be  no  convincing  evidence  in  support  of  the  affirmative 
position,  and  that  there  is  strong  presumption  in  favor  of  the  negative. 

A  modification  is  a  definite  change  in  the  individual  body,  du$  to 
some  change  in  "nurture."  There  is  no  secure  evidence  that  any 
such  individual  gain  or  loss  can  be  transmitted  as  such,  or  in  any 
representative  degree.  How  does  this  affect  our  estimate  of  the 
value  of  "nurture"?  How  should  the  sceptical  or  negative  answer, 
which  we  believe  to  be  the  scientific  one,  affect  our  practice  in  regard 
to  education,  physical  culture,  amelioration  of  function,  improve- 
ment of  environment,  and  so  on?  Let  us  give  a  practical  point  to 
what  we  have  already  said. 

a)  Every  inheritance  requires  an  appropriate  nurture  if  it  is 
to  realize  itself  in  development.    Nurture  supplies   the  liberating 
stimuli  necessary  for  the  full  expression  of  the  inheritance.     A  man's 
character  as  well  as  his  physique  is  a  function  of  "nature"  and  of 
"nurture."     In  the  language  of  the  old  parable  of  the  talents,  what 
is  given  must  be  traded  with.     A  boy  may  be  truly  enough  a  chip 
of  the  old  block,    but  how  far  he  shows  himself  such  depends  on 
"nurture."    The    conditions    of    nurture    determine    whether    the 
expression  of  the  inheritance  is  to  be  full  or  partial.     It  need  hardly 
be  said  that  the  strength  of  an  (inherited)  individuality  may  be  such 
that  it  expresses  itself  almost  in  the  face  of  inappropriate  nurture. 
History  abounds  in  instances.    As  Goethe  said,  "Man  is  always 
achieving  the  impossible."     Corot  was  the  son  of  a  successful  mil- 
liner and  prosperous  tradesman,  and  he  was  thirty  before  he  left 
the  draper's  shop  to  study  nature. 

b)  Although  modifications  do  not  seem  to  be  transmitted  as 
such,  or  in  any  representative  degree,  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  or 
their  secondary  results  may  in  some  cases  affect  the  offspring.    This 
is  especially  the  case  in  typical  mammals,  where  there  is  before  birth 
a  prolonged   (placental)   connection  between  the  mother  and  the 
unborn  young.     In  such  cases  the  offspring  is  for  a  time  almost 

1  From  J.  Arthur  Thomson,  Heredity,  pp.  244-49.  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons, 
1008.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  127 

part  of  the  maternal  body,  and  liable  to  be  affected  by  modifications 
thereof,  e.g.,  by  good  or  bad  nutritive  conditions.  In  other  cases, 
also,  it  may  be  that  deeply  saturating  parental  modifications,  such 
as  the  results  of  alcoholic  and  other  poisoning,  affect  the  germ  cells, 
and  thus  the  offspring.  A  disease  may  saturate  the  body  with 
toxins  and  waste  products,  and  these  may  provoke  prejudicial 
germinal  variations. 

c)  Though  modifications  due  to  changed  "nurture"  do  not  seem 
to  be  transmissible,  they  may  be  re-impressed  on  each  generation. 
Thus  "nurture"  becomes  not  less,  but  more,  important  in  our  eyes. 

"Is  my  grandfather's  environment  not  my  heredity?"  asks  an 
American  author  quaintly  and  pathetically.  Well,  if  not,  let  us 
secure  for  ourselves  and  for  our  children  those  factors  in  the  "grand- 
father's environment"  that  made  for  progressive  evolution,  and 
eschew  those  that  tended  elsewhere. 

Are  modifications  due  to  changed  nurture  not,  as  such,  entailed 
on  offspring?  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,  for  we  are  novices  at  nur- 
turing even  yet!  Moreover,  the  non-transmissibility  cuts  both  ways: 
if  individual  modificational  gains  are  not  handed  on,  neither  are  the 
losses. 

Is  the  "nature" — the  germinal  constitution,  to  wit — all  that 
passes  from  generation  to  generation,  the  capital  sum  without  the 
results  of  individual  usury;  then  we  are  freed,  at  least,  from  undue 
pessimism  at  the  thought  of  the  many  harmful  functions  and  environ- 
ments that  disfigure  our  civilization.  Many  detrimental  acquired 
characters  are  to  be  seen  all  around  us,  but  if  they  are  not  transmis- 
sible, they  need  not  last. 

In  the  development  of  "character,"  much  depends  upon  early 
nurture,  education,  and  surrounding  influences  generally,  but  how 
the  individual  reacts  to  these  must  largely  depend  on  his  inheritance. 
Truly  the  individual  himself  makes  his  own  character,  but  he  does 
so  by  his  habitual  adjustment  of  his  (hereditarily  determined)  con- 
stitution to  surrounding  influences.  Nurture  supplies  the  stimulus 
for  the  expression  of  the  moral  inheritance,  and  how  far  the  inheri- 
tance can  express  itself  is  limited  by  the  nurture-stimuli  available 
just  as  surely  as  the  result  of  nurture  is  conditioned  by  the  hereditarily 
determined  nature  on  which  it  operates.  It  may  be  urged  that  char- 
acter, being  a  product  of  habitual  modes  of  feeling,  thinking,  and 


128          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

acting,  cannot  be  spoken  of  as  inherited,  but  bodily  character  is  also 
a  product  dependent  upon  vital  experience.  It  seems  to  us  as  idle 
to  deny  that  some  children  are  "born  good"  or  "born  bad,"  as  it  is 
to  deny  that  some  children  are  born  strong  and  others  weak,  some 
energetic  and  others  "tired"  or  "old."  It  may  be  difficult  to  tell 
how  far  the  apparently  hereditary  goodness  or  badness  of  disposition 
is  due  to  the  nutritive  influences  of  the  mother,  both  before  and 
after  birth,  and  we  must  leave  it  to  the  reader's  experience  and 
observation  to  decide  whether  we  are  right  or  wrong  in  our  opinion 
that  quite  apart  from  maternal  nutritive  influence  there  is  a  genuine 
inheritance  of  kindly  disposition,  strong  sympathy,  good  humor,  and 
good  will.  The  further  difficulty  that  the  really  organic  character 
may  be  half-concealed  by  nurture-effects,  or  inhibited  by  the  external 
heritage  of  custom  and  tradition,  seems  less  serious,  for  the  selfish- 
ness of  an  acquired  altruism  is  as  familiar  as  honor  among  thieves. 

It  is  entirely  useless  to  boggle  over  the  difficulty  that  we  are 
unable  to  conceive  how  dispositions  for  good  or  ill  lie  implicit  within 
the  protoplasmic  unit  in  which  the  individual  life  begins.  The  fact 
is  undoubted  that  the  initiatives  of  moral  character  are  in  some 
degree  transmissible,  though  from  the  nature  of  the  case  the  influences 
of  education,  example,  environment,  and  the  like  are  here  more  potent 
than  in  regard  to  structural  features.  We  cannot  make  a  silk  purse 
out  of  a  sow's  ear,  though  the  plasticity  of  character  under  nurture 
is  a  fact  which  gives  us  all  hope.  Explain  it  we  cannot,  but  the 
transmission  of  the  raw  material  of  character  is  a  fact,  and  we  must 
still  say  with  Sir  Thomas  Browne:  "Bless  not  thyself  that  thou 
wert  born  in  Athens;  but,  among  thy  multiplied  acknowledgments, 
lift  up  one  hand  to  heaven  that  thou  wert  born  of  honest  parents, 
that  modesty,  humility,  and  veracity  lay  in  the  same  egg,  and  came 
into  the  world  with  thee." 

2.    Inheritance  of  Original  Nature1 

The  principles  of  heredity  (may  be  recapitulated  as  follows) : 
First  of  all,  we  find  useful  the  principle  of  the  unit-character. 
According  to  this  principle,  characters  are,  for  the  most  part,  inherited 

1  Adapted  from  C.  B.  Davenport,  ''The  Inheritance  of  Physical  and  Mental 
Traits  of  Man  and  Their  Application  to  Eugenics,"  in  Castle,  Coulter,  Davenport, 
East,  and  Tower,  Heredity  and  Eugenics,  pp.  269-87.  (The  University  of  Chicago 
Press,  1912.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  129 

independently  of  each  other,  and  each  trait  is  inherited  as  a  unit  or 
may  be  broken  up  into  characters  that  are  so  inherited. 

Next,  it  must  be  recognized  that  characters,  as  such,  are  not 
inherited.  Strictly,  my  son  has  not  my  nose,  because  I  still  have  it; 
what  was  transmitted  was  something  that  determined  the  shape  of 
his  nose,  and  that  is  called  in  brief  a  "determiner."  So  the  second 
principle  is  that  unit-characters  are  inherited  through  determiners 
in  the  germ  cells. 

And  finally,  it  is  recognized  that  there  really  is  no  inheritance 
from  parent  to  child,  but  that  parent  and  child  resemble  each  other 
because  they  are  derived  from  the  same  germ  plasm,  they  are  chips 
from  the  same  old  block;  and  the  son  is  the  half-brother  to  his  father, 
by  another  mother. 

These  three  principles  are  the  three  corner  stones  of  heredity  as 
we  know  it  today,  the  principles  of  the  independent  unit-characters 
each  derived  from  a  determiner  in  the  germ  plasm. 

How  far  are  the  known  facts  of  heredity  in  man  in  accord  with 
these  principles  ?  No  doubt  all  human  traits  are  inherited  in  accord- 
ance with  these  principles;  but  knowledge  proceeds  slowly  in  this 
field. 

As  a  first  illustration  I  may  take  the  case  of  human  eye  color. 
The  iris  is  made  up  of  a  trestle-work  of  fibers,  in  which  are  suspended 
particles  that  give  the  blue  color.  In  addition,  in  many  eyes  much 
brown  pigment  is  formed  which  may  be  small  in  amount  and  gathered 
around  the  pupil  or  so  extensive  as  to  suffuse  the  entire  iris  and  make 
it  all  brown.  It  is  seen,  then,  that  the  brown  iris  is  formed  by  some- 
thing additional  to  the  blue.  And  brown  iris  may  be  spoken  of  as  a 
positive  character,  depending  on  a  determiner  for  brown  pigment; 
and  blue  as  a  negative  character,  depending  on  the  absence  of  the 
determiner  for  brown. 

Now  when  both  parents  have  brown  eyes  and  come  from  an 
ancestry  with  brown  eyes,  it  is  probable  that  all  of  their  germ  cells 
contain  the  determiner  for  brown  iris  pigmentation.  So  when  these 
germ  cells,  both  carrying  the  determiner,  unite,  all  of  the  progeny  will 
receive  the  determiner  from  both  sides  of  the  house;  consequently  the 
determiners  are  double  in  their  bodies  and  the  resulting  iris  pigmen- 
tation may  be  said  to  be  duplex.  When  a  character  is  duplex  in  an 
individual,  that  means  that  when  the  germ  cells  ripen  in  the  body 


130  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  that  individual  each  contains  a  determiner.  So  that  individual  is 
capable,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  of  transmitting  his  trait  in  undi- 
minished  intensity. 

If  a  parent  has  pure  blue  eyes,  that  is  evidence  that  in  neither  of 
the  united  germ  cells  from  which  he  arose  was  there  a  determiner  for 
iris  pigmentation;  consequently  in  respect  to  brown  iris  pigmentation 
such  a  person  may  be  said  to  be  nulliplex.  If,  now,  such  a  person 
marry  an  individual  duplex  in  eye  color,  in  whom  all  of  the  germ 
cells  contain  the  determiner,  each  child  will  receive  the  determiner 
for  iris  pigmentation  from  one  side  of  the  house  only.  This  deter- 
miner will,  of  course,  induce  pigmentation,  but  the  pigmentation  is 
simplex,  being  induced  by  one  determiner  only.  Consequently,  the 
pigmentation  is  apt  to  be  weak.  When  a  person  whose  pigment 
determiners  have  come  from  one  side  of  the  house  forms  germ  cells, 
half  will  have  and  half  will  lack  the  determiner.  If  such  a  person 
marry  a  consort  all  of  whose  germ  cells  contain  the  determiner  for 
iris  pigmentation,  all  of  the  children  will,  of  course,  receive  the  iris 
pigmentation,  but  in  half  it  will  be  duplex  and  in  the  other  half  it 
will  be  simplex.  If  the  two  parents  both  be  simplex,  so  that,  in  each, 
half  of  the  germ  cells  possess  and  half  lack  the  determiner  in  the 
union  of  germ  cells,  there  are  four  events  that  are  equally  apt  to 
occur:  (0  an  egg  with  the  dererminer  unites  with  a  sperm  with  the 
determiner;  (2)  an  egg  with  the  determiner  unites  with  a  sperm 
without  the  determiner;  (3)  an  egg  without  the  determiner  unites 
with  a  sperm  with  the  determiner;  (4)  an  egg  without  the  determiner 
unites  with  a  sperm  without  the  determiner.  Thus  the  character  is 
duplex  in  one  case,  simplex  in  two  cases,  and  nulliplex  in  one  case; 
that  is,  one  in  four  will  have  no  brown  pigment,  or  will  be  blue  eyed. 
If  one  parent  be  simplex,  so  that  the  germ  cells  are  equally  with  and 
without  the  determiner,  while  the  other  be  nulliplex,  then  half  of 
the  children  will  be  simplex  and  half  nulliplex  in  eye  pigment.  Finally, 
if  both  parents  be  nulliplex  in  eye  pigmentation  (that  is,  blue  eyed), 
then  none  of  their  germ  cells  will  have  the  determiner,  and  all  children 
will  be  nulliplex,  or  blue  eyed.  The  inheritance  of  eye  color  serves 
as  a  paradigm  of  the  method  of  inheritance  of  any  unit-character. 

Let  us  now  consider  some  of  the  physical  traits  of  man  that 
follow  the  same  law  as  brown  eye  color,  traits  that  are  clearly  positive, 
and  due  to  a  definite  determiner  in  the  germ  plasm. 


HUMAN  NATURE  131 

Hair  color  is  due  either  to  a  golden-brown  pigment  that  looks 
black  in  masses,  or  else  to  a  red  pigment.  The  lighter  tints  differ 
from  the  darker  by  the  absence  of  some  pigment  granules.  If  neither 
parent  has  the  capacity  of  producing  a  large  quantity  of  pigment 
granules  in  the  hair,  the  children  cannot  have  that  capacity,  that  is, 
two  flaxen-haired  parents  have  only  flaxen-haired  children.  But  a 
dark-haired  parent  may  be  either  simplex  or  duplex;  and  so  two 
such  parents  may  produce  children  with  light  hair;  but  not  more 
than  one  out  of  four.  In  general,  the  hair  color  of  the  children 
tends  not  to  be  darker  than  that  of  the  darker  parent.  Skin  pigment 
follows  a  similar  rule.  It  is  really  one  of  the  surprises  of  modern 
studies  that  skin  pigment  should  be  found  to  follow  the  ordinary 
law  of  heredity;  it  was  commonly  thought  to  blend.  The  inheritance 
of  skin  color  is  not  dependent  on  race;  two  blonds  never  have  brunette 
offspring,  but  brunettes  may  have  blondes.  The  extreme  case  is  that 
of  albinos  with  no  pigment  in  skin,  hair,  and  iris.  Two  albinos  have 
only  albino  children,  but  albinos  may  come  from  two  pigmented 
parents. 

Similarly,  straight-haired  parents  lack  curliness,  and  two  such 
have  only  straight-haired  children.  Also  two  tall  parents  have  only 
tall  children.  Shortness  is  the  trait:  tallness  is  a  negative  character. 
Also  when  both  parents  lack  stoutness  (are  slender),  all  children  tend 
to  lack  it. 

We  may  now  consider  briefly  the  inheritance  of  certain  patho- 
logical or  abnormal  states,  to  see  in  how  far  the  foregoing  principles 
hold  for  them  also.  Sometimes  the  abnormal  condition  is  positive, 
due  to  a  new  trait;  but  sometimes,  on  the  contrary,  the  normal 
condition  is  the  positive  one  and  the  trait  is  due  to  a  defect. 

Deaf -mutism  is  due  to  a  defect;  but  the  nature  of  the  defect  is 
different  in  different  cases.  Deaf-mutism  is  so  varied  that  fre- 
quently two  unrelated  deaf  mutes  may  have  hearing  children.  But 
if  the  deaf-mute  parents  are  cousins,  the  chances  that  the  deafness  is 
due  to  the  same  unit  defect  are  increased  and  all  of  the  children  will 
probably  be  deaf. 

From  the  studies  of  Dr.  Goddard  and  others,  it  appears  that  when 
both  parents  are  feeble-minded  all  of  the  children  will  be  so  likewise; 
this  conclusion  has  been  tested  again  and  again.  But  if  one  of  the 
parents  be  normal  and  of  normal  ancestry,  all  of  the  children  may  be 


132  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

normal;  whereas,  if  the  normal  person  have  defective  germ  cells, 
half  of  his  progeny  by  a  feeble-minded  woman  will  be  defective. 

Many  criminals,  especially  those  who  offend  against  the  person, 
are  feeble-minded,  as  is  shown  by  the  way  they  occur  in  fraternities 
with  feeble-mindedness,  or  have  feeble-minded  parents.  The  test 
of  the  mental  condition  of  relatives  is  one  that  may  well  be  applied 
by  judges  in  deciding  upon  the  responsibility  of  an  aggressor. 

Not  only  the  condition  of  imperfect  mental  development,  but 
also  that  of  inability  to  withstand  stress  upon  the  nervous  system, 
may  be  inherited.  From  the  studies  of  Dr.  Rosanoff  and  his  col- 
laborators, it  appears  that  if  both  parents  be  subject  to  manic  depres- 
sive insanity  or  to  dementia  precox,  all  children  will  be  neuropathic 
also;  that  if  one  parent  be  affected  and  come  from  a  weak  strain, 
half  of  the  children  are  liable  to  go  insane;  and  that  nervous  break- 
downs of  these  types  never  occur  if  both  parents  be  of  sound  stock. 

Finally,  a  study  of  families  with  special  abilities  reveals  a  method 
of  inheritance  quite  like  that  of  nervous  defect.  If  both  parents  be 
color  artists  or  have  a  high  grade  of  vocal  ability  or  are  litterateurs 
of  high  grade,  then  all  of  their  children  tend  to  be  of  high  grade  also. 
If  one  parent  has  high  ability,  while  the  other  has  low  ability  but  has 
ancestry  with  high  ability,  part  of  the  children  will  have  high  ability 
and  part  low.  It  seems  like  an  extraordinary  conclusion  that  high 
ability  is  inherited  as  though  due  to  the  absence  of  a  determiner  in 
the  same  way  as  feeble-mindedness  and  insanity  are  inherited.  We 
are  reminded  of  the  poet:  "Great  wits  to  madness  sure  are  near 
allied."  Evidence  for  the  relationship  is  given  by  pedigrees  of  men 
of  genius  that  often  show  the  combination  of  ability  and  insanity. 
May  it  not  be  that  just  that  lack  of  control  that  permits  "flights  of 
the  imagination"  is  related  to  the  flightiness  characteristic  of  those 
with  mental  weakness  or  defect  ? 

These  studies  of  inheritance  of  mental  defect  inevitably  raise  the 
question  how  to  eliminate  the  mentally  defective.  This  is  a  matter 
of  great  importance  because,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  now  coming  to  be 
recognized  that  mental  defect  is  at  the  bottom  of  most  of  our  social 
problems.  Extreme  alcoholism  is  usually  a  consequence  of  a  mental 
make-up  in  which  self-control  of  the  appetite  for  liquor  is  lacking. 
Pauperism  is  a  consequence  of  mental  defects  that  make  the  pauper 


HtfMAN  NATURE  133 

incapable  of  holding  his  own  in  the  world's  competition.  Sex  immo- 
rality in  either  sex  is  commonly  due  to  a  certain  inability  to  appreciate 
consequences,  to  visualize  the  inevitableness  of  cause  and  effect, 
combined  sometimes  with  a  sex-hyperesthesia  and  lack  of  self-control. 
Criminality  in  its  worst  forms  is  similarly  due  to  a  lack  of  apprecia- 
tion of  or  receptivity  to  moral  ideas. 

If  we  seek  to  know  what  is  the  origin  of  these  defects,  we  must 
admit  that  it  is  very  ancient.  They  are  probably  derived  from  our 
ape-like  ancestors,  in  which  they  were  normal  traits.  There  occurs 
in  man  a  strain  that  has  not  yet  acquired  those  traits  of  inhibition 
that  characterized  the  more  highly  developed  civilized  persons.  The 
evidence  for  this  is  that,  as  far  back  as  we  go,  we  still  trace  back  the 
black  thread  of  defective  heredity. 

We  have  now  to  answer  the  question  as  to  the  eugenical  applica- 
tion of  the  laws  of  inheritance  of  defects.  First,  it  may  be  pointed 
out  that  traits  due  to  the  absence  of  a  determiner  are  characterized 
by  their  usual  sparseness  in  the  pedigree,  especially  when  the  parents 
are  normal;  by  the  fact  that  they  frequently  appear  where  cousin 
marriages  abound,  because  cousins  tend  to  carry  the  same  defects 
in  their  germ  plasm,  though  normal  themselves;  by  the  fact  that 
two  affected  parents  have  exclusively  normal  children,  while  two  nor- 
mal parents  who  belong  to  the  same  strain,  or  who  both  belong  to 
strains  containing  the  same  defect,  have  some  (about  25  per  cent) 
defective  children.  But  a  defective  married  to  a  pure  normal  will 
have  no  defective  offspring. 

The  clear  eugenical  rule  is  then  this:  Let  abnormals  marry 
normals  without  trace  of  the  defect,  and  let  their  normal  offspring 
marry  in  turn  into  strong  strains;  thus  the  defect  may  never  appear 
again.  Normals  from  the  defective  strain  may  marry  normals 
of  normal  ancestry,  but  must  particularly  avoid  consanguineous 
marriages. 

The  sociological  conclusion  is:  Prevent  the  feeble-minded, 
drunkards,  paupers,  sex-offenders,  and  criminalistic  from  marrying 
their  like  or  cousins  or  any  person  belonging  to  a  neuropathic  strain. 
Practically  it  might  be  well  to  segregate  such  persons  during  the 
reproductive  period  for  one  generation.  Then  the  crop  of  defectives 
will  be  reduced  to  practically  nothing. 


134  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

3.    Inheritance  of  Acquired  Nature :  Tradition1 

The  factor  in  societal  evolution  corresponding  to  heredity  in 
organic  evolution  is  tradition;  and  the  agency  of  transmission  is 
the  nervous  system  by  way  of  its  various  "senses"  rather  than  the 
germ-plasm.  The  organs  of  transmission  are  the  eye,  ear,  tongue, 
etc.,  and  not  those  of  sex.  The  term  tradition,  like  variation  and 
selection,  is  taken  in  the  broad  sense.  Variation  in  nature  causes 
the  offspring  to  differ  from  the  parents  and  from  one  another;  varia- 
tion in  the  folkways  causes  those  of  one  period  (or  place)  to  differ 
from  their  predecessors  and  to  some  extent  among  themselves.  It  is 
the  vital  fact  at  the  bottom  of  change.  Heredity  in  nature  causes 
the  offspring  to  resemble  or  repeat  the  present  type;  tradition  in 
societal  evolution  causes  the  mores  of  one  period  to  repeat  those  of 
the  preceding  period.  Each  is  a  stringent  conservator.  Variation 
means  diversity;  heredity  and  tradition  mean  the  preservation  of 
type.  If  there  were  no  force  of  heredity  or  tradition,  there  could  be 
no  system  or  classification  of  natural  or  of  societal  forms;  the  creation 
hypothesis  would  be  the  only  tenable  one,  for  there  could  be  no  basis 
for  a  theory  of  descent.  If  there  were  no  variation,  all  of  nature 
and  all  human  institutions  would  show  a  monotony  as  of  the  desert 
sand.  Heredity  and  tradition  allow  respectively  of  the  accumulation 
of  organic  or  societal  variations  through  repeated  selection,  extending 
over  generations,  in  this  or  that  direction.  In  short,  what  one  can 
say  of  the  general  effects  of  heredity  in  the  organic  realm  he  can  say 
of  tradition  in  the  field  of  the  folkways.  That  the  transmission  is 
in  the  one  case  by  way  of  the  sex  organs  and  the  germ-plasm,  and  in 
the  other  through  the  action  of  the  vocal  cords,  the  auditory  nerves, 
etc.,  would  seem  to  be  of  small  moment  in  comparison  with  the 
essential  identity  in  the  functions  discharged. 

Tradition  is,  in  a  sense  and  if  such  a  comparison  were  profitable, 
more  conservative  than  heredity.  There  is  in  the  content  of  tradi- 
tion an  invariability  which  could  not  exist  if  it  were  a  dual  composite, 
as  is  the  constitution  of  the  germ-plasm.  Here  we  must  recall 
certain  essential  qualities  of  the  mores  which  we  have  hitherto  viewed 
from  another  angle.  Tradition  always  looks  to  the  folkways  as  con- 
stituting the  matter  to  be  transmitted.  But  the  folkways,  after  the 

1  From  Albert  G.  Keller,  Societal  Evolution,  pp.  212-15.  (Published  by  The 
Macmillan  Co.,  1915.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


HUMAN  NATURE  135 

concurrence  in  their  practice  has  been  established,  come  to  include  a 
judgment  that  they  conduce  to  societal  and,  indeed,  individual  wel- 
fare. This  is  where  they  come  to  be  properly  called  mores.  They 
become  the  prosperity-policy  of  the  group,  and  the  young  are  reared 
up  under  their  sway,  looking  to  the  older  as  the  repositories  of  pre- 
cedent and  convention.  But  presently  the  older  die,  and  in  con- 
formity with  the  ideas  of  the  time,  they  become  beings  of  a  higher 
power  toward  whom  the  living  owe  duty,  and  whose  will  they  do 
not  wish  to  cross.  The  sanction  of  ghost-fear  is  thus  extended  to 
the  mores,  which,  as  the  prosperity-policy  of  the  group,  have  already 
taken  on  a  stereotyped  character.  They  thus  become  in  an  even 
higher  degree  "uniform,  universal  in  a  group,  imperative,  invariable. 
As  time  goes  on,  they  become  more  and  more  arbitrary,  positive,  and 
imperative.  If  asked  why  they  act  in  a  certain  way  in  certain  cases, 
primitive  people  always  answer  that  it  is  because  they  and  their 
ancestors  always  have  done  so."  Thus  the  transmission  of  the  mores 
comes  to  be  a  process  embodying  the  greatest  conservatism  and  the 
least  likelihood  of  change.  This  situation  represents  an  adaption  of 
society  to  life-conditions;  it  would  seem  that  because  of  the  rapidity 
of  succession  of  variations  there  is  need  of  an  intensely  conserving 
force  (like  ethnocentrism  or  religion)  to  preserve  a  certain  balance 
and  poise  in  the  evolutionary  movement. 

Transmission  of  the  mores  takes  place  through  the  agency  of 
imitation  or  of  inculcation;  through  one  or  the  other  according  as 
the  initiative  is  taken  by  the  receiving  or  the  giving  party  respectively. 
Inculcation  includes  education  in  its  broadest  sense;  but  since  that 
term  implies  in  general  usage  a  certain,  let  us  say  protective,  attitude 
taken  by  the  educator  (as  toward  the  young),  the  broader  and  more 
colorless  designation  is  chosen.  Acculturation  is  the  process  by 
which  one  group  or  people  learns  from  another,  whether  the  culture 
or  civilization  be  gotten  by  imitation  or  by  inculcation.  As  there 
must  be  contact,  acculturation  is  sometimes  ascribed  to  "contagion." 

4.    Temperament,  Tradition,  and  Nationality1 

The  temperament  of  the  Negro,  as  I  conceive  it,  consists  in  a  few 
elementary  but  distinctive  characteristics,  determined  by  physical 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  "Education  in  Its  Relation  to  the  Conflict  and  Fusion 
of  Cultures,"  in  the  Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  XIII  (1918), 
58-63- 


136  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

organizations  and  transmitted  biologically.  These  characteristics 
manifest  themselves  in  a  genial,  sunny,  and  social  disposition,  in  an 
interest  and  attachment  to  external,  physical  things  rather  than  to 
subjective  states  and  objects  of  introspection,  in  a  disposition  for 
expression  rather  than  enterprise  and  action. 

The  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the  manifestations  of  this 
temperament  have  been  actuated  by  an  inherent  and  natural  impulse, 
characteristic  of  all  living  beings,  to  persist  and  maintain  itself  in  a 
changed  environment.  Such  changes  have  occurred  as  are  likely  to 
take  place  in  any  organism  in  its  struggle  to  live  and  to  use  its  environ- 
ment to  further  and  complete  its  own  existence. 

The  result  has  been  that  this  racial  temperament  has  selected  out 
of  the  mass  of  cultural  materials  to  which  it  had  access,  such  technical, 
mechanical,  and  intellectual  devices  as  met  its  needs  at  a  particular 
period  of  its  existence.  It  has  clothed  and  enriched  itself  with  such 
new  customs,  habits,  and  cultural  forms  as  it  was  able,  or  permitted 
to  use.  It  has  put  into  these  relatively  external  things,  moreover, 
such  concrete  meanings  as  its  changing  experience  and  its  unchanging 
racial  individuality  demanded.  Everywhere  and  always  it  has  been 
interested  rather  in  expression  than  in  action;  interested  in  life  itself 
rather  than  in  its  reconstruction  or  reformation.  The  Negro  is,  by 
natural  disposition,  neither  an  intellectual  nor  an  idealist,  like  the 
Jew;  nor  a  brooding  introspective,  like  the  East  Indian;  nor  a 
pioneer  and  frontiersman,  like  the  Anglo-Saxon.  He  is  primarily 
an  artist,  loving  life  for  its  own  sake.  His  metier  is  expression  rather 
than  action.  He  is,  so  to  speak,  the  lady  among  the  races. 

In  reviewing  the  fortunes  of  the  Negro's  temperament  as  it  is 
manifested  in  the  external  events  of  the  Negro's  life  in  America,  our 
analysis  suggests  that  this  racial  character  of  the  Negro  has  exhibited 
.itself  everywhere  in  something  like  the  role  of  the  wish  in  the  Freudian 
analysis  of  dream-life.  The  external  cultural  forms  which  he  found 
here,  like  the  memories  of  the  individual,  have  furnished  the  materials 
in  which  the  racial  wish,  i.e.,  the  Negro  temperament,  has  clothed 
itself.  The  inner  meaning,  the  sentiment,  the  emphasis,  the  emo- 
tional color,  which  these  forms  assumed  as  the  result  of  their  trans- 
ference from  the  white  man  to  the  Negro,  these  have  been  the  Negro's 
own.  They  have  represented  his  temperament — his  temperament 
modified,  however,  by  his  experience  and  the  tradition  which  he  has 


HUMAN  NATURE  137 

accumulated  in  this  country.  The  temperament  is  African,  but  the 
tradition  is  American. 

If  it  is  true  that  the  Jew  just  because  of  his  intellectuality  is  a 
natural-born  idealist,  internationalist,  doctrinaire,  and  revolutionist, 
while  the  Negro,  because  of  his  natural  attachment  to  known  familiar 
objects,  places,  and  persons,  is  pre-adapted  to  conservatism  and  to 
local  and  personal  loyalties — if  these  things  are  true,  we  shall  even- 
tually have  to  take  account  of  them  practically.  It  is  certain  that 
the  Negro  has  uniformly  shown  a  disposition  to  loyalty  during  slavery 
to  his  master  and  during  freedom  to  the  South  and  the  country  as  a 
whole.  He  has  maintained  this  attitude  of  loyalty,  too,  under  very 
discouraging  circumstances.  I  once  heard  Kelly  Miller,  the  most 
philosophical  of  the  leaders  and  teachers  of  his  race,  say  in  a  public 
speech  that  one  of  the  greatest  hardships  the  Negro  suffered  in  this 
country  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  not  permitted  to  be  patriotic. 

Of  course  all  these  alleged  racial  characteristics  have  a  positive  as 
well  as  a  negative  significance.  Every  race,  like  every  individual, 
has  the  vices  of  its  virtues.  The  question  remains  still  to  what 
extent  so-called  racial  characteristics  are  actually  racial,  i.e.,  biological, 
and  to  what  extent  they  are  the  effect  of  environmental  conditions. 
The  thesis  of  this  paper,  to  state  it  again,  is:  (i)  that  fundamental 
temperamental  qualities,  which  are  the  basis  of  interest  and  attention, 
act  as  selective  agencies  and  as  such  determine  what  elements  in  the 
cultural  environment  each  race  will  select;  in  what  region  it  will 
seek  and  find  its  vocation  in  the  larger  social  organization;  (2)  that, 
on  the  other  hand,  technique,  science,  machinery,  tools,  habits, 
discipline,  and  all  the  intellectual  and  mechanical  devices  with  which 
the  civilized  man  lives  and  works  remain  relatively  external  to  the 
inner  core  of  significant  attitudes  and  values  which  constitute  what 
we  may  call  the  will  of  the  group.  This  racial  will  is,  to  be  sure, 
largely  social,  that  is,  modified  by  social  experience,  but  it  rests 
ultimately  upon  a  complex  of  inherited  characteristics,  which  are 
racial. 

The  individual  man  is  the  bearer  of  a  double  inheritance.  As 
a  member  of  a  race,  he  transmits  by  interbreeding  a  biological 
inheritance.  As  a  member  of  society  or  a  social  group,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  transmits  by  communication  a  social  inheritance.  The 
particular  complex  of  inheritable  characters  which  characterizes  the 


138  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

individuals  of  a  racial  group  constitutes  the  racial  temperament. 
The  particular  group  of  habits,  accommodations,  sentiments,  atti- 
tudes, and  ideals  transmitted  by  communication  and  education 
constitutes  a  social  tradition.  Between  this  temperament  and  this 
tradition  there  is,  as  has  been  generally  recognized,  a  very  intimate 
relationship.  My  assumption  is  that  temperament  is  the  basis  of 
the  interests;  that  as  such  it  determines  in  the  long  run  the  general 
run  of  attention,  and  this,  eventually,  determines  the  selection  in  the 
case  of  an  individual  of  his  vocation,  in  the  case  of  the  racial  group 
of  its  culture.  That  is  to  say,  temperament  determines  what  things 
the  individual  and  the  group  will  be  interested  in;  what  elements  of 
the  general  culture,  to  which  they  have  access,  they  will  assimilate; 
what,  to  state  it  pedagogically,  they  will  learn. 

It  will  be  evident  at  once  that  where  individuals  of  the  same  race 
and  hence  the  same  temperament  are  associated,  the  temperamental 
interests  will  tend  to  reinforce  one  another,  and  the  attention  of 
members  of  the  group  will  be  more  completely  focused  upon  the 
specific  objects  and  values  that  correspond  to  the  racial  temperament. 
In  this  way  racial  qualities  become  the  basis  for  nationalities,  a 
nationalistic  group  being  merely  a  cultural  and,  eventually,  a  political 
society  founded  on  the  basis  of  racial  inheritances. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  racial  segregation  is  broken  up  and 
members  of  a  racial  group  are  dispersed,  the  opposite  effect  will  take 
place.  This  explains  the  phenomena  which  have  frequently  been  the 
subject  of  comment  and  observation,  that  the  racial  characteristics 
manifest  themselves  in  an  extraordinary  way  in  large  homogeneous 
gatherings.  The  contrast  between  a  mass  meeting  of  one  race  and 
a  similar  meeting  of  another  is  particularly  striking.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances characteristic  racial  and  temperamental  differences 
appear  that  would  otherwise  pass  entirely  unnoticed. 

When  the  physical  unity  of  a  group  is  perpetuated  by  the  suc- 
cession of  parents  and  children,  the  racial  temperament,  including 
fundamental  attitudes  and  values  which  rest  in  it,  is  preserved  intact. 
When,  however,  society  grows  and  is  perpetuated  by  immigration 
and  adaptation,  there  ensues,  as  a  result  of  miscegenation,  a  breaking 
up  of  the  complex  of  the  biologically  inherited  qualities  which  consti- 
tute the  temperament  of  the  race.  This  again  initiates  changes  in 
the  mores,  traditions,  and  eventually  in  the  institutions  of  the  com- 


HUMAN  NATURE  139 

munity.  The  changes  which  proceed  from  modification  in  the  racial 
temperament  will,  however,  modify  but  slightly  the  external  forms  of 
the  social  traditions,  but  they  will  be  likely  to  change  profoundly 
their  content  and  meaning.  Of  course  other,  factors,  individual 
competition,  the  formation  of  classes,  and  especially  the  increase  of 
communication,  all  co-operate  to  complicate  the  whole  situation  and 
to  modify  the  effects  which  would  be  produced  by  racial  factors 
working  in  isolation. 

III.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 

i.    Conceptions  of  Human  Nature  Implicit  in  Religious  and 
Political  Doctrines 

Although  the  systematic  study  of  it  is  recent,  there  has  always 
been  a  certain  amount  of  observation  and  a  great  deal  of  assumption 
in  regard  to  human  nature.  The  earliest  systematic  treatises  in 
jurisprudence,  history,  theology,  and  politics  necessarily  proceeded 
from  certain  more  or  less  na'ive  assumptions  in  regard  to  the  nature 
of  man.  In  the  extension  of  Roman  law  over  subject  peoples  the 
distinction  was  made  between  jus  gentium  and /MS  naturae,  i.e.,  the 
laws  peculiar  to  a  particular  nation  as  contrasted  with  customs  and 
laws  common  to  all  nations  and  derived  from  the  nature  of  mankind. 
Macaulay  writes  of  the  "principles  of  human  nature"  from  which  it 
is  possible  to  deduce  a  theory  of  government.  Theologians,  in  devis- 
ing a  logical  system  of  thought  concerning  the  ways  of  God  to  man, 
proceeded  on  the  basis  of  certain  notions  of  human  nature.  The 
doctrines  of  original  sin,  the  innate  depravity  of  man,  the  war  of 
the  natural  man  and  the  spiritual  man  had  a  setting  in  the  dogmas  of 
the  fall  of  man,  redemption  through  faith,  and  the  probationary 
character  of  life  on  earth.  In  striking  contrast  with  the  pessimistic 
attitude  of  theologians  toward  human  nature,  social  revolutionists 
like  Rousseau  have  condemned  social  institutions  as  inherently 
vicious  and  optimistically  placed  reliance  upon  human  nature  as 
innately  good. 

In  all  these  treatises  the  assumptions  about  human  nature  are 
either  preconceptions  or  rationalizations  from  experience  incidental 
to  the  legal,  moral,  religious,  or  political  system  of  thought.  There 
is  in  these  treatises  consequently  little  or  no  analysis  or  detailed 
description  of  the  traits  attributed  to  men.  Certainly,  there  is  no 


140          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

evidence  of  an  effort  to  arrive  at  an  understanding  of  human  behavior 
from  an  objective  study  of  its  nature. 

Historic  assumptions  in  regard  to  human  nature,  no  matter  how 
fantastic  or  unscientific,  have  exerted,  nevertheless,  a  far-reaching 
influence  upon  group  action.  Periods  of  social  revolution  are  ushered 
in  by  theorists  who  perceive  only  the  evil  in  institutions  and  the 
good  in  human  nature.  On  the  other  hand,  the  "guardians  of 
society,"  distrustful  of  the  impulses  of  human  nature,  place  their 
reliance  upon  conventions  and  upon  existing  forms  of  social  organi- 
zation. Communistic  societies  have  been  organized  upon  certain 
ideas  of  human  nature  and  have  survived  as  long  as  these  beliefs 
which  inspired  them  controlled  the  behavior  of  members  of  the  group. 

Philosophers  from  the  time  of  Socrates  have  invariably  sought 
to  justify  their  moral  and  political  theories  upon  a  conception,  if  not 
a  definition,  of  the  nature  of  man.  Aristotle,  in  his  Politics  and 
Hobbes  in  his  Leviathan,  to  refer  to  two  classics,  offer  widely  divergent 
interpretations  of  human  nature.  Aristotle  emphasized  man's  altru- 
istic traits,  Hobbes  stressed  his  egoistic  disposition.  These  opposite 
conceptions  of  human  behavior  are  explicit  and  in  each  case  presented 
with  a  display  of  evidence.  Yet  students  soon  realize  that  neither 
philosopher,  in  fashioning  his  conception,  is  entirely  without  animus 
or  ulterior  motive.  When  these  definitions  are  considered  in  the 
context  in  which  they  occur,  they  seem  less  an  outgrowth  of  an 
analysis  of  human  nature,  than  formulas  devised  in  the  interest  of  a 
political  theory.  Aristotle  was  describing  the  ideal  state;  Hobbes 
was  interested  in  the  security  of  an  existing  social  order. 

Still,  the  contribution  made  by  social  and  political  philosophers 
has  been  real.  Their  descriptions  of  human  behavior,  if  inadequate 
and  unscientific,  at  least  recognized  that  an  understanding  of  human 
nature  was  a  precondition  to  social  reorganization.  The  fact  that 
philosophical  conceptions  and  ideal  constructions  are  themselves 
social  forces  and  as  such  frequently  represent  vested  interests,  has 
been  an  obstacle  to  social  as  well  as  physical  science. 

Comte's  notion  that  every  scientific  discipline  must  pass  through 
a  theological  and  metaphysical  stage  before  it  assumed  the  character 
of  a  positive  science  seems  to  be  true  as  far  as  sociology  is  concerned. 
Machiavelli  shocked  the  moral  sense  of  his  time,  if  not  the  moralists 
of  all  time,  when  he  proposed  to  accept  human  nature  as  it  is  as  a 


HUMAN  NATURE  141 

basis  for  political  science.  Herbert  Spencer  insisted  upon  the  futility 
of  expecting  "golden  conduct  from  leaden  instincts."  To  the  Utopian 
social  reformers  of  his  day  he  pointed  out  a  series  of  welfare  measures 
in  England  in  which  the  outcome  was  the  direct  opposite  of  the 
results  desired. 

This  negative  criticism  of  preconceived  notions  and  speculations 
about  human  nature  prepared  the  way  for  disinterested  observation 
and  comparison.  Certain  modern  tendencies  and  movements  gave 
an  impetus  to  the  detached  study  of  human  behavior.  The  ethnolo- 
gists collected  objective  descriptions  of  the  behavior  of  primitive 
people.  In  psychology  interest  developed  in  the  study  of  the  child 
and  in  the  comparative  study  of  human  and  animal  behavior.  The 
psychiatrist,  in  dealing  with  certain  types  of  abnormal  behavior  like 
hysteria  and  multiple  personality,  was  forced  to  study  human  behavior 
objectively.  All  this  has  prepared  the  way  for  a  science  of  human 
nature  and  of  society  based  upon  objective  and  disinterested  obser- 
vation. 

2.    Literature  and  the  Science  of  Human  Nature 

The  poets  were  the  first  to  recognize  that  "the  proper  study  of 
mankind  is  man"  as  they  were  also  the  first  to  interpret  it  objectively. 
The  description  and  appreciation  of  human  nature  and  personality 
by  the  poet  and  artist  preceded  systematic  and  reflective  analysis  by 
the  psychologist  and  the  sociologist.  In  recent  years,  moreover, 
there  has  been  a  very  conscious  effort  to  make  literature,  as  well  as 
history,  "scientific."  Georg  Brandes  in  his  Main  Currents  in  Nine- 
teenth Century  Literature  set  himself  the  task  to  "trace  first  and 
foremost  the  connection  between  literature  and  life."  Taine's 
History  of  English  Literature  attempts  to  delineate  British  tempera- 
ment and  character  as  mirrored  in  literary  masterpieces. 

The  novel  which  emphasizes  "milieu"  and  "character,"  as  con- 
trasted with  the  novel  which  emphasizes  "action"  and  "plot,"  is  a 
literary  device  for  the  analysis  of  human  nature  and  society.  Emile 
Zola  in  an  essay  The  Experimental  Novel  has  presented  with  charac- 
teristic audacity  the  case  for  works  of  fiction  as  instruments  for  the 
scientific  dissection  and  explanation  of  human  behavior. 

The  novelist  is  equally  an  observer  and  an  experimentalist.  The 
observer  in  him  gives  the  facts  as  he  has  observed  them,  suggests  the  points 
of  departure,  displays  the  solid  earth  on  which  his  characters  are  to  tread 


142  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  the  phenomena  develop.  Then  the  experimentalist  appears  and 
introduces  an  experiment,  that  is  to  say,  sets  his  characters  going  in  a  certain 
story  so  as  to  show  that  the  succession  of  facts  will  be  such  as  the  require- 
ments of  the  determinism  of  the  phenomena  under  examination  call  for. 
The  novelist  starts  out  in  search  of  a  truth.  I  will  take  as  an  example  the 
character  of  the  "Baron  Hulot,"  in  Cousine  Bette,  by  Balzac.  The  general 
fact  observed  by  Balzac  is  the  ravages  that  the  amorous  temperament  of  a 
man  makes  in  his  home,  in  his  family,  and  in  society.  As  soon  as  he  has 
chosen  his  subject  he  starts  from  known  facts,  then  he  makes  his  experiment 
and  exposes  Hulot  to  a  series  of  trials,  placing  him  among  certain  surround- 
ings in  order  to  exhibit  how  the  complicated  machinery  of  his  passions 
works.  It  is  then  evident  that  there  is  not  only  observation  there,  but 
that  there  is  also  experiment,  as  Balzac  does  not  remain  satisfied  with 
photographing  the  facts  collected  by  him,  but  interferes  in  a  direct  way  to 
place  his  characters  in  certain  conditions,  and  of  these  he  remains  the 
master.  The  problem  is  to  know  what  such  a  passion,  acting  in  such 
surroundings  and  under  such  circumstances,  would  produce  from  the  point 
of  view  of  an  individual  and  of  society;  and  an  experimental  novel,  Cousine 
Bette,  for  example,  is  simply  the  report  of  the  experiment  that  the  novelist 
conducts  before  the  eyes  of  the  public.  In  fact,  the  whole  operation  con- 
sists of  taking  facts  in  nature,  then  in  studying  the  mechanism  of  these 
facts,  acting  upon  them,  by  the  modification  of  circumstances  and  sur- 
roundings, without  deviating  from  the  laws  of  nature.  Finally,  you  possess 
knowledge  of  the  man,  scientific  knowledge  of  him,  in  both  his  individual 
and  social  relations.1 

After  all  that  may  be  said  for  the  experimental  novel,  however, 
its  primary  aim,  like  that  of  history,  is  appreciation  and  understand- 
ing, not  generalization  and  abstract  formulas.  Insight  and  sympathy, 
the  mystical  sense  of  human  solidarity,  expressed  in  the  saying  "  to 
comprehend  all  is  to  forgive  all,"  this  fiction  has  to  give.  And  these 
are  materials  which  the  sociologist  cannot  neglect.  As  yet  there  is 
no  autobiography  or  biography  of  an  egocentric  personality  so  con- 
vincing as  George  Meredith's  The  Egoist.  The  miser  is  a  social  type; 
but  there  are  no  case  studies  as  sympathetic  and  discerning  as  George 
Eliot's  Silas  Marner.  Nowhere  in  social  science  has  the  technique 
of  case  study  developed  farther  than  in  criminology;  yet  Dostoev- 
sky's  delineation  of  the  self-analysis  of  the  murderer  in  Crime  and 
Punishment  dwarfs  all  comparison  outside  of  similar  studies  in  fiction. 

1  Emile  Zola,  The  Experimental  Novel  (New  York,  1893),  pp.  8-9.  Translated 
from  the  French  by  Belle  M.  Sherman. 


HUMAN  NATURE  143 

The  function  of  the  so-called  psychological  or  sociological  novel  stops, 
however,  with  its  presentation  of  the  individual  incident  or  case;  it 
is  satisfied  by  the  test  of  its  appeal  to  the  experience  of  the  reader. 
The  scientific  study  of  human  nature  proceeds  a  step  farther;  it  seeks 
generalizations.  From  the  case  studies  of  history  and  of  literature 
it  abstracts  the  laws  and  principles  of  human  behavior. 

3.  Research  in  the  Field  of  Original  Nature 
Valuable  materials  for  the  study  of  human  nature  have  been 
accumulated  in  archaeology,  ethnology,  and  folklore.  William  G. 
Sumner,  in  his  book  Folkways,  worked  through  the  ethnological  data 
and  made  it  available  for  sociological  use.  By  classification  and 
comparison  of  the  customs  of  primitive  peoples  he  showed  that 
cultural  differences  were  based  on  variations  in  folkways  and  mores 
in  adaptation  to  the  environment,  rather  than  upon  fundamental 
differences  in  human  nature. 

The  interests  of  research  have  resulted  in  a  division  of  labor 
between  the  fields  of  original  and  acquired  nature  in  man.  The 
examination  of  original  tendencies  has  been  quite  properly  connected 
with  the  study  of  inheritance.  For  the  history  of  research  in  this 
field,  the  student  is  referred  to  treatises  upon  genetics  and  evolution 
and  to  the  works  of  Lamarck,  Darwin,  DeVries,  Weismann,  and 
Mendel.  Recent  discoveries  in  regard  to  the  mechanism  of  biological 
inheritance  have  led  to  the  organization  of  a  new  applied  science, 
"eugenics."  The  new  science  proposes  a  social  program  for  the 
improvement  of  the  racial  traits  based  upon  the  investigations  of 
breeding  and  physical  inheritance.  Research  in  eugenics  has  been 
fostered  by  the  Galton  Laboratory  in  England,  and  by  the  Eugenics 
Record  Office  at  Cold  Spring  Harbor  in  the  United  States.  Interest 
has  centered  in  the  study  of  the  inheritance  of  feeble-mindedness. 
Studies  of  feeble-minded  families  and  groups,  as  The  Kallikak  Family 
by  Goddard,  The  Jukes  by  Dugdale,  and  The  Tribe  of  Ishmael  by 
M'Culloch,  have  shown  how  mental  defect  enters  as  a  factor  into 
industrial  inefficiency,  poverty,  prostitution,  and  crime. 

4     The  Investigation  of  Human  Personality 
The  trend  of  research  in  human  nature  has  been  toward  the  study 
of  personality.     Scientific  inquiry  into  the  problems  of  personality 
was  stimulated  by  the  observation  of  abnormal  behavior  such  as 


144  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

hysteria,  loss  of  memory,  etc.,  where  the  cause  was  not  organic  and, 
therefore,  presumably  psychic.  A  school  of  French  psychiatrists 
and  psychologists  represented  by  Charcot,  Janet,  and  Ribot  have 
made  signal  contributions  to  an  understanding  of  the  maladies  of 
personality.  Investigation  in  this  field,  invaluable  for  an  under- 
standing of  the  person,  has  been  made  in  the  study  of  dual  and 
multiple  personality.  The  work  of  Freud,  Jung,  Adler,  and  others 
in  psychoanalysis  has  thrown  light  upon  the  role  of  mental  conflict, 
repression,  and  the  wishes  in  the  growth  of  personality. 

In  sociology,  personality  is  studied,  not  only  from  the  subjective 
standpoint  of  its  organization,  but  even  more  in  its  objective  aspects 
and  with  reference  to  the  role  of  the  person  in  the  group.  One  of  the 
earliest  classifications  of  "kinds  of  conduct"  has  been  ascribed  by 
tradition  to  a  disciple  of  Aristotle,  Theophrastus,  who  styled  himself 
"a  student  of  human  nature."  The  Characters  of  Theophrastus  is 
composed  of  sketches — humorous  and  acute,  if  superficial — of  types 
such  as  "the  flatterer,"  "the  boor,"  "the  coward,"  "the  garrulous 
man."  They  are  as  true  to  modern  life  as  to  the  age  of  Alexander. 
Chief  among  the  modern  imitators  of  Theophrastus  is  La  Bruyere, 
who  published  in  1688  Les  caracteres,  ou  les  moeurs  de  ce  siecle,  a  series 
of  essays  on  the  manners  of  his  time,  illustrated  by  portraits  of  his 
contemporaries. 

Autobiography  and  biography  provide  source  material  for  the 
study  both  of  the  subjective  life  and  of  the  social  role  of  the  person. 
Three  great  autobiographies  which  have  inspired  the  writing  of 
personal  narratives  are  themselves  representative  of  the  different 
types :  Caesar's  Commentaries,  with  his  detached  impersonal  descrip- 
tion of  his  great  exploits;  the  Confessions  of  St.  Augustine,  with  his 
intimate  self-analysis  and  intense  self-reproach,  and  the  less  well- 
known  De  Vita  Propria  Liber  by  Cardan.  This  latter  is  a  serious 
attempt  at  scientific  self-examination.  Recently,  attention  has  been 
directed  to  the  accumulation  of  autobiographical  and  biographical 
materials  which  are  interpreted  from  the  point  of  view  of  psychiatry 
and  psychoanalysis.  The  study  Der  Fall  Otto  Weininger  by  Dr.  Fer- 
dinand Probst  is  a  representative  monograph  of  this  type.  The 
outstanding  example  of  this  method  and  its  use  for  sociological  inter- 
pretation is  "Life  Record  of  an  Immigrant"  contained  in  the  third 
volume  of  Thomas  and  Znaniecki,  The  Polish  Peasant.  In  connection 


HUMAN  NATURE  145 

with  the  Recreation  Survey  of  the  Cleveland  Foundation  and  the 
Americanization  Stttdies  of  the  Carnegie  Corporation,  the  life-history 
has  been  developed  as  part  of  the  technique  of  investigation. 

5.    The  Measurement  of  Individual  Differences 

With  the  growing  sense  of  the  importance  of  individual  differences 
in  human  nature,  attempts  at  their  measurement  have  been  essayed. 
Tests  for  physical  and  mental  traits  have  now  reached  a  stage  of 
accuracy  and  precision.  The  study  of  temperamental  and  social 
characteristics  is  still  in  the  preliminary  stage. 

The  field  of  the  measurement  of  physical  traits  is  dignified  by 
the  name  "anthropometry."  In  the  nineteenth  century  high  hopes 
were  widely  held  of  the  significance  of  measurements  of  the  cranium 
and  of  physiognomy  for  an  understanding  of  the  mental  and  moral 
nature  of  the  person.  The  lead  into  phrenology  sponsored  by  Gall 
and  Spursheim  proved  to  be  a  blind  trail.  The  so-called  "scientific 
school  of  criminology"  founded  by  Cesare  Lombroso  upon  the  iden- 
tification of  the  criminal  type  by  certain  abnormalities  of  physiog- 
nomy and  physique  was  undermined  by  the  controlled  study  made  by 
Charles  Goring.  At  the  present  time  the  consensus  of  expert  opinion 
is  that  only  for  a  small  group  may  gross  abnormalities  of  physical 
development  be  associated  with  abnormal  mental  and  emotional 
reactions. 

In  1905-11  Binet  and  Simon  devised  a  series  of  tests  for  deter- 
mining the  mental  age  of  French  school  children.  The  purpose  of 
the  mental  measurements  was  to  gauge  innate  mental  capacity. 
Therefore  the  tests  excluded  material  which  had  to  do  with  special 
social  experience.  With  their  introduction  into  the  United  States 
certain  revisions  and  modifications,  such  as  the  Goddard  Revision,  the 
Terman  Revision,  the  Yerkes-B ridges  Point  Scale,  were  made  in  the 
interests  of  standardization.  The  application  of  mental  measure- 
ments to  different  races  and  social  classes  raised  the  question  of  the 
extent  to  which  individual  groups  varied  because  of  differences  in 
social  experience.  While  it  is  not  possible  absolutely  to  separate 
original  tendencies  from  their  expression  in  experience,  it  is  practicable 
to  devise  tests  which  will  take  account  of  divergent  social  environments. 

The  study  of  volitional  traits  and  of  temperament  is  still  in  its 
infancy.  Many  recent  attempts  at  classification  of  temperaments 


146          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

rest  upon  as  impressionistic  a  basis  as  the  popular  fourfold  division 
into  sanguine,  melancholic,  choleric,  and  phlegmatic.  Two  of  the 
efforts  to  define  temperamental  differences  rest,  however,  upon  first- 
hand study  of  cases.  Dr.  June  E.  Downey  has  devised  a  series  of 
tests  based  upon  handwriting  material  for  measuring  will  traits.  In 
her  pamphlet  The  Will  Profile  she  presents  an  analysis  of  twelve 
volitional  traits:  revision,  perseverance,  co-ordination  of  impulses, 
care  for  detail,  motor  inhibition,  resistance,  assurance,  motor  impul- 
sion, speed  of  decision,  flexibility,  freedom  from  inertia,  and  speed 
of  movement.  From  a  study  of  several  hundred  cases  she  defined 
certain  will  patterns  which  apparently  characterize  types  of  indi- 
viduals. In  her  experience  she  has  found  the  rating  of  the  subject 
by  the  will  test  to  have  a  distinct  value  in  supplementing  the  test 
for  mentality. 

Kraepelin,  on  the  basis  of  his  examination  of  abnormal  mental 
states,  offers  a  classification  of  types  of  psychopathic  personalities. 
He  distinguishes  six  groups:  the  excitable,  the  unstable,  the  psycho- 
pathic trend,  the  eccentric,  the  anti-social,  and  the  contentious.  In 
psychoanalysis  a  simpler  twofold  division  is  frequently  made  between 
the  introverts,  or  the  "introspective"  and  the  extroverts,  or  the  "objec- 
tive" types  of  individual. 

The  study  of  social  types  is  as  yet  an  unworked  field.  Literature 
and  life  surround  us  with  increasing  specializations  in  personalities, 
but  attempts  at  classification  are  still  in  the  impressionistic  stage. 
The  division  suggested  by  Thomas  into  the  Philistine,  Bohemian,  and 
Creative  types,  while  suggestive,  is  obviously  too  simple  for  an  ade- 
quate description  of  the  rich  and  complex  variety  of  personalities. 

This  survey  indicates  the  present  status  of  attempts  to  define 
and  measure  differences  in  original  and  human  nature.  A  knowledge 
of  individual  differences  is  important  in  every  field  of  social  control. 
It  is  significant  that  these  tests  have  been  devised  to  meet  problems 
of  policies  and  of  administration  in  medicine,  in  industry,  in  educa- 
tion, and  in  penal  and  reformatory  institutions.  Job  analysis, 
personnel  administration,  ungraded  rooms,  classes  for  exceptional 
children,  vocational  guidance,  indicate  fields  made  possible  by  the 
development  of  tests  for  measuring  individual  differences. 


HUMAN  NATURE  147 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.      ORIGINAL    NATURE 

A.  Racial  Inheritance 

(1)  Thomson,  J.  Arthur.    Heredity.    London  and  New  York,  1008. 

(2)  Washburn,  Margaret  F.     The  Animal  Mind.    New  York,  1908. 

(3)  Morgan,   C.  Lloyd.    Habit  and  Instinct.    London  and  New 
York,  1896. 

(4)  .    Instinct  and  Experience.    New  York,  1912. 

(5)  Loeb,    Jacques.    Comparative   Physiology   of  the    Brain    and 
Comparative  Psychology.    New  York,  1900. 

(6)  .    Forced  Movements.    Philadelphia  and  London,  1918. 

(7)  Jennings,  H.  S.    Behavior  of  the  Lower  Organisms.    New  York, 
1906. 

(8)  Watson,    John.    Behavior:     an    Introduction    to    Comparative 
Psychology.    New  York,  1914. 

(9)  Thorndike,  E.  L.     The  Original  Nature  of  Man.    Vol.  I  of 
"Educational  Psychology."    New  York,  1913. 

(10)  Paton,  Stewart.  Human  Behavior.  In  relation  to  the  study  of 
educational,  social,  and  ethical  problems.  New  York,  1921. 

(u)  Fans,  Ellsworth,  "Are  Instincts  Data  or  Hypotheses?" 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XXVII  (Sept.,  1921),  184-96. 

B.  Heredity  and  Eugenics 

1.  Systematic  Treatises: 

(1)  Castle,  W.  E.,  Coulter,  J.  M.,  Davenport,  C.  B.,  East,  E.  M., 
and  Tower,  W.  L.    Heredity  and  Eugenics.     Chicago,  1912. 

(2)  Davenport,   C.  B.    Heredity  in  Relation  to  Eugenics.    New 
York,  1911. 

(3)  Goddard,  Henry  H.    Feeble-mindedness.    New  York,  1914. 

2.  Inherited  Inferiority  of  Families  and  Communities: 

(1)  Dugdale,  Richard  L.     The  Jukes.    New  York,  1877. 

(2)  M'Culloch,  O.  C.     The  Tribe  of  Ishmael.    A  study  in  social 
degradation.    National  Conference  of  Charities  and  Correction, 
1888,  154-59;  1889,  265;  1890,435-37. 

(3)  Goddard,  Henry  H.     The  Kallikak  Family.    New  York,  1912. 

(4)  Winship,  A.  E.    Jukes-Edwards.    A  study  in  education  and 
heredity.    Harrisburg,  Pa.,  1900. 

(5)  Estabrook,  A.  H.,  and  Davenport,  C.  B.     The  Nam  Family. 
A  study  in  cacogenics.     Cold  Spring  Harbor,  N.Y.,  1912. 

(6)  Danielson,  F.  H.,  and  Davenport,  C.  B.    The  Hill  Folk.    Report 
on  a  rural  community  of  hereditary  defectives.     Cold  Spring 
Harbor,  N.Y.,  1912. 


148  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(7)  Kite.  Elizabeth  S.    "The  Pineys,"  Survey,  XXXI  (October  4, 

1913),  7-i3»  38-40- 

(8)  Gesell,  A.  L.     "The  Village  of  a  Thousand  Souls,"  American 
Magazine,  LXXVI  (October,  1913),  11-13. 

(9)  Kostir,  Mary  S.     The  Family  of  Sam  Sixty.     Columbus,  1916.  . 
(10)  Finlayson,  Anna  W.     The  Dack  Family.    A  study  on  hereditary 

lack  of  emotional  control.     Cold  Spring  Harbor,  N.Y.,  1916. 

II.      HUMAN   NATURE 

A.  Human  Traits 

(1)  Cooley,  Charles  H.    Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order.    New 
York,  1902. 

(2)  Shaler,  N.  S.     The  Individual.    New  York,  1900. 

(3)  Hocking,  W.   E.    Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking.    New 
Haven,  1918. 

(4)  Edman,  Irwin.    Human  Traits  and  Their  Social  Significance. 
Boston,  1919. 

(5)  Wallas,  Graham.    Human  Nature  in  Politics.    London,  1008. 

(6)  Lippmann,  Walter.    A  Preface  to  Politics.     New  York  and  Lon- 
don, 1913.     [A  criticism  of  present  politics  from  the  point  of 
view  of  human-nature  studies.] 

(7)  James,  William.     The   Varieties  of  Religious  Experience.     A 
study  in  human  nature.    London  and  New  York,  1902. 

(8)  Ellis,  Havelock.    Studies  in  the  Psychology  of  Sex.    6  vols. 
Philadelphia,  1900-1905. 

(9)  Thomas,  W.  I.    Source  Book  for  Social  Origins.    Chicago,  1909. 
[Contains  extensive  bibliographies.] 

B.  The  Mores 

i.  Comparative  Studies  of  Cultural  Traits: 

(1)  Tylor,  E.  B.    Primitive  Culture.    Researches  into  the  develop- 
ment of  mythology,  philosophy,  religion,  language,  art,  and 
custom.    4th  ed.     2  vols.    London,  1903. 

(2)  Sumner,  W.  G.    Folkways.    A  study  of  the  sociological  impor- 
tance of  usages,  manners,  customs,  mores,  and  morals.    Boston, 
1906. 

(3)  Westermarck,  E.  A.     The  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral 
Ideas.    London  and  New  York,  1008. 

(4)  Ratzel,  F.    History  of  Mankind.    Translated  by  A.  J.  Butler. 
London  and  New  York,  1898. 

(5)  Vierkandt,  A.    Naturvolker  und  Kulturvolker.    Leipzig,  1896. 

(6)  Lippert,    Julius.    Kulturgeschichte    der    Menschheit    in    ihrem 
organischem  Aufbau.     Stuttgart,  1886-87. 


HUMAN  NATURE  149 

(7)  Frazer,  J.  G.     The  Golden  Bough,    A  study  in  magic  and  reli- 
gion.   3d  ed.,  12  vols.     (Volume  XII  is  a  bibliography  of  the 
preceding  volumes.)     London  and  New  York,  1907-15. 

(8)  Dewey,  John,  and  Tufts,  James  H.    Ethics.    New  York,  1908. 
2.  Studies  of  Traits  of  Individual  Peoples: 

(1)  Fouillee,  A.    Psychologic  du  peuple  franqais.    Paris,  1898. 

(2)  Rhys,  J.,  and  Brynmor- Jones,  D.     The  Welsh  People.    London, 
1900. 

(3)  Fishberg,  M.     The  Jews.    A  study  of  race  and  environment. 
London  and  New  York,  1911. 

(4)  Strausz,  A.    Die  Bulgaren.    Ethnographische  Studien.    Leip- 
zig, 1898. 

(5)  Stern,  B.    Geschichte  der  qffentlichen  Sittlithkeit  in  Russland. 
Kultur,   Aberglaube,    Sitten,    und    Gebrauche.    Zwei   Bande. 
Berlin,  1907-8. 

(6)  Krauss,  F.  S.    Sitte  und  Branch  der  Siidslaven.    Wien,  1885. 

(7)  Kidd,  D.     The  Essential  Kafir.    London,  1904. 

(8)  Spencer,  B.,  and  Gillen,  F.  J.     The  Native  Tribes  of  Central 
Australia.    London  and  New  York,  1899. 

C.  Human  Nature  and  Industry 

(1)  Taylor,  F.  W.     The  Principles  of  Scientific  Management.    New 
York,  1911. 

(2)  Tead,  O.,  and  Metcalf,  H.  C.    Personnel  Administration;   Its 
Principles  and  Practice.    New  York,  1920. 

(3)  Tead,  O.    Instincts  in  Industry.    A  study  of  working-class 
psychology.    Boston,  1918. 

(4)  Parker,  C.  H.     The  Casual  Laborer  and  Other  Essays.    New 
York,  1920. 

(5)  Marot,  Helen.    Creative  Impulse  in  Industry;    A  Proposition 
for  Educators.    New  York,  1918. 

(6)  Williams,  Whiting.     What's  on  the  Worker's  Mind.    New  York, 
1920. 

(7)  Hollingworth,  H.  L.     Vocational  Psychology;  Its  Problems  and 
Methods.    New  York,  1916. 

III.      PERSONALITY 

A.  The  Genesis  of  Personality 

(i)  Baldwin,  J.  M.  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race: 
Methods  and  Processes.  3d  rev.  ed.  New  York  and  London, 
1906. 


150  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(2)  Baldwin,  J.  M.     Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental 
Developments.     Chap  ii,  "The  Social  Person,"  pp.  66-98.    36 
ed.,  rev.  and  enl.    New  York  and  London,  1002. 

(3)  Sully,  J.    Studies  of  Childhood,     rev.  ed.    New  York,  1903. 

(4)  King,  I.     The  Psychology  of  Child  Development.     Chicago,  1003. 

(5)  Thorndike,  E.  L.    Notes  on  Child  Study.    New  York,  1903. 

(6)  Hall,  G.  S.    Adolescence.    Its  psychology  and  its  relations  to 
physiology,  anthropology,  sociology,  sex,  crime,  religion,  and 
education.     2  vols.    New  York,  1904. 

(7)  Shinn,  Milicent  W.    Notes  on  the  Development  of  a  Child.     Uni- 
versity of  California  Studies.    Nos.  1-4.     1893-99. 

(8)  Kirkpatrick,  E.  A.     The  Individual  in  the  Making.    Boston  and 
New  York,  1911. 

B.  Psychology  and  Sociology  of  the  Person 

(1)  James,  William.     The  Principles  of  Psychology.     Chap,  x, "  Con- 
sciousness of  Self,"  I,  291-401.     New  York,  1890. 

(2)  Bekhterev,  V.  M.  (Bechterew,  W.  v.)  Die  Personlichkeit  und 
die  Bedingungen  ihrer  Entivicklung  und  Gesundheit.     "Grenz- 
fragen  des  Nerven-  und  Seelenlebens,"  No.  45.    Wiesbaden, 
1906. 

(3)  Binet,  A.    Alterations  of  Personality.    Translated  by  H.  G. 
Baldwin.    New  York,  1896. 

(4)  Ribot,  T.  A.    Diseases  of  Personality.    Authorized  translation, 
2d  rev.  ed.     Chicago,  1895. 

(5)  Adler,  A.     The  Neurotic  Constitution.    New  York,  1917. 

(6)  Prince,  M.     The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality.     A  biographi- 
cal study  in  abnormal  psychology.     2d  ed.    New  York,  1913. 

(7)  -     — .     The  Unconscious.    The  fundamentals  of  human  per- 
sonality, normal  and  abnormal.    New  York,  1914. 

(8)  Coblenz,  Felix.     Ueber  das  betende  Ich  in  den  Psalmen.    Ein 
Beitrag  zur  Erklaerung  des  Psalters.     Frankfort,  1897. 

(9)  Royce,  J.    Studies  of  Good  and  Evil.    A  series  of  essays  upon 
problems  of  philosophy  and  life.     Chap,  viii,  "Some  Observa- 
tions on  the  Anomalies  of  Self-consciousness,"  pp.  169-97.    A 
paper  read  before  the  Medico-Psychological  Association  of 
Boston,  March  21,  1894.    New  York,  1898. 

(10)  Stern,  B.  Werden  and  Wesen  der  Personlichkeit.  Biologische 
und  historische  Untersuchungen  iiber  menschliche  Individuali- 
tat.  Wien  und  Leipzig,  1913. 

(n)  Shand,  A.  F.  The  Foundations  of  Character.  Being  a  study  of 
the  tendencies  of  the  emotions  and  sentiments.  London,  1914. 


HUMAN  NATURE  151 

C.  Materials  for  the  Study  of  the  Person 

(1)  Theophrastus.     The   Characters  of  Theophrastus.    Translated 
from  the  Greek  by  R.  C.  Jebb.    London,  1870. 

(2)  La  Bruyere,  Jean   de.     Les   caracteres,   ou  les  mceurs  de  ce 
siecle.     Paris,  1916.     The  "Characters"  of  Jean  de  La  Bruyere. 
Translated  from  the  French  by  Henri  Van  Laun.    London, 
1885. 

(3)  Augustinus,    Aurelius.     The    Confessions    of    St.    Augustine. 
Translated  from  the  Latin  by  E.  B.  Pusly.    London,  1907. 

(4)  Wesley,  John.     The  Journal  of  the  Rev.  John  Wesley.    New 
York  and  London,  1907. 

(5)  Amiel,  H.    Journal  intime.    Translated  by  Mrs.  Ward.    Lon- 
don and  New  York,  1885. 

(6)  Cellini,  Benvenu to.    Memoirs  of  Benvenuto  Cellini.    Translated 
from  the  Italian  by  J.  A.-  Symonds.    New  York,  1898. 

(7)  Woolman,  John.    Journal  of  the  Life,  Gospel  Labors,  and  Chris- 
tian Experiences  of  That  Faithful  Minister  of  Jesus  Christ,  John 
Woolman.    Dublin,  1794. 

(8)  Tolstoy,  Count  Leon.    My  Confession.    Translated  from  the 
Russian.    Paris  and  New  York,  1887.   My  Religion.  Translated 
from  the  French.    New  York,  1885. 

(9)  Riley,  I.  W.     The  Founder  of  Mormonism.     A  psychological 
study  of  Joseph  Smith,  Jr.    New  York,  1902. 

(10)  Wilde,  Oscar.    De  Profundis.    New  York  and  London,  1905. 
(n)  Keller,  Helen.     The  Story  of  My  Life.    New  York,  1903. 

(12)  Simmel,  Georg.    Goethe.    Leipzig,  1913. 

(13)  Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F.     The  Polish  Peasant  in 
Europe  and  America.     "Life-Record  of  an   Immigrant,"  III, 
89-400.    Boston,  1919. 

(14)  Probst,  Ferdinand.    Der  Fall  Otto  Weininger.    "Grenzfragen 
des  Nerven-und  Seelenlebens,"  No.  31.    Wiesbaden,  1904. 

(15)  Anthony,  Katherine.    Margaret  Fuller.    A  psychological  biog- 
raphy.   New  York,  1920. 

(16)  Willard,  Josiah  Flynt.    My  Life.    New  York,  1908. 
(17) .     Tramping  with  Tramps.     New  York,  1899. 

(18)  Cummings,  B.  F.     The  Journal  of  a  Disappointed  Man,  by 
Barbellion,  W.  N.  P.  [pseud.]     Introduction  by  H.  G.  Wells. 
New  York,  1919. 

(19)  Audoux,  Marguerite.    Marie  Claire.    Introduction  by  Octave 
Mirabeau.    Translated  from  the  French  by  J.  N.  Raphael. 
London  and  New  York,  1911. 


152  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(20)  Clemens,  Samuel  L.     The  Adventures  of  Tom  Sawyer,  by  Mark 
Twain  [pseud.].     New  York,  1903. 

(21)  Hapgood,   Hutchins.     The   Autobiography   of  a   Thief.    New 
York,  1903. 

(22)  Johnson,  James  W.     The  Autobiography  of  an  ex-Colored  Man. 
Published  anonymously.     Boston,  1912. 

(23)  Washington,  Booker  T.     Up  from  Slavery.    An  autobiography. 
New  York,  1001. 

(24)  Du  Bois,  W.  E.  B.     The  Souls  of  Black  Folk.     Chicago,  1903 

(25)  Beers,  C.  W.    A  Mind  That  Found  Itself.    An  autobiography. 
4th  rev.  ed.    New  York,  1917. 

IV.      INDIVIDUAL    DIFFERENCES 

A.  The  Nature  of  Individual  Differences 

(1)  Thorndike,  E.  L.    Individuality.    Boston,  1911. 

(2)  .     "Individual    Differences   and   Their    Causes,"  Edu- 
cational Psychology,  III,  141-388.     New  York,  1913-14. 

(3)  Stern,   W.     Ueber   Psychologic   der   individuellen    Differenzen. 
Leipzig,  1900. 

(4)  Hollingworth,  Leta  S.     The  Psychology  of  Subnormal  Children. 
Chap.  i.     "Individual  Differences."    New  York,  1920. 

B.  Mental  Differences 

(1)  Goddard,  H.  H.    Feeble-mindedness.    Its  causes  and  conse- 
quences.   New  York,  1914. 

(2)  Tredgold,  A.  F.    Mental  Deficiency.     2d  ed.    New  York,  1916. 

(3)  Bronner,  Augusta  F.     The  Psychology  of  Special  Abilities  and 
Disabilities.     Boston,  1917. 

(4)  Healy,  William.     Case  Studies  of  Mentally  and  Morally  Abnor- 
mal Types.     Cambridge,  Mass.,  1912. 

C.  Temperamental  Differences 
i.  Systematic  Treatises: 

(1)  Fouillee,  A.     Temperament  et  caractere  scion  les  individus,  les 
sexes  et  les  races.     Paris,  1895. 

(2)  Hirt,  Eduard.    Die  Temperamente,  ihr  Wesen,  ihre  Bedeutung, 
fiir   das   seelische   Erleben   und   ihre   besonderen   Gcstaltungen. 
"Grenzfragen  des  Nerven-  und  Seelenlebens,"  No.  40.    Wies- 
baden, 1905. 

(3)  Hoch,  A.,  and  Amsden,  G.  S.     "A  Guide  to  the  Descriptive 
Study  of  Personality,"  Review  of  Neurology  and  Psychiatry, 
(1913),  PP.  577-87. 


HUMAN  NATURE  153 

(4)  Kraepelin,  E.    Psychiatric.    Ein  Lehrbuch  fur  Studierende  und 
Arzte.     Vol.  IV,  chap,  xvi,  pp.  1973-2116.     8th  ed.    4  vols. 
Leipzig,  1909-15. 

(5)  Loewenfeld,  L.     Ueber  die  geniale  Geistesthatigkeit  mil  besonderer 
Berucksichtigung  des  Genie's  fiir  bildende  Kunst.     "Grenzfragen 
des  Nerven-und  Seelenlebens,"  No.  21.    Wiesbaden,  1903. 

2.  Temperamental  Types: 

(i)  Lombroso,   C.     The   Man   of  Genius.    Translated   from   the 

Italian.    London  and  New  York,  1891. 
(2) .    L'uomo  delinquente  in  rapporto  all' antr  apologia,  alia 

guirisprudenza  ed  alle  discipline  carcerarie.    3  vols.     5th  ed. 

Torino,  1896-97. 

(3)  Goring,  Charles.     The  English  Convict.    A  statistical  study. 
London,  1913. 

(4)  Wilmanns,  Karl.    Psychopathologie  des  Landstreichers.    Leipzig, 
1906. 

(5)  Downey,  June  E.     "The  Will  Profile."    A  tentative  scale  for 
measurement  of  the  volitional  pattern.     University  of  Wyoming 
Bulletin,    Laramie,  1919. 

(6)  Pagnier,  A.      Le  vagabond.     Paris,  1910. 

(7)  Kowalewski,   A.    Studien   zur   Psychologic   der   Pessimismus. 
"  Grenzfragen  des  Nerven-  und  Seelenlebens,"  No.  24.      Wies- 
baden, 1904. 

D.  Sex  Differences 

(1)  Ellis,  H.  H.    Man  and  Woman.    A  study  of  human  secondary 
sexual  characters.     5th  rev.  ed.    London  and  New  York,  1914. 

(2)  Geddes,  P.,  and  Thomson,  J.  A.     The  Evolution  of  Sex.    Lon- 
don, 1889. 

(3)  Thompson,  Helen  B.     The  Mental  Traits  of  Sex.    An  experi- 
mental investigation  of  the  normal  mind  in  men  and  women. 
Chicago,  1903. 

(4)  Montague,  Helen,  and  Hollingworth,  Leta  S.    "The  Compara- 
tive Variability  of  the  Sexes  at  Birth,"  American  Journal  of 
Sociology,  XX  (1914-15),  335~7°- 

(5)  Thomas,  W.  I.    Sex  and  Society.     Chicago,  1007. 

(6)  Weidensall,  C.  J.     The  Mentality  of  the  Criminal  Woman.    A 
comparative  study  of  the  criminal  woman,  the  working  girl, 
and  the  efficient  working  woman,  in  a  series  of  mental  and 
physical  tests.    Baltimore,  1916. 

(7)  Hollingworth,  Leta  S.    "Variability  as  Related  to  Sex  Differ- 
ences in  Achievement,"  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XLX 
(1913-14):  510-30.    [Bibliography.] 


154  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

E.  Racial  Differences 

(1)  Boas,  F.     The  Mind  of  Primitive  Man.     New  York,  ign. 

(2)  Cambridge  Anthropological  Expedition  to  Torres  Straits.     5  vols. 
Cambridge,  1901-08. 

(3)  Le  Bon,  G.     The  Psychology  of  Peoples.    Its  influence  on  their 
evolution.    New  York  and  London,  1898.     [Translation.] 

(4)  Reuter,  E.  B.     The  Mulatto  in  the  United  States.    Boston,  1918. 

(5)  Bruner,  F.  G.     "Hearing  of  Primitive  Peoples,"  Archives  oj 
Psychology,  No.  n.    New  York,  1908. 

(6)  Woodworth,  R.  S.    "Racial  Differences  in  Mental  Traits," 
Science,  new  series,  XXI  (1910),  171-86. 

(7)  Morse,  Josiah.     "A  Comparison  of  White  and  Colored  Children 
Measured  by  the  Binet-Simon  Scale  of  Intelligence,"  Popular 
Science  Monthly,  LXXXIVC  (1914),  75-79. 

(8)  Ferguson,  G.  0.,  Jr.     "The  Psychology  of  the  Negro,  an  Experi- 
mental Study,"  Archives  of  Psychology,  No.  36.    New  York, 
1916.     [Bibliography.] 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  Cooley's  Conception  of  Human  Nature 

2.  Human  Nature  and  the  Instincts 

3.  Human  Nature  and  the  Mores 

4.  Studies  in  the  Evolution  of  the  Mores;    Prohibition,  Birth  Control, 
the  Social  Status  of  Children 

5.  Labor  Management  as  a  Problem  in  Human  Nature 

6.  Human  Nature  in  Politics 

7.  Personality  and  the  Self 

8.  Personality  as  a  Sociological  Concept 

9.  Temperament,  Milieu,  and  Social  Types;  the  Politician,  Labor  Leader, 
Minister,  Actor,  Lawyer,  Taxi  Driver,  Chorus  Girl,  etc. 

10.  Bohemian,  Philistine,  and  Genius 

11.  The  Beggar,  Vagabond,  and  Hobo 

12.  Literature  as  Source  Material  for  the  Study  of  Character 

13.  Outstanding  Personalities  in  a  Selected  Community 

14.  Autobiography  as  Source  Material  for  the  Study  of  Human  Nature 

15.  Individual  and  Racial  Differences  Compared 

16.  The  Man  of  Genius  as  a  Biological  and  a  Sociological  Product 

17.  The  Jukes  and  Kindred  Studies  of  Inferior  Groups 

18.  History  of  the  Binet-Simon  Tests 

19.  Mental  Measurements  and  Vocational  Guidance 

20.  Psychiatry  and  Juvenile  Delinquency 

21.  Recent  Studies  of  the  Adolescent  Girl. 

22.  Mental  Inferiority  and  Crime 


HUMAN  NATURE  155 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  Is  human  nature  that  which  is  fundamental  and  alike  in  all  individuals 
or  is  it  those  qualities  which  we  recognize  and  appreciate  as  human 
when  we  meet  them  in  individuals  ? 

2.  What  is  the  relation  between  original  nature  and  the  environment  ? 

3.  What  is  the  basis  for  the  distinction  made  by  Thorndike  between 
reflexes,  instincts,  and  inborn  capacities? 

4.  Read  carefully  Thomdike's  Inventory  of  Original  Tendencies.    What 
illustrations  of  the  different  original  traits  occur  to  you  ? 

5.  What  do  you  understand  by  Park's  statement  that  man  is  not  born 
human  ? 

6.  "Human  nature  is  a  superstructure."    What  value  has  this  metaphor  ? 
What  are  its  limitations  ?    Suggest  a  metaphor  which  more  adequately 
illustrates  the  relation  of  original  nature  to  acquired  nature. 

7.  In  what  sense  can  it  be  said  that  habit  is  a  means  of  controlling  original 
nature  ? 

8.  What,  according  to  Park,  is  the  relation  of  character  to  instinct  and 
habit  ?    Do  you  agree  with  him  ? 

9.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  statement  that  "original  nature  is 
blind  ?" 

10.  What  relation  has  an  ideal  to  (a)  instinct  and  (b)  group  life  ? 

11.  In  what  sense  may  we  speak  of  the  infant  as  the  "natural  man"  ? 

12.  To  what  extent  are  racial  differences  (a)  those  of  original  nature, 
(6)  those  acquired  from  experience  ? 

13.  What  evidence  is  there  for  the  position  that  sex  differences  in  mental 
traits  are  acquired  rather  than  inborn  ? 

14.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  mentality  and  temperament  ? 

15.  How  do  you  account  for  the  great  differences  in  achievement  between 
the  sexes  ? 

1 6.  What  evidence  is  there  of  temperamental  differences  between  the  sexes  ? 
between  races  ? 

17.  In  the  future  will  women  equal  men  in  achievement  ? 

18.  What,  in  your  judgment,  is  the  range  of  individual  differences?    Is  it 
less  or  greater  than  that  of  racial  and  sex  differences  ? 

19.  What  do  you  understand  is  the  distinction  between  racial  inheritance 
as  represented  by  the  instincts,  and  innate  individual  differences  ? 
Do  you  think  that  both  should  be  regarded  as  part  of  original  nature  ? 

20.  What  is  the  effect  of  education  and  the  division  of  labor  (a)  upon 
instincts  and  (b)  upon  individual  differences? 

21.  Are  individual  differences  or  likenesses  more  important  for  society? 

22.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  significance  of  individual  differences 
fa)  for  social  life;  (b)  for  education;  (c)  for  industry  ? 


156  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

23.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  remaking  of  human  nature?    What 
is  the  importance  of  this  principle  for  politics,  industry,  and  social 
progress  ? 

24.  Explain  the  proverbs:   "Habit  is  ten  times  nature,"  "Habit  is  second 
nature." 

25.  What  is  Cooley's  definition  of  human  nature?    Do  you  agree  or  dis- 
agree with  him  ?    Elaborate  your  position. 

26.  To  what  extent  does  human  nature  differ  with  race  and  geographic 
environment  ? 

27.  How  would  you  reinterpret  Aristotle's  and  Hobbes's  conception  of 
human  nature  in  the  light  of  this  definition  ? 

28.  What  illustrations  of  the  difference  between  folkways  and  mores 
would  you  suggest  ? 

29.  Classify  the  following  forms  of  behavior  under  (a)   folkways  or  (b) 
mores:    tipping  the  hat,  saluting  an  officer,  monogamy,  attending 
church,   Sabbath  observance,  prohibition,  immersion  as  a  form  of 
baptism,  the  afternoon  tea  of  the  Englishman,  the  double  standard  of 
morals,  the  Ten  Commandments,  the  Golden  Rule,  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States. 

30.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  relation  of  the  mores  to  human 
nature  ? 

31.  In  what  way  is  (a)  habit  related  to  will?     (b)  custom  related  to  the 
general  will  ? 

32.  How  do  you   distinguish  the  general  will   (c)  from  law,  (6)  from 
custom  ? 

33.  Does  any  one  of  the  following  terms  embody  your  conception  of  what 
is  expressed  by  Sittlichkeit:  good  form,  decency,  self-respect,  propriety, 
good  breeding,  convention  ? 

34.  Describe  and  analyze  several  concrete  social  situations  where  Sittlich- 
keit rather  than  conscience  or  law  controlled  the  behavior  of  the  person 
or  of  the  group. 

35.  What  do  you  understand  by  convention?    What  is  the  relation  of 
convention  to  instinct  ?    Is  convention  a  part  of  human  nature  to  the 
same  extent  as  loyalty,  honor,  etc.  ? 

36.  What  is  meant  by  the  saying  that  mores,  ritual,  and  convention  are 
in  the  words  of  Hegel  "objective  mind"  ? 

37.  "The  organism  and  the  brain,  as  its  highest  representation,  constitute 
the  real  personality."    What  characteristics  of  personality  are  stressed 
in  this  definition  ? 

38.  Is  there  any  significance  to  the  fact  that  personality  is  derived  from 
the  Latin  word  persona  (mask  worn  by  actors)  ? 


HUMAN  NATURE  157 

39.  Is  the  conventional  self  a  product  of  habit,  or  of  Sittlichkeit,  or  of  law, 
or  of  conscience  ? 

40.  What  is  the  importance  of  other  people  to  the  development  of  self- 
consciousness  ? 

41.  Under  what  conditions  does  self -consciousness  arise? 

42.  What  do  you  understand  by  personality  as  a  complex?    As  a  total  of 
mental  complexes  ? 

43.  What  is  the  relation  of  memory  to  personality  as  illustrated  in  the  case 
of  dual  personality  and  of  moods  ? 

44.  What  do  you  understand  Cooley  to  mean  by  the  looking-glass  self  ? 

45.  What  illustration  would  you  suggest  to  indicate  that  an  individual's 
sense  of  his  personality  depends  upon  his  status  in  the  group  ? 

46.  "All  the  world's  a  stage,  and  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players." 
Is  personality  adequately  defined  in  terms  of  a  person's  conception  of 
his  r61e  ? 

47.  What  is  the  sociological  significance  of  the  saying,  "If  you  would  have 
a  virtue,  feign  it"  ? 

48.  What,  according  to  Bechterew,  is  the  relation  of  personality  to  the 
social  milieu  ? 

49.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  personality  of  peoples  ?    What  is  the 
relation  of  the  personality  of  peoples  and  the  personalities  of  individuals 
who  constitute  the  peoples  ? 

50.  What  do  you  understand   by   the  difference  between   nature   and 
nurture  ? 

51.  What  are  acquired  characters?    How  are  they  transmitted? 

52.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  Mendelian  principles  of  inheritance: 
(a)  the  hypothesis  of  unit  characters;    (6)  the  law  of  dominance;   and 
(c)  the  law  of  segregation  ? 

53.  What  illustrations  of  the  differences  between  instinct  and  tradition 
would  you  suggest  ? 

54.  What  is  the  difference  between  the  blue  eye  as  a  defect  in  pigmentation, 
and  of  feeble-mindedness  as  a  defective  characteristic  ? 

55.  Should  it  be  the  policy  of  society  to  eliminate  all  members  below  a 
certain  mental  level  either  by  segregation  or  by  more  drastic  measures  ? 

56.  What  principles  of  treatment  of  practical  value  to  parents  and  teachers 
would  you  draw  from  the  fact  that  feeble  inhibition  of  temper  is  a 
trait  transmitted  by  biological  inheritance  ? 

57.  Why  is  an  understanding  of  the  principles  of  biological  inheritance  of 
importance  to  sociology  ? 

58.  In  what  two  ways,  according  to  Keller,  are  acquired  characters  trans- 
mitted by  tradition  ? 


158  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

59.  Make  a  list  of  the  different  types  of  things  derived  by  the  person  (a) 
from  his  biological  inheritance,  and  (b)  from  his  social  heritage. 

60.  What  traits,  temperament,  mentality,  manner,  or  character,  are  dis- 
tinctive of  members  of  your  family  ?    Which  of  these  have  been 
inherited,  which  acquired  ? 

61.  What  problems  in  society  are  due  to  defects  in  man's  original  nature  ? 

62.  What  problems  are  the  result  of  defects  in  folkways  and  mores  ? 

63.  In  what  way  do  racial  temperament  and  tradition  determine  national 
characteristics  ?    To  what  extent  is  the  religious  behavior  of  the  negro 
determined  (a)  by  temperament,  (b)  by  imitation  of  white  culture? 
How  do  you  explain  Scotch  economy,  Irish  participation  in  politics, 
the  intellectuality  of  the  Jew,  etc.  ? 


CHAPTER  III 

SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.    Society,  the  Community,  and  the  Group 

Human  nature  and  the  person  are  products  of  society.  This  is 
the  sum  and  substance  of  the  readings  in  the  preceding  chapter. 
But  what,  then,  is  society — this  web  in  which  the  lives  of  individuals 
are  so  inextricably  interwoven,  and  which  seems  at  the  same  time  so 
external  and  in  a  sense  alien  to  them  ?  From  the  point  of  view  of 
common  sense,  "society"  is  sometimes  conceived  as  the  sum  total 
of  social  institutions.  The  family,  the  church,  industry,  the  state, 
all  taken  together,  constitute  society.  In  this  use  of  the  word,  society 
is  identified  with  social  structure,  something  more  or  less  external 
to  individuals. 

In  accordance  with  another  customary  use  of  the  term,  "society" 
denotes  a  collection  of  persons.  This  is  a  vaguer  notion  but  it  at 
least  identifies  society  with  individuals  instead  of  setting  it  apart 
from  them.  But  this  definition  is  manifestly  superficial.  Society 
is  not  a  collection  of  persons  in  the  sense  that  a  brick  pile  is  a  collection 
of  bricks.  However  we  may  conceive  the  relation  of  the  parts  of 
society  to  the  whole,  society  is  not  a  mere  physical  aggregation  and 
not  a  mere  mathematical  or  statistical  unit. 

Various  explanations  that  strike  deeper  than  surface  observation 
have  been  proposed  as  solutions  for  this  cardinal  problem  of  the 
social  one  and  the  social  many;  of  the  relation  of  society  to  the 
individual.  Society  has  been  described  as  a  tool,  an  instrument,  as  it 
were,  an  extension  of  the  individual  organism.  The  argument  runs 
something  like  this:  The  human  hand,  though  indeed  a  part  of  the 
physical  organism,  may  be  regarded  as  an  instrument  of  the  body 
as  a  whole.  If  as  by  accident  it  be  lost,  it  is  conceivable  that  a 
mechanical  hand  might  be  substituted  for  it,  which,  though  not  a 
part  of  the  body,  would  function  for  all  practical  purposes  as  a  hand 
of  flesh  and  blood.  A  hoe  may  be  regarded  as  a  highly  specialized 


160  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

hand,  so  also  logically,  if  less  figuratively,  a  plow.  So  the  hand  of 
another  person  if  it  does  your  bidding  may  be  regarded  as  your 
instrument,  your  hand.  Language  is  witness  to  the  fact  that  em- 
ployers speak  of  "  the  hands  "  which  they  "  work."  Social  institutions 
may  likewise  be  thought  of  as  tools  of  individuals  for  accomplishing 
their  purposes.  Logically,  therefore,  society,  either  as  a  sum  of 
institutions  or  as  a  collection  of  persons,  may  be  conceived  of  as  a 
sum  total  of  instrumentalities,  extensions  of  the  functions  of  the  human 
organism  which  enable  individuals  to  carry  on  life-activities.  From 
this  standpoint  society  is  an  immense  co-operative  concern  of  mutual 
services. 

This  latter  is  an  aspect  of  society  which  economists  have  sought 
to  isolate  and  study.  From  this  point  of  view  the  relations  of  indi- 
viduals are  conceived  as  purely  external  to  one  another,  like  that  of 
the  plants  in  a  plant  community.  Co-operation,  so  far  as  it  exists, 
is  competitive  and  "free." 

In  contrast  with  the  view  of  society  which  regards  social  insti- 
tutions and  the  community  itself  as  the  mere  instruments  and  tools 
of  the  individuals  who  compose  it,  is  that  which  conceives  society  as 
resting  upon  biological  adaptations,  that  is  to  say  upon  instincts, 
gregariousness,  for  example,  imitation,  or  like-mindedness.  The  classic 
examples  of  societies  based  on  instinct  are  the  social  insects,  the  well- 
known  bee  and  the  celebrated  ant.  In  human  society  the  family, 
with  its  characteristic  differences  and  interdependences  of  the  sexes 
and  the  age  groups,  husband  and  wife,  children  and  parents,  most 
nearly  realizes  this  description  of  society.  In  so  far  as  the  organiza- 
tion of  society  is  predetermined  by  inherited  or  constitutional  differ- 
ences, as  is  the  case  pre-eminently  in  the  so-called  animal  societies, 
competition  ceases  and  the  relations  of  its  component  individuals 
become,  so  to  speak,  internal,  and  a  permanent  part  of  the  structure 
of  the  group. 

The  social  organization  of  human  beings,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  various  types  of  social  groups,  and  the  changes  which  take  place 
in  them  at  different  times  under  varying  circumstances,  are  deter- 
mined not  merely  by  instincts  and  by  competition  but  by  custom, 
tradition,  public  opinion,  and  contract.  In  animal  societies  as  herds, 
flocks,  and  packs,  collective  behavior  seems  obviously  to  be  explained 
in  terms  of  instinct  and  emotion.  In  the  case  of  man,  however, 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  161 

instincts  are  changed  into  habits;  emotions,  into  sentiments.  Fur- 
thermore, all  these  forms  of  behavior  tend  to  become  conventionalized 
and  thus  become  relatively  independent  of  individuals  and  of  instincts. 
The  behavior  of  the  person  is  thus  eventually  controlled  by  the 
formal  standards  which,  implicit  in  the  mores,  are  explicit  in  the  laws. 
Society  now  may  be  denned  as  the  social  heritage  of  habit  and  senti- 
ment, folkways  and  mores,  technique  and  culture,  all  of  which  are 
incident  or  necessary  to  collective  human  behavior. 

Human  society,  then,  unlike  animal  society,  is  mainly  a  social 
heritage,  created  in  and  transmitted  by  communication.  The  con- 
tinuity and  life  of  a  society  depend  upon  its  success  in  transmitting 
from  one  generation  to  the  next  its  folkways,  mores,  technique,  and 
ideals.  From  the  standpoint  of  collective  behavior  these  cultural 
traits  may  all  be  reduced  to  the  one  term  " consensus."  Society 
viewed  abstractly  is  an  organization  of  individuals;  considered  con- 
cretely it  is  a  complex  of  organized  habits,  sentiments,  and  social 
attitudes — in  short,  consensus. 

The  terms  society,  community,  and  social  group  are  now  used  by 
students  with  a  certain  difference  of  emphasis  but  with  very  little 
difference  in  meaning.  Society  is  the  more  abstract  and  inclusive 
term,  and  society  is  made  up  of  social  groups,  each  possessing  its  own 
specific  type  of  organization  but  having  at  the  same  time  all  the 
general  characteristics  of  society  in  the  abstract.  Community  is 
the  term  which  is  applied  to  societies  and  social  groups  where  they 
are  considered  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  geographical  distribution 
of  the  individuals  and  institutions  of  which  they  are  composed.  It 
follows  that  every  community  is  a  society,  but  not  every  society  is  a 
community.  An  individual  may  belong  to  many  social  groups  but 
he  will  not  ordinarily  belong  to  more  than  one  community,  except  in 
so  far  as  a  smaller  community  of  which  he  is  a  member  is  included 
in  a  larger  of  which  he  is  also  a  member.  However,  an  individual 
is  not,  at  least  from  a  sociological  point  of  view,  a  member  of  a  commu- 
nity because  he  lives  in  it  but  rather  because,  and  to  the  extent  that, 
he  participates  in  the  common  life  of  the  community. 

The  term  social  group  has  come  into  use  with  the  attempts  of 
students  to  classify  societies.  Societies  may  be  classified  with  refer- 
ence to  the  role  which  they  play  in  the  organization  and  We  of  larger 
social  groups  or  societies.  The  internal  organization  of  any  given 


162  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

social  group  will  be  determined  by  its  external  relation  to  other  groups 
in  the  society  of  which  it  is  a  part  as  well  as  by  the  relations  of 
individuals  within  the  group  to  one  another.  A  boys'  gang,  a  girls' 
clique,  a  college  class,  or  a  neighborhood  conforms  to  this  definition 
quite  as  much  as  a  labor  union,  a  business  enterprise,  a  political  party, 
or  a  nation.  One  advantage  of  the  term  "group"  lies  in  the  fact 
that  it  may  be  applied  to  the  smallest  as  well  as  to  the  largest  forms 
of  human  association. 

2.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

Society,  in  the  most  inclusive  sense  of  that  term,  the  Great 
Society,  as  Graham  Wallas  described  it,  turns  out  upon  analysis  to  be 
a  constellation  of  other  smaller  societies,  that  is  to  say  races,  peoples, 
parties,  factions,  cliques,  clubs,  etc.  The  community,  the  world- 
community,  on  the  other  hand,  which  is  merely  the  Great  Society 
viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  the  territorial  distribution  of  its 
members,  presents  a  different  series  of  social  groupings  and  the  Great 
Society  in  this  aspect  exhibits  a  totally  different  pattern.  From  the 
point  of  view  of  the  territorial  distribution  of  the  individuals  that 
constitute  it,  the  world-community  is  composed  of  nations,  colonies, 
spheres  of  influence,  cities,  towns,  local  communities,  neighborhoods, 
and  families. 

These  represent  in  a  rough  way  the  subject-matter  of  sociological 
science.  Their  organization,  interrelation,  constituent  elements,  and 
the  characteristic  changes  (social  processes)  which  take  place  in  them 
are  the  phenomena  of  sociological  science. 

Human  beings  as  we  meet  them  are  mobile  entities,  variously 
distributed  through  geographical  space.  What  is  the  nature  of  the 
connection  between  individuals  which  permits  them  at  the  same  time 
to  preserve  their  distances  and  act  corporately  and  consentiently — 
with  a  common  purpose,  in  short  ?  These  distances  which  separate 
individuals  are  not  merely  spatial,  they  are  psychical.  Society  exists 
where  these  distances  have  been  relatively  overcome.  Society  exists, 
in  short,  not  merely  where  there  are  people  but  where  there  is  com- 
munication. 

The  materials  in  this  chapter  are  intended  to  show  (i)  the  funda- 
mental character  of  the  relations  which  have  been  established  between 
individuals  through  communication;  (2)  the  gradual  evolution  of 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  163 

these  relations  in  animal  and  human  societies.  On  the  basis  of  the 
principle  thus  established  it  is  possible  to  work  out  a  rational  classi- 
fication of  social  groups. 

>  Espinas  defines  society  in  terms  of  corporate  action  J  Wherever 
separate  individuals  act  together  as  a  unit,  where  they  co-operate  as 
though  they  were  parts  of  the  same  organism,  there  he  finds  society. 
Society  from  this  standpoint  is  not  confined  to  members  of  one  species, 
but  may  be  composed  of  different  members  of  species  where  there  is 
permanent  joint  activity.  S  In  the  study  of  symbiosis  among  animals, 
it  is  significant  to  note  the  presence  of  structural  adaptations  in  one 
or  both  species.  In  the  taming  and  domestication  of  animals  hy  m^p 
the  effects  of  symbiosis  are  manifest..  Domestication,  by  the  selection 
JT)  breeding  of  traits  desired  hy  man,  changes.. the  original  nature  of 
the  animal.  Taming  is  achieved  by  control  of  habits  in  transferring 
to  man  the  filial  and  gregarious  responses  of  the  young  naturally 
given  to  its  parents  and  members  of  its  kind.  Man  may  b*>  t>>nngTi±. 
of  as  domesticated  through  natural  snri^l  sp.lprtinn.  Eugenics  is  a 
conscious  program  of  further  domestication  by  the  elimination  of 
defective  physical  and  mental  racial  traits  and  by  the  improvement 
of  the  racial  stock  through  the  social  selection  of  superior  traits. 
Taming  has  always  been  a  function  of  human  society,  but  it  is  digni- 
fied" by  such  denominations  as  "education,"  "social  control,"  "pun- 
ishment," and  "reformation." 

The  plant  community  offers  the  simplest  and  least  qualified 
example  of  the  community.  Plant  life,  in  fact,  offers  an  illustration 
of  a  community  which  is  not  a  society.  It  is  not  a  society  because  it 
is  an  organization  of  individuals  whose  relations,  if  not  wholly  external, 
are,  at  any  rate,  "unsocial"  in  so  far  as  there  is  no  consensus.  The 
plant  community  is  interesting,  moreover,  because  it  exhibits  in  the 
barest  abstraction,  the  character  of  competitive  co-operation,  the 
aspect  of  social  life  which  constitutes  part  of  the  special  subject- 
matter  of  economic  science. 

This  struggle  for  existence,  in  some  form  or  other,  is  in  fact 
essential  to  the  existence  of  society.  Competition,  segregation,  and 
accommodation  serve  to  maintain  the  social  distances,  to  fix  the 
status,  and  preserve  the  independence  of  the  individual  in  the  social 
relation.  A  society  in  which  all  distances,  physical  as  well  as  psychi- 
cal, had  been  abolished,  in  which  there  was  neither  taboo,  prejudice, 


164  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

nor  reserve  of  any  sort;  a  society  in  which  the  intimacies  were  absolute, 
would  be  a  society  in  which  there  were  neither  persons  nor  freedom. 
The  processes  of  competition,  segregation,  and  accommodation  brought 
out  in  the  description  of  the  plant  community  are  quite  comparable 
with  the  same  processes  in  animal  and  human  communities.  A 
village,  town,  city,  or  nation  may  be  studied  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  adaptation,  struggle  for  existence,  and  survival  of  its  indi- 
vidual members  in  the  environment  created  by  the  community  as  a 
whole. 

Society,  as  Dewey  points  out,  if  based  on  instinct  is  an  effect  of 
communication.  Consensus  even  more  than  co-operation  or  corporate 
action  is  the  distinctive  mark  of  human  society.  Dewey,  however, 
seems  to  restrict  the  use  of  consensus  to  group  decisions  in  which  all 
the  members  consciously  and  rationally  participate.  Tradition  and 
sentiment  are,  however,  forms  of  consensus  quite  as  much  as  con- 
stitutions, rules,  and  elections. 

Le  Bon's  classification  of  social  groups  into  heterogeneous  and 
homogeneous  crowds,  while  interesting  and  suggestive,  is  clearly 
inadequate.  Many  groups  familiar  to  all  of  us,  as  the  family,  the 
play-group,  the  neighborhood,  the  public,  find  no  place  in  his  system.1 

Concrete  descriptions  of  group  behavior  indicate  three  aspects 
in  the  consensus  of  the  members  of  the  group.  The  first  is*  the 
characteristic  state  of  group  feeling  called  esprit  de  corps.  The 
enthusiasm  of  the  two  sides  in  a  football  contest,  the  ecstasy  of 
religious  ceremonial,  the  fellowship  of  members  of  a  fraternity,  the 
brotherhood  of  a  monastic  band  are  all  different  manifestations  of 
group  spirit. 

The  second  aspect  of  consensus  has  become  familiar  through  the 
term  "morale."  Morale  may  he.  Hpfjripd  qg  fhe  collective :wj!L  Like 
the  will  of  the  individual  it  represents  an  organization  of  behavior 
tendencies.  The  discipline  of  the  individual,  his  subordination  to 
the  group,  lies  in  his  participation  and  reglementation  in  social 
activities. 

The  third  aspect  of  consensus  which  makes  for  unified  behavior 
of  the  members  of  the  group  has  been  analyzed  by  Durkheim  under 
the  term  "collective  representations."  Collective  representations 
are  the  concepts  which  embody  the  objectives  of  group  activity. 

'See  supra,  chap,  i,  pp.  50-51. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  165 

The  totem  of  primitive  man,  the  flag  of  a  nation,  a  religious 
creed,  the  number  system,  and  Darwin's  theory  of  the  descent  of 
man — all  these  are  collective  representations.  Every  society  and 
every  social  group  has,  or  tends  to  have,  its  own  symbols  and  its  own 
language.  The  language  and  other  symbolic  devices  by  which  a 
society  carries  on  its  collective  existence  are  collective  representations. 
Animals  do  not  possess  them. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      SOCIETY  AND  SYMBIOSIS 
i.    Definition  of  Society1 

The  idea  of  society  is  that  of  a  permanent  co-operation  in  which 
separate  living  beings  undertake  to  accomplish  an  identical  act. 
These  beings  may  find  themselves  brought  by  their  conditions  to  a 
point  where  their  co-operation  forces  them  to  group  themselves  in 
space  in  some  definite  form,  but  it  is  by  no  means  necessary  that 
they  should  be  in  juxtaposition  for  them  to  act  together  and  thus  to 
form  a  society.  A  customary  reciprocation  of  services  among  more 
or  less  independent  individualities  is  the  characteristic  feature  of  the 
social  life,  a  feature  that  contact  or  remoteness  does  not  essentially 
modify,  nor  the  apparent  disorder  nor  the  regular  disposition  of  the 
parties  in  space. 

Two  beings  may  then  form  what  is  to  the  eyes  a  single  mass,  and 
may  live,  not  only  in  contact  with  each  other,  but  even  in  a  state 
of  mutual  penetration  without  constituting  a  society.  It  is  enough 
in  such  a  case  that  one  looks  at  them  as  entirely  distinct,  that  their 
activities  tend  to  opposite  or  merely  different  ends.  If  their  functions, 
instead  of  co-operating,  diverge;  if  the  good  of  one  is  the  evil  of  the 
other,  whatever  the  intimacy  of  their  contact  may  be,  no  social 
bond  unites  them. 

But  the  nature  of  the  functions  and  the  form  of  the  organs  are 
inseparable.  If  two  beings  are  endowed  with  functions  that  neces- 
sarily combine,  they  are  also  endowed  with  organs,  if  not  similar,  at 
least  corresponding.  And  these  beings  with  like  or  corresponding 
organs  are  either  of  the  same  species  or  of  very  nearly  the  same 
species. 

1  Translated  from  Alfred  Espinas,  Des  sodelis  animales  (1878),  pp.  157-60. 


1 66  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

However,  circumstances  may  be  met  where  two  beings  with  quite 
different  organs  and  belonging  even  to  widely  remote  species  may  be 
accidentally  and  at  a  single  point  useful  to  each  other.  <  A  habitual 
relation  may  be  established  between  their  activities,  but  only  on  this 
one  point,  and  in  the  time  limits  in  which  the  usefulness  exists. 
Such  a  case  gives  the  occasion,  if  not  for  a  society ,  aMeast  for  an 
-association:  that  is  to  say,  a  union  less  necessary,  less  strict,  less 
durable,  may  find  its  origin  in  such  a  meeting.  In  other  words, 
beside  the  normal  societies  formed  of  elements  specifically  alike, 
which  cannot  exist  without  each  other,  there  will  be  room  for  more 
accidental  groupings,  formed  of  elements  more  or  less  specifically 
unlike,  which  convenience  unites  and  not  necessity.  We  will  com- 
mence with  a  study  of  the  latter. 

To  society  the  most  alien  relations  of  two  living  beings  which 
can  be  produced  are  those  of  the  predator  and  his  prey.  In  general, 
the  predator  is  bulkier  than  his  prey,  since  he  overcomes  him  and 
devours  him.  Yet  smaller  ones  sometimes  attack  larger  creatures, 
consuming  them,  however,  by  instalments,  and  letting  them  live 
that  they  themselves  may  live  on  them  as  long  as  possible.  In  such 
a  case  they  are  forced  to  remain  for  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time  attached 
to  the  body  of  their  victim,  carried  about  by  it  wherever  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  its  life  lead  them.  Such  animals  have  received  the  name  of 
parasites.  Parasitism  forms  the  line  inside  of  which  our  subject 
begins;  for  if  one  can  imagine  that  the  parasite,  instead  of  feeding 
on  the  animal  from  whom  he  draws  his  subsistence,  is  content  to  live 
on  the  remains  of  the  other's  meals,  one  will  find  himself  in  the 
presence,  not  yet  of  an  actual  society,  but  of  half  the  conditions  of  a 
society;  that  is  to  say,  a  relation  between  two  beings  such  that,  all 
antagonism  ceasing,  one  of  the  two  is  useful  to  the  other.  Such  is 
coromensalism.  However,  this  association  does  not  yet  offer  the 
essential  element  of  all  society,  co-operation.  There  is  co-operation 
when  the  commensal  is  not  less  useful  to  his  host  than  the  latter  is 
to  the  commensal  himself,  when  the  two  are  concerned  in  living  in  a 
reciprocal  relation  and  in  developing  their  double  activity  in  cor- 
responding ways  toward  a  single  and  an  identical  goal.  One  has 
given  to  this  mode  of  activity  the  name  of  mutualism.  Domestica- 
tion is  only  one  form  of  it.  Parasitism,  commensalism,  mutualism, 
exist  with  animals  among  the  different  species. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  16; 

2.     Symbiosis  (literally  "living  together")1 

In  gaining  their  wide  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  vegetable 
world  the  ants  have  also  become  acquainted  with  a  large  number  of 
insects  that  obtain  their  nutriment  directly  from  plants,  either  by 
sucking  up  their  juices  or  by  feeding  on  their  foliage.  To  the  former 
group  belong  the  phytophthorous  Homoptera,  the  plant  lice,  scale 
insects,  or  mealy  bugs,  tree-hoppers,  lantern  flies,  and  jumping 
plant  lice;  to  the  latter  belong  the  caterpillars  of  the  lycaenid  butter- 
flies, the  "blues,"  or  "azures,"  as  they  are  popularly  called.  All  of 
these  creatures  excrete  liquids  which  are  eagerly  sought  by  the  ants 
and  constitute  the  whole,  or,  at  any  rate,  an  important  part  of  the 
food  of  certain  species.  In  return  the  Homoptera  and  caterpillars 
receive  certain  services  from  the  ants,  so  that  the  relations  thus 
established  between  these  widely  different  insects  may  be  regarded 
as  a  kind  of  symbiosis.  These  relations  are  most  apparent  in  the 
case  of  the  aphids,  and  these  insects  have  been  more  often  and  more 
closely  studied  in  Europe  and  America. 

The  consociation  of  the  ants  with  the  aphids  is  greatly  facilitated 
by  the  gregarious  and  rather  sedentary  habits  of  the  latter,  especially 
in  their  younger,  wingless  stages,  for  the  ants  are  thus  enabled  to 
obtain  a  large  amount  of  food  without  losing  time  and  energy  in 
ranging  far  afield  from  their  nests.  Then,  too,  the  ants  may  estab- 
lish their  nests  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  aphid  droves  or 
actually  keep  them  in  their  nests  or  in  "sheds"  carefully  constructed 
for  the  purpose. 

Some  ants  obtain  the  honey-dew  merely  by  licking  the  surface  of 
the  leaves  and  stems  on  which  it  has  fallen,  but  many  species  have 
learned  to  stroke  the  aphids  and  induce  them  to  void  the  liquid 
gradually  so  that  it  can  be  imbibed  directly.  A  drove  of  plant  lice, 
especially  when  it  is  stationed  on  young  and  succulent  leaves  or  twigs, 
may  produce  enough  honey-dew  to  feed  a  whole  colony  of  ants  for  a 
considerable  period. 

As  the  relations  between  ants  and  the  various  Homoptera  have 
been  regarded  as  mutualistic,  it  may  be  well  to  marshal  the  facts 
which  seem  to  warrant  this  interpretation.  The  term  "mutualism'' 
as  applied  to  these  cases  means,  of  course,  that  the  aphids,  coccids, 

1  Adapted  from  William  M.  Wheeler,  Ants,  Their  Structure,  Development, 
Behavior,  pp.  339-424.  (Columbia  University  Press,  1910.) 


l6&  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  membracids  are  of  service  to  the  ants  and  in  turn  profit  by  the 
companionship  of  these  more  active  and  aggressive  insects.  Among 
the  modifications  in  structure  and  behavior  which  may  be  regarded 
as  indicating  on  the  part  of  aphids  unmistakable  evidence  of  adapta- 
tion to  living  with  ants,  the  following  may  be  cited: 

1.  The  aphids  do  not  attempt  to  escape  from  the  ants  or  to 
defend  themselves  with  their  siphons,  but  accept  the  presence  of 
these  attendants  as  a  matter  of  course. 

2.  The  aphids  respond  to  the  solicitations  of  the  ants  by  extrud- 
ing the  droplets  of  honey-dew  gradually  and  not  by  throwing  them 
off  to  a  distance  with  a  sudden  jerk,  as  they  do  in  the  absence 
of  ants. 

3.  Many  species  of  Aphididae  that  live  habitually  with  ants 
have  developed  a  perianal  circlet  of  stiff  hairs  which  support  the  drop 
of  honey-dew  till  it  can  be  imbibed  by  the  ants.    This  circlet  is 
lacking  in  aphids  that  are  rarely  or  never  visited  by  ants. 

4.  Certain  observations  go  to  show  that  aphids,  when  visited 
by  ants,  extract  more  of  the  plant  juices  than  when  unattended. 

The  adaptations  on  the  part  of  the  ants  are,  with  a  single  doubtful 
exception,  all  modifications  in  behavior  and  not  in  structure. 

1.  Ants  do  not  seize  and  kill  aphids  as  they  do  when  they  encoun- 
ter other  sedentary  defenseless  insects. 

2.  The  ants  stroke  the  aphids  in  a  particular  manner  in  order  to 
make  them  excrete  the  honey-dew,  and  know  exactly  where  to 
expect  the  evacuated  liquid. 

3.  The  ants  protect  the  aphids.     Several  observers  have  seen 
the  ants  driving  away  predatory  insects. 

4.  Many  aphidicolous  ants,  when  disturbed,  at  once  seize  and 
carry  their  charges  in  their  mandibles  to  a  place  of  safety,  showing 
very  plainly  their  sense  of  ownership  and  interest  in  these  helpless 
creatures. 

5.  This  is  also  exhibited  by  all  ants  that  harbor  root-aphids  and 
root-coccids  in  their  nests.    Not  only  are  these  insects  kept  in  con- 
finement by  the  ants,  but  they  are  placed  by  them  on  the  roots.     In 
order  to  do  this  the  ants  remove  the  earth  from  the  surfaces  of  the 
roots  and  construct  galleries  and  chambers  around  them  so  that 
the  Homoptera  may  have  easy  access  to  their  food  and  even  move 
about  at  will. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  169 

6.  Many  ants  construct,  often  at  some  distance  from  their  nests, 
little  closed  pavilions  or  sheds  of  earth,  carton,  or  silk,  as  a  protection 
for  their  cattle  and  for  themselves.    The  singular  habit  may  be 
merely  a  more  recent  development  from  the  older  and  more  general 
habit  of  excavating  tunnels  and  chambers  about  roots  and  subter- 
ranean stems. 

7.  The  solicitude  of  the  ants  not  only  envelops  the  adult  aphids 
and  coccids,  but  extends  also  to  their  eggs  and  young.     Numerous 
observers  have  observed  ants  in  the  autumn  collecting  and  storing 
aphid  eggs  in  the  chambers  of  their  nests,  caring  for  them  through 
the  winter  and  in  the  spring  placing  the  recently  hatched  plant  lice 
on  the  stems  and  roots  of  the  plants. 

In  the  foregoing  I  have  discussed  the  ethological  relations  of  ants 
to  a  variety  of  other  organisms.  This,  however,  did  not  include  an 
account  of  some  of  the  most  interesting  symbiotic  relations,  namely, 
those  of  the  ants  to  other  species  of  their  own  taxonomic  group  and 
to  termites.  This  living  together  of  colonies  of  different  species  may 
be  properly  designated  as  social  symbiosis,  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  simple  symbiosis  that  obtains  between  individual  organisms  of 
different  species  and  the  intermediate  form  of  symbiosis  exhibited 
by  individual  organisms  that  live  in  ant  or  termite  colonies. 

The  researches  of  the  past  forty  years  have  brought  to  light  a 
remarkable  array  of  instances  of  social  symbiosis,  varying  so  much 
in  intimacy  and  complexity  that  it  is  possible  to  construct  a  series 
ranging  from  mere  simultaneous  occupancy  of  a  very  narrow  etho- 
logical station,  or  mere  contiguity  of  domicile,  to  an  actual  fusion, 
involving  the  vital  dependence  or  parasitism  of  a  colony  of  one  species 
on  that  of  another.  Such  a  series  is,  of  course,  purely  conceptual  and 
does  not  represent  the  actual  course  of  development  in  nature,  where, 
as  in  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms  in  general,  development  has 
not  followed  a  simple  linear  course,  but  has  branched  out  repeatedly 
and  terminated  in  the  varied  types  at  the  present  time. 

It  is  convenient  to  follow  the  European  writers,  von  Hagens, 
Forel,  Wasmann,  and  others,  in  grouping  all  the  cases  of  social 
symbiosis  under  two  heads,  t.hq  gnmpnund  nests  and  the  mixed 
colonies.  Different  species  of  ants  or  of  ants  and  termites  are  said 
to  form  compound  nests  when  their  galleries  are  merely  contiguous 
or  actually  interpenetrate  and  open  into  one  another,  although  the 


170  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

colonies  which  inhabit  them  bring  up  their  respective  offspring  in 
different  apartments.  In  mixed  colonies,  on  the  other  hand,  which, 
in  a  state  of  nature,  can  be  formed  only  by  species  of  ants  of  close 
laxonomic  affinities,  the  insects  live  together  in  a  single  nest  and 
bring  up  their  young  in  common.  Although  each  of  these  cate- 
gories comprises  a  number  of  dissimilar  types  of  social  symbiosis,  and 
although  it  is  possible,  under  certain  circumstances,  as  will  be  shown  in 
the  sequel,  to  convert  a  compound  nest  into  a  mixed  colony,  the  dis- 
tinction is  nevertheless  fundamental.  It  must  be  admitted,  however, 
that  both  types  depend  in  last  analysis  on  the  dependent,  adoption- 
seeking  instincts  of  the  queen  ant  and  on  the  remarkable  plasticity 
which  enables  allied  species  and  genera  to  live  in  very  close  prox- 
imity to  one  another.  By  a  strange  paradox  these  peculiarities  have 
been  produced  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  although  this  struggle  is 
severer  among  different  species  of  ants  than  between  ants  and  other 
organisms.  As  Forel  says:  "The  greatest  enemies  of  ants  are  other 
ants,  just  as  the  greatest  enemies  of  men  are  other  men." 

3.    The  Taming  and  the  Domestication  of  Animals1 

Primitive  man  was  a  hunter  almost  before  he  had  the  intelli- 
gence to  use  weapons,  and  from  the  earliest  times  he  must  have 
learned  something  about  the  habits  of  the  wild  animals  he  pursued 
for  food  or  for  pleasure,  or  from  which  he  had  to  escape.  It  was 
probablv  as  a  hunter  that  he  first  came  to  adopt  young  animals 
which  he  found  in  the  woods  or  the  plains,  and  made  the  surprising 
discovery  that  these  were  willing  to  remain  under  his  protection  and 
were  pleasing  and  useful.  He  passed  gradually  from  being  a  hunter 
to  becoming  a  keeper  of  flocks  and  herds.  From  these  early  days  to 
the  present  time,  the  human  race  has  taken  an  interest  in  the  lower 
animals,  and  yet  extremely  few  have  been  really  domesticated.  The 
living  world  would  seem  to  offer  an  almost  unlimited  range  of  creatures 
which  might  be  turned  to  our  profit  and  as  domesticated  animals 
minister  to  our  comfort  or  convenience.  And  yet  it  seems  as  if 
there  were  some  obstacle  rooted  in  the  nature  of  animals  or  in  the 
powers  of  man,  for  the  date  of  the  adoption  by  man  of  the  few  domes- 
ticated species  lies  in  remote,  prehistoric  antiquity.  The  surface  of 
the  earth  has  been  explored,  the  physiology  of  breeding  and  feeding 

1  Adapted  from  P.  Chalmers  Mitchell,  The  Childhood  of  Animals,  pp.  204-21. 
(Frederick  A.  Stokes  &  Co.,  1912.) 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  171 

has  been  studied,  our  knowledge  of  the  animal  kingdom  has  been 
vastly  increased,  and  yet  there  is  hardly  a  beast  bred  in  the  farm- 
yard today  with  which  the  men  who  made  stone  weapons  were  not 
acquainted  and  which  they  had  not  tamed.  Most  of  the  domestic 
animals  of  Europe,  America,  and  Asia  came  originally  from  Central 
Asia,  and  have  spread  thence  in  charge  of  their  masters,  the  primitive 
hunters  who  captured  them. 

/'~  No  monkeys  have  been  domesticated.  Of  the  carnivores  only 
the  cat  and  the  dog  are  truly  domesticated.  Of  the  ungulates  there 
are  horses  and  asses,  pigs,  cattle,  sheep,  goats,  and  reindeer.  Among 
rodents  there  are  rabbits  and  guinea-pigs,  and  possibly  some  of  the 
fancy  breeds  of  rats  and  mice  should  be  included.  Among  birds 
there  are  pigeons,  fowls,  peacocks,  and  guinea-fowl,  and  aquatic 
birds  such  as  swans,  geese,  and  ducks,  whilst  the  only  really  domes- 
ticated passerine  bird  is  the  canary.  Goldfish  are  domesticated, 
and  the  invertebrate  bees  and  silk-moths  must  not  be  forgotten.  It 
is  not  very  easy  to  draw  a  line  between  domesticated  animals  and 
animals  that  are  often  bred  in  partial  or  complete  captivity.  Such 
antelopes  as  elands,  fallow-deer,  roe-deer,  and  the  ostriches  of  ostrich 
farms  are  on  the  border-line  of  being  domesticated. 

It  is  also  difficult  to  be  quite  certain  as  to  what  is  meant  by  a 
tame  animal.  Cockroaches  usually  scuttle  away  when  they  are 
disturbed  and  seem  to  have  learnt  that  human  beings  have  a  just 
grievance  against  them.  But  many  people  have  no  horror  of  them. 
A  pretty  girl,  clean  and  dainty  in  her  ways,  and  devoted  to  all  kinds 
of  animals,  used  to  like  sitting  in  a  kitchen  that  was  infested  with 
these  repulsive  creatures,  and  told  me  that  when  she  was  alone  they 
would  run  over  her  dress  and  were  not  in  the  least  startled  when 
she  took  them  up.  I  have  heard  of  a  butterfly  whicL  used  to  come 
and  sip  sugar  from  the  hand  of  a  lady;  and  those  who  have  kept 
spiders  and  ants  declare  that  these  intelligent  creatures  learn  to  dis- 
tinguish their  friends.  So  also  fish,  like  the  great  carp  in  the  garden 
of  the  palace  of  Fontainebleau,  and  many  fishes  in  aquaria  and 
private  ponds,  learn  to  come  to  be  fed.  I  do  not  think,  however, 
that  these  ought  to  be  called  tame  animals.  Most  of  the  wild  animals 
in  menageries  very  quickly  learn  to  distinguish  one  person  from 
another,  to  obey  the  call  of  their  keeper  and  to  come  to  be  fed, 
although  certainly  they  would  be  dangerous  even  to  the  keeper  if 


172  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

he  were  to  enter  their  cages.  To  my  mind,  tameness  is  something 
more  than  merely  coming  to  be  fed,  and,  in  fact,  many  tame  animals 
are  least  tame  when  they  are  feeding.  Young  carnivores,  for  instance, 
which  can  be  handled  freely  and  are  affectionate,  very  .seldom  can  be 
touched  whilst  they  are  feeding,  yhe  real  quality  of  tameness  is 
that  the  tame  animal  is  not  merely  tolerant  of  the  presence  of  man, 
not  merely  has  learned  to  associate  him  with  food,  but  takes  some  \ 
kind  of  pleasure  in  human  company  and  shows  some  kind  of  affection.^/ 

On  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  take  our  idea  of  tameness  merely 
from  the  domesticated  animals.  These  have  been  bred  for  many 
generations,  and  those  that  were  most  wild  and  that  showed  any 
resistance  to  man  were  killed  or  allowed  to  escape.  Dogs  are  always 
taken  as  the  supreme  example  of  tameness,  and  sentimentalists  have 
almost  exhausted  the  resources  of  language  in  praising  them.  Like 
most  people,  I  am  very  fond  of  dogs,  but  it  is  an  affection  without 
respect.  Dogs  breed  freely  in  captivity,  and  in  the  enormous  period 
of  time  that  has  elapsed  since  the  first  hunters  adopted  wild  puppies 
there  has  been  a  constant  selection  by  man,  and  every  dog  that 
showed  any  independence  of  spirit  has  been  killed  off.  Man  has 
tried  to  produce  a  purely  subservient  creature,  and  has  succeeded  in 
his  task.  No  doubt  a  dog  is  faithful  and  affectionate,  but  he  would 
be  shot  or  drowned  or  ordered  to  be  destroyed  by  the  local  magistrate 
if  he  were  otherwise.  A  small  vestige  of  the  original  spirit  has  been 
left  in  him,  merely  from  the  ambition  of  his  owners  to  possess  an 
animal  that  will  not  bite  them,  but  will  bite  anyone  else.  And  even 
this  watch-dog  trait  is  mechanical,  for  the  guardian  of  the  house  will 
worry  the  harmless,  necessary  postman,  and  welcome  the  bold 
burglar  with  fawning  delight.  The  dog  is  a  slave,  and  the  crowning 
evidence  of  his  docility,  that  he  will  fawn  on  the  person  who  has 
beaten  him,  is  the  result  of  his  character  having  been  bred  out  of 
him.  The  dog  is  an  engaging  companion,  an  animated  toy  more 
diverting  than  the  cleverest  piece  of  clockwork,  but  it  is  only  our 
colossal  vanity  that  makes  us  take  credit  for  the  affection  and  faith- 
fulness of  our  own  particular  animal.  The  poor  beast  cannot  help  it; 
all  else  has  been  bred  out  of  him  generations  ago. 

When  wild  animals  become  tame,  they  are  really  extending  or 
transferring  to  human  beings  the  confidence  and  affection  they 
naturaiiy  give  their  mothers,  and  this  view  will  be  found  to  explain 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  173 

more  facts  about  tameness  than  any  other.  Every  creature  that 
would  naturally  enjoy  maternal,  or  it  would  be  better  to  say  parental, 
care,  as  the  father  sometimes  shares  in  or  takes  upon  himself  the 
duty  of  guarding  the  young,  is  ready  to  transfer  its  devotion  to 
other  animals  or  to  human  beings,  if  the  way  be  made  easy  for  it, 
and  if  it  be  treated  without  too  great  violation  of  its  natural  instincts. 
The  capacity  to  be  tamed  is  greatest  in  those  animals  that  remain 
longest  with  their  parents  and  that  are  most  ultimately  associated 
with  them.)  The  capacity  to  learn  new  habits  is  greatest  in  those 
animals  which  naturally  learn  most  from  their  parents,  and  in  which 
fbe  period  of  youth  is  not  merely  a  period  of  growing,  a  periocLpL 
tjip  a.wa.lc enjng  of  instincts,  but  a  time  in  which  a  real  education  takes 
place.  These  capacities  of  being  tamed  and  of  learning  new  habits 
are  greater  in  the  higher  mammals  than  in  the  lower  mammals,  in 
mammals  than  in  birds,  and  in  birds  than  in  reptiles.  They  are 
very  much  greater  in  very  young  animals,  where  dependence  on  the 
parents  is  greatest,  than  in  older  animals,  and  they  gradually 
fade  away  as  the  animal  grows  up,  and  are  least  of  all  in  fully  grown 
and  independent  creatures  of  high  intelligence. 

Young  animals  born  in  captivity  are  no  more  easy  to  tame  than 
those  which  have  been  taken  from  the  mother  in  her  native  haunts. 
If  they  remain  with  the  mother,  they  very  often  grow  up  even  shyer 
and  more  intolerant  of  man  than  the  mothers  themselves.  There  is 
no  inherited  docility  or  tameness,  and  a  general  survey  of  the  facts 
fully  bears  out  my  belief  that  the  process  of  taming  is  almost  entirely 
a  transference  to  human  beings  of  the  confidence  and  affection  that 
a  young  animal  would  naturally  give  its  mother.  'jThe  process  of 
domestication  is  different,  and  requires  breeding  a  race  of  animals  in 
captivity  for  many  generations  and  gradually  weeding  out  those  in 
which  youthful  tameness  is  replaced  by  the  wild  instinct  of  adult  life, 
and  so  creating  a  strain  with  new  and  abnormal  instincts.} 

B.      PLANT  COMMUNITIES  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES 

i.    Plant  Communities' 

Certain  species  group  themselves  into  natural  associations,  that 
is  to  say,  into  communities  which  we  meet  with  more  or  less  frequently 

'Adapted  from  Eugenius  Warming,  Oecology  of  Plants,  pp.  12-13,  9I-9S- 
(Oxford  University  Press,  1909.) 


174  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  which  exhibit  the  same  combination  of  growth-forms  and  the 
same  facies.  As  examples  in  northern  Europe  may  be  cited  a  meadow 
with  its  grasses  and  perennial  herbs,  or  a  beech  forest  with  its  beech 
trees  and  all  the  species  usually  accompanying  these.  -^Species  that 
form  a  community  must  either  practice  the  same  economy,  making 
approximately  the  same  demands  on  its  environment  (as  regards 
nourishment,  light,  moisture,  and  so  forth),  or  one  species  present 
must  be  dependent  for  its  existence  upon  another  species,  sometimes 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  latter  provides  it  with  what. is  necessary 
or  even  best  suited  to  it  (Oxalis  Acetosella  and  saprophytes  which 
profit  from  the  shade  of  the  beech  and  from  its  humus  soil) ;  a  kind 
of  symbiosis  seems  to  prevail  between  such  speciesi,  |In  fact,  one 
often  finds,  as  in  beech  forests,  that  the  plants  growing  under  the 
shade  and  protection  of  other  species,  and  belonging  to  the  most 
diverse  families,  assume  growth-forms  that  are  very  similar  to  one 
another,  but  essentially  different  from  those  of  the  forest  trees,  which, 
in  their  turn,  often  agree  with  one  anotherTy 

The  ecological  analysis  of  a  plant-community  leads  to  the  recog- 
nition of  the  growth-forms  composing  it  as  its  ultimate  units.  From 
what  has  just  been  said  in  regard  to  growth-forms  it  follows  that 
species  of  very  diverse  physiognomy  can  very  easily  occur  together 
in  the  same  natural  community.  But  beyond  this,  as  already  indi- 
cated, species  differing  widely,  not  only  in  physiognomy  but  also  in 
their  whole  economy,  may  be  associated.  We  may  therefore  expect 
to  find  both  great  variety  of  form  and  complexity  of  interrelations 
among  the  species  composing  a  natural  community;  as  an  example 
we  may  cite  the  richest  of  all  types  of  communities — the  tropical  rain- 
forest. It  may  also  be  noted  that  the  physiognomy  of  a  community 
is  not  necessarily  the  same  at  all  times  of  the  year,  the  distinction 
sometimes  being  caused  by  a  rotation  of  species. 

The  different  communities,  it  need  hardly  be  stated,  are  scarcely 
ever  sharply  marked  off  from  one  another.  Just  as  soil,  moisture, 
and  other  external  conditions  are  connected  by  the  most  gradual 
transitions,  so  likewise  are  the  plant-communities,  especially  in  cul- 
tivated lands.  In  addition,  the  same  species  often  occur  in  several 
widely  different  communities;  for  example,  Linnaea  borealis  grows 
not  only  hi  coniferous  forests,  but  also  in  birch  woods,  and  even  high 
above  the  tree  limit  on  the  mountains  of  Norway  and  on  the  fell- 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  175 

fields  of  Greenland.  It  appears  that  different  combinations  of 
external  factors  can  replace  one  another  and  bring  into  existence 
approximately  the  same  community,  or  at  least  can  satisfy  equally 
well  one  and  the  same  species,  and  that,  for  instance,  a  moist  climate 
often  completely  replaces  the  forest  shade  of  dry  climates. 

CThe  term  "community"  implies  a  diversity  but  at  the  same  time 
a  certain  organized  uniformity  in  the  units?)  The  units  are  the  many 
individual  plants  that  occur  in  every  community,  whether  this  be  a 
beech  forest,  a  meadow,  or  a  heath.  Uniformity  is  established  when 
certain  atmospheric,  terrestrial,  and  other  factors  are  co-operative, 
and  appears  either  because  a  certain  defined  economy  makes  its 
impress  on  the  community  as  a  whole,  or  because  a  number  of  differ- 
ent growth-forms  are  combined  to  form  a  single  aggregate  which  has 
a  definite  and  constant  guise. 

The  analysis  of  a  plant-community  usually  reveals  one  or  more 
of  the  kinds  of  symbiosis  as  illustrated  by  parasites,  saprophytes, 
epiphytes,  and  the  like.  There  is  scarce  a  forest  or  a  bushland  where 
examples  of  these  forms  of  symbiosis  are  lacking;  if,  for  instance,  we 
investigate  the  tropical  rain-forest  we  are  certain  to  find  in  it  all  con- 
ceivable kinds  of  symbiosis.  But  the  majority  of  individuals  of  a 
plant-community  are  linked  by  bonds  other  than  those  mentioned — • 
bonds  that  are  best  described  as  commensal.  The  term  commensalism 
is  due  to  Van  Beneden,  who  wrote,  "Le  commensal  est  simplement 
un  compagnon  de  table";  but  we  employ  it  in  a  somewhat  different 
sense  to  denote  the  relationship  subsisting  between  species  which 
share  with  one  another  the  supply  of  food-material  contained  in  soil 
and  air,  and  thus  feed  at  the  same  table. 

More  detailed  analysis  of  the  plant-community  reveals  very 
considerable  distinctions  among  commensals.  Some  relationships 
are  considered  in  the  succeeding  paragraphs. 

Like  commensals. — When  a  plant-community  consists  solely  of 
individuals  belonging  to  one  species — for  example,  solely  of  beech, 
ling,  or  Aira  flexuosa — then  we  have  the  purest  example  of  like  com- 
mensals. These  all  make  the  same  demands  as  regards  nutriment, 
soil,  light,  and  other  like  conditions;  as  each  species  requires  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  space  and  as  there  is  scarcely  ever  sufficient  nutriment 
for  all  the  offspring,  a  struggle  for  food  arises  among  the  plants  so 
soon  as  the  space  is  occupied  by  the  definite  numbers  of  individuals 


176  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

which,  according  to  the  species,  can  develop  thereon.  The  individuals 
lodged  in  unfavorable  places  and  the  weaklings  are  vanquished  and 
exterminated.!  This  competitive  struggle  takes  place  in  all  plant- 
communities,  with  perhaps  the  sole  exceptions  of  sub-glacial  com- 
munities and  in  deserts.  In  these  open  communities  the  soil  is  very 
often  or  always  so  open  and  so  irregularly  clothed  that  there  is  space 
for  many  more  individuals  than  are  actually  present;  the  cause  for 
this  is  obviously  to  be  sought  in  the  climatically  unfavorable  condi- 
tions of  life,  which  either  prevent  plants  from  producing  seed  and 
other  propagative  bodies  in  sufficient  numbers  to  clothe  the  ground 
or  prevent  the  development  of  seedlings.  On  such  soil  one  can 
scarcely  speak  of  a  competitive  struggle  for  existence;  in  this  case  a 
struggle  takes  place  between  the  plant  and  inanimate  nature,  but  to 
little  or  no  extent  between  plant  and  plant. 

That  a  congregation  of  individuals  belonging  to  one  species  into 
one  community  may  be  profitable  to  the  species  is  evident;  it  may 
obviously  in  several  ways  aid  in  maintaining  the  existence  of  the 
species,  for  instance,  by  facilitating  abundant  and  certain  fertilization 
(especially  in  anemophilous  plants)  and  maturation  of  seeds;  in 
addition,  the  social  mode  of  existence  may  confer  other  less-known 
advantages.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  brings  with  it  greater  danger 
of  serious  damage  and  devastation  wrought  by  parasites. 

The  bonds  that  hold  like  individuals  to  a  like  habitat  are,  as 
already  indicated,  identical  demands  as  regards  existence,  and  these 
demands  are  satisfied  in  their  precise  habitat  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  species  can  maintain  itself  here  against  rivals.  Natural  unmixed 
associations  of  forest  trees  are  the  result  of  struggles  with  other 
species.  But  there  are  differences  as  regards  the  ease  with  which 
a  community  can  arise  and  establish  itself.  Some  species  are  more 
social  than  others,  that  is  to  say,  better  fitted  to  form  communities. 
The  causes  for  this  are  biological,  in  that  some  species,  like  Phrag- 
mites,  Scirpus  lacustris,  Psamma  (Ammophila)  arenaria,  Tussilago, 
Farfara,  and  Asperula  odorata,  multiply  very  readily  by  means  of 
stolons;  or  others,  such  as  Cirsium  arvense,  and  Sonchus  arvensis, 
produce  buds  from  their  roots;  or  yet  others  produce  numerous 
seeds  which  are  easily  dispersed  and  may  remain  for  a  long  time 
capable  of  germinating,  as  is  the  case  with  Calluna,  Picea  excelsa, 
and  Pinus;  or  still  other  species,  such  as  beech  and  spruce,  have  the 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  177 

power  of  enduring  shade  or  even  suppressing  other  species  by  the 
shade  they  cast.  A  number  of  species,  such  as  Pteris  aquilina, 
Acorus  Calamus,  Lemna  minor,  and  Hypnum  Schreberi,  which  are 
social,  and  likewise  very  widely  distributed,  multiply  nearly  exclu- 
sively by  vegetative  means,  rarely  or  never  producing  fruit.  On  the 
contrary,  certain  species,  for  example,  many  orchids  and  Umbel- 
liferae,  nearly  always  grow  singly. 

In  the  case  of  many  species  certain  geological  conditions  have 
favored  their  grouping  together  into  pure  communities.  The  forests 
of  northern  Europe  are  composed  of  few  species,  and  are  not  mixed 
in  the  same  sense  as  are  those  in  the  tropics,  or  even  those  in  Austria 
and  other  southern  parts  of  Europe:  the  cause  for  this  may  be  that 
the  soil  is  geologically  very  recent,  inasmuch  as  the  time  that  has 
elapsed  since  the  glacial  epoch  swept  it  clear  has  been  too  short  to 
permit  the  immigration  of  many  competitive  species. 

Unlike  commensals. — The  case  of  a  community  consisting  of 
individuals  belonging  to  one  species  is,  strictly  speaking,  scarcely 
ever  met  with;  but  the  dominant  individuals  of  a  community  may 
belong  to  a  single  species,  as  in  the  case  of  a  beech  forest,  spruce 
forest,  or  ling  heath — and  only  thus  far  does  the  case  proceed.  In 
general,  many  species  grow  side  by  side,  and  many  different  growth- 
forms  and  types  of  symbiosis,  in  the  extended  sense,  are  found  col- 
lected in  a  community.  For  even  when  one  species  occupies  an 
area  as  completely  as  the  nature  of  the  soil  will  permit,  other  species 
can  find  room  and  can  grow  between  its  individuals;  in  fact,  if  the  soil 
is  to  be  completely  covered  the  vegetation  must  necessarily  always  be 
heterogeneous.  The  greatest  aggregate  of  existence  arises  where  the 
greatest  diversity  prevails.  The  kind  of  communal  life  resulting 
will  depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  demands  made  by  the  species  in 
regard  to  conditions  of  life.  As  in  human  communities,  so  in  this 
case,  the  struggle  between  the  like  is  the  most  severe,  that  is,  between 
the  species  making  more  or  less  the  same  demands  and  wanting  the 
same  dishes  from  the  common  table.  In  a  tropical  mixed  forest 
there  are  hundreds  of  species  of  trees  growing  together  in  such  pro- 
fuse variety  that  the  eye  can  scarce  see  at  one  time  two  individuals 
of  the  same  species,  yet  all  of  them  undoubtedly  represent  tolerable 
uniformity  in  the  demands  they  make  as  regards  conditions  of  life, 
and  in  so  far  they  are  alike.  And  among  them  a  severe  competition 


178  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

for  food  must  be  taking  place.  In  those  cases  in  which  certain 
species  readily  grow  in  each  other's  company — and  cases  of  this  kind 
are  familiar  to  florists — when,  for  instance,  Isoetes,  Lobelia  Dort- 
manna,  and  Litorella  lacustris  occur  together — the  common  demands 
made  as  regards  external  conditions  obviously  form  the  bond  that 
unites  them.  Between  such  species  a  competitive  struggle  must 
take  place.  Which  of  the  species  shall  be  represented  by  the  greatest 
number  of  individuals  certainly  often  depends  upon  casual  conditions, 
a  slight  change  in  one  direction  or  the  other  doubtless  often  playing  a 
decisive  role;  but  apart  from  this  it  appears  that  morphological  and 
biological  features,  for  example,  development  at  a  different  season, 
may  change  the  nature  of  the  competition. 

Yet  there  are  in  every  plant-community  numerous  species  which 
differ  widely  in  the  demands  they  make  for  light,  heat,  nutriment, 
and  so  on.  Between  such  species  there  is  less  competition,  the 
greater  the  disparity  in  their  wants;  the  case  is  quite  conceivable  in 
which  the  one  species  should  require  exactly  what  the  other  would  avoid; 
the  two  species  would  then  be  complementary  to  one  another  in  their 
occupation  and  utilization  of  the  same  soil. 

There  are  also  obvious  cases  in  which  different  species  are  of 
service  to  each  other.  The  carpet  of  moss  in  a  pine  forest,  for 
example,  protects  the  soil  from  desiccation  and  is  thus  useful  to  the 
pine;  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  profits  from  the  shade  cast  by  the 
latter. 

As  a  rule,  limited  numbers  of  definite  species  are  the  most  potent, 
and,  like  absolute  monarchs,  can  hold  sway  over  the  whole  area; 
while  other  species,  though  possibly  present  in  far  greater  numbers 
than  these,  are  subordinate  or  even  dependent  on  them.  This  is 
the  case  where  subordinate  species  only  flourish  in  the  shade  or 
among  the  fallen  fragments  of  dominant  species.  Such  is  obviously 
the  relationship  between  trees  and  many  plants  growing  on  the 
ground  of  high  forest,  such  as  mosses,  fungi,  and  other  saprophytes, 
ferns,  Oxalis  Acetosella,  and  their  associates.  In  this  case,  then, 
there  is  a  commensalism  in  which  individuals  feed  at  the  same  table 
but  on  different  fare.  An  additional  factor  steps  in  when  species 
do  not  absorb  their  nutriment  at  the  same  season  of  the  year.  Many 
spring  plants — for  instance,  Galanthus  nivalis,  Corydalis  solida,  and 
C.  cava — have  withered  before  the  summer  plants  commence  properly 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  179 

to  develop.  Certain  species  of  animals  are  likewise  confined  to  cer- 
tain plant-communities.  But  one  and  the  same  tall  plant  may,  in 
different  places  or  soils,  have  different  species  of  lowly  plants  as  com- 
panions; the  companion  plants  of  high  beech  forests  depend,  for 
instance,  upon  climate  and  upon  the  nature  of  the  forest  soil;  Pinus 
nigra,  according  to  von  Beck,  can  maintain  under  it  in  the  different 
parts  of  Europe  a  Pontic,  a  central  European,  or  a  Baltic  vegetation. 
4k  There  are  certain  points  of  resemblance  between  communities  of 
plants  and  those  of  human  beings  or  animals;  one  of  these  is  the 
competition  for  food  which  takes  place  between  similar  individuals 
and  causes  the  weaker  to  be  more  or  less  suppressed^  But  far  greater 
are  the  distinctions.  The  plant-community  is  the  lowest  form;  it  is 
merely  a  congregation  of  units,  among  which  there  is  no  co-operation 
for  the  common  weal,  but  rather  a  ceaseless  struggle  of  all  against  all. 
Only  in  a  loose  sense  can  we  speak  of  certain  individuals  protecting 
others,  as  for  example,  when  the  outermost  and  most  exposed  indi- 
viduals of  scrub  serve  to  shelter  from  the  wind  others,  which  conse- 
quently become  taller  and  finer;  for  they  do  not  afford  protection 
from  any  special  motive,  such  as  is  met  with  in  some  animal  com- 
munities, nor  are  they  in  any  way  specially  adapted  to  act  as  guardians 
against  a  common  foe.  In  the  plant-community  egoism  reigns 
supreme.  The  plant-community  has  no  higher  units  or  personages 
in  the  sense  employed  in  connection  with  human  communities,  which 
have  their  own  organizations  and  their  members  co-operating,  as 
prescribed  by  law,  for  the  common  good.  In  plant-communities 
there  is,  it  is  true,  often  (or  always)  a  certain  natural  dependence  or 
reciprocal  influence  of  many  species  upon  one  another;  they  give  rise 
to  definite  organized  units  of  a  higher  order;  but  there  is  no  thorough 
or  organized  division  of  labor  such  as  is  met  with  in  human  and 
animal  communities,  where  certain  individuals  or  groups  of  individuals 
work  as  organs,  in  the  wide  sense  of  the  term,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
whole  community. 

Woodhead  has  suggested  the  term  complsm^aiaj^^sso^ation  to 
denote  a  community  of  species  that  live  together  in  harmony,  because 
their  rhizomes  occupy  different  depths  in  the  soil;  for  example,  he 
described  an  "association"  in  which  Holcus  mollis  is  the  "surface 
plant,"  Pteris  aquilina  has  deeper-seated  rhizomes,  and  Scilla  festalis 
buries  its  bulbs  at  the  greatest  depth.  The  photophilous  parts  of 


l8o  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

these  plants  are  "seasonably  complementary."  The  opposite 
extreme  is  provided  by  competitive  associations,  composed  of  species 
that  are  battling  with  each  other. 

2.    Ant  Society1 

There  is  certainly  a  striking  parallelism  between  the  development 
of  human  and  ant  societies.  Some  anthropologists,  like  Topinard, 
distinguish  in  the  development  of  human  societies  six  different  types 
or  stages,  designated  as  the  hunting,  pastoral,  agricultural,  commer- 
cial, industrial,  and  intellectual.  The  ants  show  stages  corresponding 
to  the  first  three  of  these,  as  Lubbock  has  remarked. 

Some  species,  such  as  Formica  fusca,  live  principally  on  the  produce  of 
the  chase;  for  though  they  feed  partially  on  the  honey-dew  of  aphids,  they 
have  not  domesticated  these  insects.  These  ants  probably  retain  the 
habits  once  common  to  all  ants.  They  resemble  the  lower  races  of  men, 
who  subsist  mainly  by  hunting.  Like  them  they  frequent  woods  and 
wilds,  live  in  comparatively  small  communities,  as  the  instincts  of  collec- 
tive action  are  but  little  developed  among  them.  They  hunt  singly,  and 
their  battles  are  single  combats,  like  those  of  Homeric  heroes.  Such 
species  as  Lasius  flavus  represent  a  distinctly  higher  type  of  social  life; 
they  show  more  skill  in  architecture,  may  literally  be  said  to  have  domesti- 
cated certain  species  of  aphids,  and  may  be  compared  to  the  pastoral  stage 
of  human  progress — to  the  races  which  live  on  the  products  of  their  flocks 
and  herds.  Their  communities  are  more  numerous;  they  act  much  more 
in  concert;  their  battles  are  not  mere  single  combats,  but  they  know  how 
to  act  in  combination.  I  am  disposed  to  hazard  the  conjecture  that  they 
will  gradually  exterminate  the  mere  hunting  species,  just  as  savages  dis- 
appear before  more  advanced  races.  Lastly,  the  agricultural  nations  may 
be  compared  with  the  harvesting  ants. 

Granting  the  resemblances  above  mentioned  between  ant  and 
human  societies,  there  are  nevertheless  three  far-reaching  differences 
between  insect  and  human  organization  and  development  to  be  con- 
stantly borne  in  mind: 

a)  Ant  societies  are  societies  of  females.  The  males  really  take 
no  part  in  the  colonial  activities,  and  in  most  species  are  present  in 
the  nest  only  for  the  brief  period  requisite  to  secure  the  impregnation 

"Adapted  from  William  M.  Wheeler,  Ants,  Their  Structure,  Development,  and 
Behavior,  pp.  5-7.  (Columbia  University  Press,  1910.) 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  181 

of  the  young  queens.  The  males  take  no  part  in  building,  provision- 
ing, or  guarding  the  nest  or  in  feeding  the  workers  or  the  brood.  They 
are  in  every  sense  the  sexus  sequior.  Hence  the  ants  resemble  cer- 
tain mythical  human  societies  like  the  Amazons,  but  unlike  these, 
all  their  activities  center  in  the  multiplication  and  care  of  the  coming 
generations. 

b)  In  human  society,  apart  from  the  functions  depending  on 
sexual  dimorphism,  and  barring  individual  differences  and  deficiencies 
which  can  be  partially  or  wholly  suppressed,  equalized,  or  augmented 
by  an  elaborate  system  of  education,  all  individuals  have  the  same 
natural  endowment.     Each  normal  individual  retains  its  various 
physiological  and  psychological  needs  and  powers  intact,  not  neces- 
sarily sacrificing  any  of  them  for  the  good  of  the  community.     In 
ants,  however,  the  female  individuals,  of  which  the  society  properly 
consists,  are  not  all  alike  but  often  very  different,  both  in  their  struc- 
ture (polymorphism)  and  in  their  activities  (physiological  division  of 
labor).    Each  member  is  visibly  predestined  to  certain  social  activi- 
ties to  the  exclusion  of  others,  not  as  a  man  through  the  education 
of  some  endowment  common  to  all  the  members  of  the  society,  but 
through  the  exigencies  of  structure,  fixed  at  the  time  of  hatching,  i.e., 
the  moment  the  individual  enters  on  its  life  as  an  active  member  of 
the  community. 

c)  Owing  to  this  pre-established  structure  and  the  specialized 
functions  which  it  implies,  ants  are  able  to  live  in  a  condition  of 
anarchistic    socialism,    each    individual    instinctively    fulfilling    the 
demands  of  social  life  without  "guide,  overseer,  or  ruler,"  as  Solomon 
correctly  observed,  but  not  without  the  imitation  and  suggestion 
involved  in  an  appreciation  of  the  activities  of  its  fellows. 

An  ant  society,  therefore,  may  be  regarded  as  little  more  than  an 
expanded  family,  the  members  of  which  co-operate  for  the  purpose  of 
still  further  expanding  the  family  and  detaching  portions  of  itself  to 
found  other  families  of  the  same  kind.  There  is  thus  a  striking  analogy, 
which  has  not  escaped  the  philosophical  biologist,  between  the  ant 
colony  and  the  cell  colony  which  constitutes  the  body  of  a  Metazoan 
animal;  and  many  of  the  laws  that  control  the  cellular  origin,  develop- 
ment, growth,  reproduction,  and  decay  of  the  individual  Metazoan,  are 
seen  to  hold  good  also  of  the  ant  society  regarded  as  an  individual  of  a 
higher  order.  As  in  the  case  of  the  individual  animal,  no  further  pur- 
pose of  the  colony  can  be  detected  than  that  of  maintaining  itself  in 


182  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  face  of  a  constantly  changing  environment  till  it  is  able  to  repro- 
duce other  colonies  of  a  like  constitution.  The  queen-mother  of  the 
ant  colony  displays  the  generalized  potentialities  of  all  the  individuals, 
just  as  the  Metazoan  egg  contains  in  potentia  all  the  other  cells  of 
the  body.  And,  continuing  the  analogy,  we  may  say  that  since  the 
different  castes  of  the  ant  colony  are  morphologically  specialized  for 
the  performance  of  different  functions,  they  are  truly  comparable 
with  the  differentiated  tissues  of  the  Metazoan  body. 

C.      HUMAN  SOCIETY 
i.    Social  Life1 

The  most  notable  distinction  between  living  and  inanimate  beings 
is  that  the  former  maintain  themselves  by  renewal.  A  stone  when 
struck  resists.  If  its  resistance  is  greater  than  the  force  of  the  blow 
struck,  it  remains  outwardly  unchanged.  Otherwise,  it  is  shattered 
into  smaller  bits.  Never  does  the  stone  attempt  to  react  in  such  a 
way  that  it  may  maintain  itself  against  the  blow,  much  less  so  as  to 
render  the  blow  a  contributing  factor  to  its  own  continued  action. 
While  the  living  thing  may  easily  be  crushed  by  superior  force,  it 
none  the  less  tries  to  turn  the  energies  which  act  upon  it  into  means  of 
its  own  further  existence.  If  it  cannot  do  so,  it  does  not  just  split 
into  smaller  pieces  (at  least  in  the  higher  forms  of  life),  but  loses  its 
identity  as.  a  living  thing. 

As  long  as  it  endures,  it  struggles  to  use  surrounding  energies  in 
its  own  behalf.  It  uses  light,  air,  moisture,  and  the  material  of  soil. 
To  say  that  it  uses  them  is  to  say  that  it  turns  them  into  means 
of  its  own  conservation.  As  long  as  it  is  growing,  the  energy 
it  expends  in  thus  turning  the  environment  to  account  is  more 
than  compensated  for  by  the  retufn  it  gets:  it  grows.  Under- 
standing the  word  "control"  in  this  sense,  it  may  be  said  that  a 
living  being  is  one  that  subjugates  and  controls  for  its  own  con- 
tinued activity  the  energies  that  would  otherwise  use  it  up.  Life  is 
a  self-renewing  process  through  action  upon  the  environment.  Con- 
tinuity of  life  means  continual  readaptation  of  the  environment  to 
the  needs  of  living  organisms. 

1  From  John  Dewey,  Democracy  and  Education,  pp.  1-7.  (Published  by  The 
Macmillan  Co.,  1916.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  183 

We  have  been  speaking  of  life  in  its  lowest  terms — as  a  physical 
thing.  But  we  use  the  word  "life"  to  denote  the  whole  range  of 
experience,  individual  and  racial.  When  we  see  a  book  called  the 
Life  of  Lincoln  we  do  not  expect  to  find  within  its  covers  a  treatise  on 
physiology.  We  look  for  an  account  of  social  antecedents;  a  descrip- 
tion of  early  surroundings,  of  the  conditions  and  occupation  of  the 
family;  of  the  chief  episodes  in  the  development  of  character;  of 
signal  struggles  and  achievements;  of  the  individual's  hopes,  tastes, 
joys,  and  sufferings.  In  precisely  similar  fashion  we  speak  of  the 
life  of  a  savage  tribe,  of  the  Athenian  people,  of  the  American  nation. 
"Life"  covers  customs,  institutions,  beliefs,  victories  and  defeats, 
recreations  and  occupations. 

We  employ  the  word  "experience"  in  the  same  pregnant  sense. 
And  to  it,  as  well  as  to  life  in  the  bare  physiological  sense,  the  principle 
of  continuity  through  renewal  applies.  With  the  renewal  of  physical 
existence  goes,  in  the  case  of  human  beings,  the  re-creation  of  beliefs, 
ideals,  hopes,  happiness,  misery,  and  practices.  The  continuity  of 
any  experience,  through  renewing  of  the  social  group,  is  a  literal  fact. 
Education,  in  its  broadest  sense,  is  the  means  of  this  social  continuity 
of  life.  Every  one  of  the  constituent  elements  of  a  social  group,  in  a 
modern  city  as  in  a  savage  tribe,  is  born  immature,  helpless,  without 
language,  beliefs,  ideas,  or  social  standards.  Each  individual,  each 
unit  who  is  the  carrier  of  the  life-experience  of  his  group,  in  time 
passes  away.  Yet  the  life  of  the  group  goes  on. 

Society  exists  through  a  process  of  transmission,  quite  as  much  as 
biological  life.  This  transmission  occurs  by  means  of  communication 
of  habits  of  doing,  thinking,  and  feeling  from  the  older  to  the  younger. 
Without  this  communication  of  ideals,  hopes,  expectations,  standards, 
opinions  from  those  members  of  society  who  are  passing  out  of 
the  group  life  to  those  who  are  coming  into  it,  social  life  could  not 
survive. 

Society  not  only  continues  to  exist  by  transmission,  by  communica- 
tion, but  it  may  fairly  be  said  to  exist  in  transmission,  in  communica- 
tion. There  is  more  than  a  verbal  tie  between  the  words  common, 
community,  and  communication.  Men  live  in  a  community  in  virtue 
of  the  things  which  they  have  in  common;  and  communication  is  the 
way  in  which  they  come  to  possess  things  in  common.  What  they 
must  have  in  common  in  order  to  form  a  community  or  society  are 


184  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

aims,  beliefs,  aspirations,  knowledge — a  common  understanding — like- 
mindedness,  as  the  sociologists  say.  Such  things  cannot  be  passed 
physically  from  one  to  another,  like  bricks;  they  cannot  be  shared 
as  persons  would  share  a  pie  by  dividing  it  into  physical  pieces.  The 
communication  which  insures  participation  in  a  common  under- 
standing is  one  which  secures  similar  emotional  and  intellectual  dis- 
positions— like  ways  of  responding  to  expectations  and  requirements. 

Persons  do  not  become  a  society  by  living  in  physical  proximity 
any  more  than  a  man  ceases  to  be  socially  influenced  by  being  so 
many  feet  or  miles  removed  from  others.  A  book  or  a  letter  may 
institute  a  more  intimate  association  between  human  beings  separated 
thousands  of  miles  from  each  other  than  exists  between  dwellers 
under  the  same  roof.  Individuals  do  not  even  compose  a  social 
group  because  they  all  work  for  a  common  end.  The  parts  of  a 
machine  work  with  a  maximum  of  co-operativeness  for  a  common 
result,  but  they  do  not  form  a  community.  If,  however,  they  were 
all  cognizant  of  the  common  end  and  all  interested  in  it  so  that  they 
regulated  their  specific  activity  in  view  of  it,  then  they  would  form  a 
community.  But  this  would  involve  communication.  Each  would 
have  to  know  what  the  other  was  about  and  would  have  to  have 
some  way  of  keeping  the  other  informed  as  to  his  own  purpose  and 
progress.  Consensus  demands  communications. 

We  are  thus  compelled  to  recognize  that  within  even  the  most 
social  group  there  are  many  relations  which  are  not  as  yet  social.  A 
large  number  of  human  relationships  in  any  social  group  are  still 
upon  the  machine-like  plane.  Individuals  use  one  another  so  as  to 
get  desired  results,  without  reference  to  the  emotional  and  intellectual 
disposition  and  consent  of  those  used.  Such  uses  express  physical 
superiority,  or  superiority  of  position,  skill,  technical  ability,  and 
command  of  tools,  mechanical  or  fiscal.  So  far  as  the  relations  of 
parent  and  child,  teacher  and  pupil,  employer  and  employee,  gover- 
nor and  governed,  remain  upon  this  level,  they  form  no  true  social 
group,  no  matter  how  closely  their  respective  activities  touch  one 
another.  Giving  and  taking  of  orders  modifies  action  and  results, 
but  does  not  of  itself  effect  a  sharing  of  purposes,  a  communication 
of  interests. 

Not  only  is  social  life  identical  with  communication,  but  all 
communication  (and  hence  all  genuine  social  life)  is  educative.  To 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  185 

be  a  recipient  of  a  communication  is  to  have  an  enlarged  and  changed 
experience.  One  shares  in  what  another  has  thought  and  felt,  and 
in  so  far,  meagerly  or  amply,  has  his  own  attitude  modified.  Nor  is 
the  one  who  communicates  left  unaffected.  Try  the  experiment  of 
communicating,  with  fulness  and  accuracy,  some  experience  to 
another,  especially  if  it  be  somewhat  complicated,  and  you  will  find 
your  own  attitude  toward  your  experience  changing;  otherwise  you 
resort  to  expletives  and  ejaculations.  The  experience  has  to  be 
formulated  in  order  to  be  communicated.  To  formulate  requires 
getting  outside  of  it,  seeing  it  as  another  would  see  it,  considering 
what  points  of  contact  it  has  with  the  life  of  another  so  that  it  may 
be  got  into  such  form  that  he  can  appreciate  its  meaning.  Except  in 
dealing  with  commonplaces  and  catch  phrases  one  has  to  assimilate, 
imaginatively,  something  of  another's  experience  in  order  to  tell  him 
intelligently  of  one's  own  experience.  All  communication  is  like  art. 
It  may  fairly  be  said,  therefore,  that  any  social  arrangement  that 
remains  vitally  social,  or  vitally  shared,  is  educative  to  those  who 
participate  in  it.  Only  when  it  becomes  cast  in  a  mold  and  runs  in 
a  routine  way  does  it  lose  its  educative  power. 

In  final  account,  then,  not  only  does  social  life  demand  teaching 
and  learning  for  its  own  permanence,  but  the  very  process  of  living 
together  educates.  It  enlarges  and  enlightens  experience;  it  stimu- 
lates and  enriches  imagination;  it  creates  responsibility  for  accuracy 
and  vividness  of  statement  and  thought.  A  man  really  living  alone 
(alone  mentally  as  well  as  physically)  would  have  little  or  no  occasion 
to  reflect  upon  his  past  experience  to  extract  its  net  meaning.  The 
inequality  of  achievement  between  the  mature  and  the  immature 
not  only  necessitates  teaching  the  young,  but  the  necessity  of  this 
teaching  gives  an  immense  stimulus  to  reducing  experience  to  that 
order  and  form  which  will  render  it  most  easily  communicable  and 
hence  most  usable. 

2.    Behavior  and  Conduct1 

The  word  ''behavior"  is  commonly  used  in  an  interesting  variety 
of  ways.  We  speak  of  the  behavior  of  ships  at  sea,  of  soldiers  in 
battle,  and  of  little  boys  in  Sunday  school. 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  Principles  of  Human  Behavior,  pp.  1-9.  (The  Zalaz 
Corporation,  1915.) 


l86  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

"The  geologist,"  as  Lloyd  Morgan  remarks,  "tells  us  that  a 
glacier  behaves  in  many  respects  like  a  river,  and  discusses  how  the 
crust  of  the  earth  behaves  under  the  stresses  to  which  it  is  subjected. 
Weatherwise  people  comment  on  the  behavior  of  the  mercury  in  the 
barometer  as  a  storm  approaches.  When  Mary,  the  nurse  maid, 
returns  with  the  little  Miss  Smiths  from  Master  Brown's  birthday 
party,  she  is  narrowly  questioned  as  to  their  behavior." 

In  short,  the  word  is  familiar  both  to  science  and  to  common 
sense,  and  is  applied  with  equal  propriety  to  the  actions  of  physical 
objects  and  to  the  manners  of  men.  The  abstract  sciences,  quite  as 
much  as  the  concrete  and  descriptive,  are  equally  concerned  with 
behavior.  "  The  chemist  and  the  physicist  often  speak  of  the  behavior 
of  the  atoms  and  the  molecules,  or  of  that  of  gas  under  changing 
conditions  of  temperature  and  pressure."  The  fact  is  that  every 
science  is  everywhere  seeking  to  describe  and  explain  the  movements, 
changes,  and  reactions,  that  is  to  say  the  behavior,  of  some  portion 
of  the  world  about  us.  Indeed,  wherever  we  consciously  set  ourselves 
to  observe  and  reflect  upon  the  changes  going  on  about  us,  it  is  always 
behavior  that  we  are  interested  in.  Science  is  simply  a  little  more 
persistent  in  its  curiosity  and  a  little  nicer  and  more  exact  in  its 
observation  than  common  sense.  And  this  disposition  to  observe, 
to  take  a  disinterested  view  of  things,  is,  by  the  way,  one  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  human  nature  which  distinguishes  it  from  the  nature  of 
all  other  animals. 

Since  every  science  has  to  do  with  some  form  of  behavior,  the  first 
question  that  arises  is  this:  What  do  we  mean  by  behavior  in  human 
beings  as  distinguished  from  that  in  other  animals  ?  What  is  there 
distinctive  about  the  actions  of  human  beings  that  marks  them  off 
and  distinguishes  them  from  the  actions  of  animals  and  plants  with 
which  human  beings  have  so  much  in  common  ? 

The  problem  is  the  more  difficult  because,  in  some  one  or  other 
of  its  aspects,  human  behavior  involves  processes  which  are  charac- 
teristic of  almost  every  form  of  nature.  We  sometimes  speak,  for 
example,  of  the  human  machine.  Indeed,  from  one  point  of  view 
human  beings  may  be  regarded  as  psycho-physical  mechanisms  for 
carrying  on  the  vital  processes  of  nutrition,  reproduction,  and  move- 
ment. The  human  body  is,  in  fact,  an  immensely  complicated 
machine,  whose  operations  involve  an  enormous  number  of  chemical 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  187 

and  physical  reactions,  all  of  which  may  be  regarded  as  forms  of 
human  behavior. 

Human  beings  are,  however,  not  wholly  or  merely  machines; 
they  are  living  organisms  and  as  such  share  with  the  plants  and  the 
lower  animals  certain  forms  of  behavior  which  it  has  not  thus  far,  at 
any  rate,  been  possible  to  reduce  to  the  exact  and  lucid  formulas  of 
either  chemistry  or  physics. 

Human  beings  are,  however,  not  merely  organisms:  they  are  the 
home  and  the  habitat  of  minuter  organisms.  The  human  body  is, 
in  a  certain  sense,  an  organization — a  sort  of  social  organization — of 
the  minute  and  simple  organisms  of  which  it  is  composed,  namely, 
the  cells,  each  of  which  has  its  own  characteristic  mode  of  behavior. 
In  fact,  the  life  of  human  beings,  just  as  the  life  of  all  other  creatures 
above  the  simple  unicellular  organisms,  may  be  said  to  consist  of 
the  corporate  life  of  the  smaller  organisms  of  which  it  is  composed. 
In  human  beings,  as  in  some  great  city,  the  division  of  labor  among 
the  minuter  organisms  has  been  carried  further,  the  interdependence 
of  the  individual  parts  is  more  complete,  and  the  corporate  life  of 
the  whole  more  complex. 

It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  Lloyd  Morgan  begins  his  studies 
of  animal  behavior  by  a  description  of  the  behavior  of  the  cells  and 
Thorndike  in  his  volume,  The  Original  Nature  of  Man,  is  led  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  original  tendencies  of  man  have  their  basis  in  the 
neurones,  or  nerve  cells,  and  in  the  changes  which  these  cells  and 
their  ancestors  have  undergone,  as  a  result  of  the  necessity  of  carrying 
on  common  and  corporate  existences  as  integral  parts  of  the  human 
organism.  All  acquired  characteristics  of  men,  everything  that  they 
learn,  is  due  to  mutual  stimulations  and  associations  of  the  neurones, 
just  as  sociologists  are  now  disposed  to  explain  civilization  and 
progress  as  phenomena  due  to  the  interaction  and  association  of 
human  beings,  rather  than  to  any  fundamental  changes  in  human 
nature  itself.  In  other  words,  the  difference  between  a  savage  and  a 
civilized  man  is  not  due  to  any  fundamental  differences  in  their  brain 
cells  but  to  the  connections  and  mutual  stimulations  which  are  estab- 
lished by  experience  and  education  between  those  cells.  In  the 
savage  those  possibilities  are  not  absent  but  latent.  In  the  same 
way  the  difference  between  the  civilization  of  Central  Africa  and  that 
of  Western  Europe  is  due,  net  to  the  difference  in  native  abilities  of 


1 88  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  individuals  and  the  peoples  who  have  created  them,  but  rather 
to  the  form  which  the  association  and  interaction  between  those 
individuals  and  groups  of  individuals  has  taken.  We  sometimes 
attribute  the  difference  in  culture  which  we  meet  among  races  to  the 
climate  and  physical  conditions  generally,  but,  in  the  long  run,  the 
difference  is  determined  by  the  way  in  which  climate  and  physical 
condition  determine  the  contacts  and  communications  of  individuals. 
So,  too,  in  the  corporate  life  of  the  individual  man  it  is  the  asso- 
ciation of  the  nerve  cells,  their  lines  of  connection  and  communica- 
tion, that  is  responsible  for  the  most  of  the  differences  between  the 
ignorant  and  the  educated,  the  savage  and  civilized  man.  The 
neurone,  however,  is  a  little  unicellular  animal,  like  the  amoeba  or 
the  paramecium.  Its  life  consists  of:  (i)  eating,  (2)  excreting  waste 
products,  (3)  growing,  (4)  being  sensitive,  and  (5)  movement,  and, 
as  Thorndike  expresses  it:  "The  safest  provisional  hypothesis  about 
the  action  of  the  neurones  singly  is  that  they  retain  the  modes  of 
behavior  common  to  unicellular  animals,  so  far  as  consistent  with  the 
special  conditions  of  their  life  as  an  element  of  man's  nervous  system." 
In  the  widest  sense  of  the  term,  behavior  may  be  said  to  include 
/  all  the  chemical  and  physical  changes  that  go  on  inside  the  organism, 
/  as  well  as  every  response  to  stimulus  either  from  within  or  from 
^  without  the  organism.^  In  recent  studies  of  animal  behavior,  how- 
ever, the  word  has  acquired  a  special  and  technical  meaning  in  which 
it  is  applied  exclusively  to  those  actions  that  have  been,  or  may  be, 
modified  by  conscious  experience.  What  the  animal  does  in  its 
efforts  to  find  food  is  behavior,  but  the  processes  of  digestion  are 
relegated  to  another  field  of  observation,  namely,  physiology. 

In  all  the  forms  of  behavior  thus  far  referred  to,  human  and 
animal  nature  are  not  fundamentally  distinguished.  There  are, 
however,  ways  of  acting  that  are  peculiar  to  human  nature,  forms  of 
behavior  that  man  does  not  share  with  the  lower  animals.  One  thing 
which  seems  to  distinguish  man  from  the  brute  is  self-consciousness. 
One  of  the  consequences  of  intercourse,  as  it  exists  among  human 
beings,  is  that  they  are  led  to  reflect  upon  their  own  impulses  and 
motives  for  action,  to  set  up  standards  by  which  they  seek  to  govern 
themselves.  The  clock  is  such  a  standard.  We  all  know  from  experi- 
ence that  time  moves  more  slowly  on  dull  days,  when  there  is  nothing 
doing,  than  in  moments  of  excitement.  On  the  other  hand,  when 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  189 

life  is  active  and  stirring,  time  flies.  The  clock  standardizes  our 
subjective  tempos  and  we  control  ourselves  by  the  clock.  An  animal 
never  looks  at  the  clock  and  this  is  typical  of  the  different  ways  in 
which  human  beings  and  animals  behave. 

Human  beings,  so  far  as  we  have  yet  been  able  to  learn,  are  the 
only  creatures  who  habitually  pass  judgment  upon  their  own  actions, 
or  who  think  of  them  as  right  or  wrong.  When  these  thoughts  about 
our  actions  or  the  actions  of  others  get  themselves  formulated  and 
expressed  they  react  back  upon  and  control  us.  That  is  one  reason 
we  hang  mottoes  on  the  wall.  That  is  why  one  sees  on  the  desk  of 
a  busy  man  the  legend  "Do  it  now!"  The  brutes  do  not  know  these 
devices.  They  do  not  need  them  perhaps.  They  have  no  aim  in 
life.  They  do  not  work. 

What  distinguishes  the  action  of  men  from  animals  may  best  be 
expressed  in  the  word  "conduct."  /Conduct_asjt  is  ordinarily  used 
is  applied  to  actions  which,  may  be  _regarded_as  right^or  wrong,  moral 
orjimmoral.  1  As  such  it  is  hardly  a  descriptive  term  since  there  does 
not  seem  to  be  any  distinctive  mark  about  the  actions  which  men 
have  at  different  times  and  places  called  moral  or  immoral.  I  have 
used  it  here  to  distinguish  the  sort  of  behavior  which  may  be  regarded 
as  distinctively  and  exclusively  human,  namely,  that  which  is  self- 
conscious  and  personal.  In  this  sense  blushing  may  be  regarded  as 
a  form  of  conduct,  quite  as  much  as  the  manufacture  of  tools,  trade 
and  barter,  conversation  or  prayer. 

No  doubt  all  these  activities  have  their  beginnings  in,  and  are 
founded  upon,  forms  of  behavior  of  which  we  may  find  the  rudiments 
in  the  lower  animals.  But  there  is  in  all  distinctively  human  activities 
a  conventional,  one  might  almost  say  a  contractual,  element  which  is 
absent  in  action  of  other  animals.  Human  actions  are  more  often 
than  not  controlled  by  a  sense  or  understanding  of  what  they  look 
like  or  appear  to  be  to  others.  This  sense  and  understanding  gets 
itself  embodied  in  some  custom  or  ceremonial  observance.  In  this 
form  it  is  transmitted  from  generation  to  generation,  becomes  an 
object  of  sentimental  respect,  gets  itself  embodied  in  definite  formulas, 
is  an  object  not  only  of  respect  and  reverence  but  of  reflection  and 
speculation  as  well.  As  such  it  constitutes  the  mores,  or  moral 
customs,  of  a  group  and  is  no  longer  to  be  regarded  as  an  individual 
possession. 


TOO  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY  ^ 

3.    Instinct  and  Character1 

In  no  part  of  the  world,  and  at  no  period  of  time,  do  we  find  the 
behavior  of  men  left  to  unchartered  freedom.  Everywhere  human 
life  is  in  a  measure  organized  and  directed  by  customs,  laws,  beliefs, 
ideals,  which  shape  its  ends  and  guide  its  activities.  As  this  guidance 
of  life  by  rule  is  universal  in  human  society,  so  upon  the  whole  it  is 
peculiar  to  humanity.  There  is  no  reason  to  think  that  any  animal 
except  man  can  enunciate  or  apply  general  rules  of  conduct.  Never- 
theless, there  is  not  wanting  something  that  we  can  call  an  organiza- 
tion of  life  in  the  animal  world.  How  much  of  intelligence  underlies 
the  social  life  of  the  higher  animals  is  indeed  extremely  hard  to 
determine.  In  the  aid  which  they  often  render  to  one  another,  in 
their  combined  hunting,  in  their  play,  in  the  use  of  warning  cries,  and 
the  employment  of  "sentinels,"  which  is  so  frequent  among  birds 
and  mammals,  it  would  appear  at  first  sight  that  a  considerable 
measure  of  mutual  understanding  is  implied,  that  we  find  at  least  an 
analogue  to  human  custom,  to  the  assignment  of  functions,  the 
division  of  labor,  which  mutual  reliance  renders  possible.  How  far 
the  analogy  may  be  pressed,  and  whether  terms  like  "custom"  and 
"mutual  understanding,"  drawn  from  human  experience,  are  rightly 
applicable  to  animal  societies,  are  questions  on  which  we  shall  touch 
presently.  Let  us  observe  first  that  as  we  descend  the  animal  scale 
the  sphere  of  Intelligent  activity  is  gradually  narrowed  down,  and  yet 
behavior  is  still  regulated.  The  lowest  organisms  have  their  definite 
methods  of  action  under  given  conditions.  The  amoeba  shrinks  into 
itself  at  a  touch,  withdraws  the  pseudopodium  that  is  roughly  handled, 
or  makes  its  way  round  the  small  object  which  will  serve  it  as  food. 
Given  the  conditions,  it  acts  in  the  way  best  suited  to  avoid  danger 
or  to  secure  nourishment.  We  are  a  long  way  from  the  intelligent 
regulation  of  conduct  by  a  general  principle,  but  we  still  find  action 
adapted  to  the  requirements  of  organic  life. 

When  we  come  to  human  society  we  find  the  basis  for  a  social 
organization  of  life  already  laid  in  the  animal  nature  of  man.  Like 
others  of  the  higher  animals,  man  is  a  gregarious  beast.  His  interests 
lie  in  his  relations  to  his  fellows,  in  his  love  for  wife  and  children,  in 
his  companionship,  possibly  in  his  rivalry  and  striving  with  his  fellow- 

1  Adapted  from  L.  T.  Hobhouse,  Morals  in  Evolution,  pp.  1-2,  10-12.  (Henry 
Holt  &  Co.,  1915.) 


V  \    $  O    r>/. 


SOCIETY,  AND  THJS  GRfUP  If  I 

men.  His  loves  and  hates,  his  joys  and  sorrows,  his  pride,  his  wrath, 
his  gentleness,  his  boldness,  his  timidity — all  these  permanent  quali- 
ties, which  run  through  humanity  and  vary  only  in  degree,  belong 
to  his  inherited  structure.  Broadly  speaking,  they  are  of  the  nature 
of  instincts,  but  instincts  which  have  become  highly  plastic  in  their 
mode  of  operation  and  which  need  the  stimulus  of  experience  to  call 
them  forth  and  give  them  definite  shape. 

The  mechanical  methods  of  reaction  which  are  so  prominent  low 
down  in  the  animal  scale  fill  quite  a  minor  place  in  human  life.  The 
ordinary  operations  of  the  body,  indeed,  go  upon  their  way  mechan- 
ically enough.  In  walking  or  hi  running,  in  saving  ourselves  from  a 
fall,  in  coughing,  sneezing,  or  swallowing,  we  react  as  mechanically 
as  do  the  lower  animals;  but  in  the  distinctly  human  modes  of 
behavior,  the  place  taken  by  the  inherited  structure  is  very  different. 
Hunger  and  thirst  no  doubt  are  of  the  nature  of  instincts,  but  the 
methods  of  satisfying  hunger  and  thirst  are  acquired  by  experience  or 
by  teaching.  Love  and  the  whole  family  life  have  an  instinctive  basis, 
that  is  to  say,  they  rest  upon  tendencies  inherited  with  the  brain  and 
nerve  structure ;  but  everything  that  has  to  do  with  the  satisfaction  of 
these  impulses  is  determined  by  the  experience  of  the  individual,  the 
laws  and  customs  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  the  woman  whom 
he  meets,  the  accidents  of  their  intercourse,  and  so  forth.  Instinct, 
already  plastic  and  modifiable  in  the  higher  animals,  becomes  in  man 
a  basis  of  character  which  determines  how  he  will  take  his  experience, 
but  without  experience  is  a  mere  blank  form  upon  which  nothing  is 
yet  written. 

For  example,  it  is  an  ingrained  tendency  of  average  human 
nature  to  be  moved  by  the  opinion  of  our  neighbors.  This  is  a  power- 
ful motive  in  conduct,  but  the  kind  of  conduct  to  which  it  will  incite 
clearly  depends  on  the  kind  of  thing  that  our  neighbors  approve. 
In  some  parts  of  the  world  ambition  for  renown  will  prompt  a  man 
to  lie  in  wait  for  a  woman  or  child  in  order  to  add  a  fresh  skull  to 
his  collection.  In  other  parts  he  may  be  urged  by  similar  motives 
to  pursue  a  science  or  paint  a  picture.  In  all  these  cases  the  same 
hereditary  or  instinctive  element  is  at  work,  that  quality  of  character 
which  makes  a  man  respond  sensitively  to  the  feelings  which  others 
manifest  toward  him.  But  the  kind  of  conduct  which  this  sensitive- 
ness may  dictate  depends  wholly  on  the  social  environment  in  which 


if  2  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  man  finds  himself.  Similarly  it  is,  as  the  ordinary  phrase  quite 
justly  puts  it,  "in  human  nature"  to  stand  up  for  one's  rights.  A 
man  will  strive,  that  is,  to  secure  that  which  he  has  counted  on  as 
his  due.  But  as  to  what  he  counts  upon,  as  to  the  actual  treatment 
which  he  expects  under  given  circumstances,  his  views  are  determined 
by  the  "custom  of  the  country,"  by  what  he  sees  others  insisting  on 
and  obtaining,  by  what  has  been  promised  him,  and  so  forth.  Even 
such  an  emotion  as  sexual  jealousy,  which  seems  deeply  rooted  in 
the  animal  nature,  is  largely  limited  in  its  exercise  and  determined 
in  the  form  it  takes  by  custom.  A  hospitable  savage,  who  will  lend 
his  wife  to  a  guest,  would  kill  her  for  acting  in  the  same  way  on  her 
own  motion.  In  the  one  case  he  exercises  his  rights  of  proprietorship; 
in  the  other,  she  transgresses  them.  It  is  the  maintenance  of  a  claim 
which  jealousy  concerns  itself  with,  and  the  standard  determining 
the  claim  is  the  custom  of  the  country. 

In  human  society,  then,  the  conditions  regulating  conduct  are 
from  the  first  greatly  modified.  Instinct,  becoming  vague  and  more 
general,  has  evolved  into  "character,"  while  the  intelligence  finds 
itself  confronted  with  customs  to.  which  it  has  to  accommodate  con- 
duct. But  how  does  custom  arise?  Let  us  first  consider  what 
custom  is.  It  is  not  merely  a  habit  of  action;  but  it  implies  also  a 
judgment  upon  action,  and  a  judgment  stated  in  general  and  imper- 
sonal terms.  It  would  seem  to  imply  a  bystander  or  third  party. 
If  A  hits  B,  B  probably  hits  back.  It  is  his  "habit"  so  to  do.  But 
if  C,  looking  on,  pronounces  that  it  was  or  was  not  a  fair  blow,  he  will 
probably  appeal  to  the  "custom"  of  the  country — the  traditional 
rules  of  fighting,  for  instance — as  the  ground  of  his  judgment.  That 
is,  he  will  lay  down  a  rule  which  is  general  in  the  sense  that  it  would 
apply  to  other  individuals  under  similar  conditions,  and  by  it  he 
will,  as  an  impartial  third  person,  appraise  the  conduct  of  the  con- 
tending parties.  The  formation  of  such  rules,  resting  as  it  does  on 
the  power  of  framing  and  applying  general  conceptions,  is  the  prime 
differentia  of  human  morality  from  animal  behavior.  The  fact 
that  they  arise  and  are  handed  on  from  generation  to  generation 
makes  social  tradition  at  once  the  dominating  factor  in  the  regulation 
of  human  conduct.  Without  such  rules  we  can  scarcely  conceive 
society  to  exist,  since  it  is  only  through  the  general  conformity  to 
custom  that  men  can  understand  each  other,  that  each  can  know 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  193 

how  the  other  will  act  under  given  circumstances,  and  without  this 
amount  of  understanding  the  reciprocity,  which  is  the  vital  principle 
of  society,  disappears. 

4.    Collective  Representation  and  Intellectual  Life1 

Logical  thought  is  made  up  of  concepts.  Seeking  how  society 
can  have  played  a  role  in  the  genesis  of  logical  thought  thus  reduces 
itself  to  seeking  how  it  can  have  taken  a  part  in  the  formation  of 
concepts. 

The  concept  is  opposed  to  sensual  representations  of  every  order 
— sensations,  perceptions,  or  images — by  the  following  properties. 

Sensual  representations  are  in  a  perpetual  flux;  they  come  after 
each  other  like  the  waves  of  a  river,  and' even  during  the  time  that 
they  last  they  do  not  remain  the  same  thing.  Each  of  them  is  an 
integral  part  of  the  precise  instant  when  it  takes  place.  We  are 
never  sure  of  again  finding  a  perception  such  as  we  experienced  it 
the  first  time ;  for  if  the  thing  perceived  has  not  changed,  it  is  we  who 
are  no  longer  the  same.  On  the  contrary,  the  concept  is,  as  it  were, 
outside  of  time  and  change;  it  is  in  the  depths  below  all  this  agitation; 
it  might  be  said  that  it  is  in  a  different  portion  of  the  mind,  which  is 
serener  and  calmer.  It  does  not  move  of  itself,  by  an  internal  and 
spontaneous  evolution,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  resists  change.  It  is 
a  manner  of  thinking  that,  at  every  moment  of  time,  is  fixed  and 
crystallized.  In  so  far  as  it  is  what  it  ought  to  be,  it  is  immutable. 
If  it  changes,  it  is  not  because  it  is  its  nature  to  do  so,  but  because 
we  have  discovered  some  imperfection  in  it;  it  is  because  it  had  to 
be  rectified.  The  system  of  concepts  with  which  we  think  in  every- 
day life  is  that  expressed  by  the  vocabulary  of  our  mother- tongue; 
for  every  word  translates  a  concept.  Now  language  is  something 
fixed;  it  changes  but  very  slowly,  and  consequently  it  is  the  same 
with  the  conceptual  system  which  it  expresses.  The  scholar  finds 
himself  in  the  same  situation  in  regard  to  the  special  terminology 
employed  by  the  science  to  which  he  has  consecrated  himself,  and 
hence  in  regard  to  the  special  scheme  of  concepts  to  which  this 
terminology  corresponds.  It  is  true  that  he  can  make  innovations, 
but  these  are  always  a  sort  of  violence  done  to  the  established  ways 
of  thinking. 

1  Adapted  from  fimile  Durkheim,  The  Elementary  Forms  of  Religious  Life, 
pp.  432-37.  (Allen  &  Unwin,  1915.) 


194  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

And  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  relatively  immutable,  the  concept 
is  universal,  or  at  least  capable  of  becoming  so.  A  concept  is  not  my 
concept;  I  hold  it  in  common  with  other  men,  or,  in  any  case,  can 
communicate  it  to  them.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  make  a  sensation 
pass  from  my  consciousness  into  that  of  another;  it  holds  closely  to 
my  organism  and  personality  and  cannot  be  detached  from  them. 
All  that  I  can  do  is  to  invite  others  to  place  themselves  before  the 
same  object  as  myself  and  to  leave  themselves  to  its  action.  On 
the  other  hand,  conversation  and  all  intellectual  communication 
between  men  is  an  exchange  of  concepts.  The  concept  is  an  essen- 
tially impersonal  representation;  it  is  through  it  that  human  intelli- 
gences communicate. 

The  nature  of  the  concept,  thus  defined,  bespeaks  its  origin.  If 
it  is  common  -to  all,  it  is  the  work  of  the  community.  Since  it  bears 
the  mark  of  no  particular  mind,  it  is  clear  that  it  was  elaborated  by 
a  unique  intelligence,  where  all  others  meet  each  other,  and  after  a 
fashion,  come  to  nourish  themselves.  If  it  has  more  stability  than 
sensations  or  images,  it  is  because  the  collective  representations  are 
more  stable  than  the  individual  ones;  for  while  an  individual  is  con- 
scious even  of  the  slight  changes  which  take  place  in  his  environment, 
only  events  of  a  greater  gravity  can  succeed  in  affecting  the  mental 
status  of  a  society.  Every  time  that  we  are  in  the  presence  of  a  type 
of  thought  or  action  which  is  imposed  uniformly  upon  particular 
wills  or  intelligences,  this  pressure  exercised  over  the  individual 
betrays  the  intervention  of  the  group.  Also,  as  we  have  already 
said,  the  concepts  with  which  we  ordinarily  think  are  those  of  our 
vocabulary.  Now  it  is  unquestionable  that  language,  and  conse- 
quently the  system  of  concepts  which  it  translates,  is  the  product  of 
collective  elaboration.  What  it  expresses  is  the  manner  in  which 
society  as  a  whole  represents  the  facts  of  experience.  The  ideas 
which  correspond  to  the  diverse  elements  of  language  are  thus  collec- 
tive representations. 

Even  their  contents  bear  witness  to  the  same  fact.  In  fact,  there 
are  scarcely  any  words  among  those  which  we  usually  employ  whose 
meaning  does  not  pass,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  the  limits  of  our 
personal  experience.  Very  frequently  a  term  expresses  things  which 
we  have  never  perceived  or  experiences  which  we  have  never 
had  or  of  which  we  have  never  been  the  witnesses.  Even  when 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  195 

we  know  some  of  the  objects  which  it  concerns,  it  is  only  as 
particular  examples  that  they  serve  to  illustrate  the  idea  which 
they  would  never  have  been  able  to  form  by  themselves.  Thus 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  knowledge  condensed  in  the  word  which  I 
never  collected,  and  which  is  not  individual;  it  even  surpasses  me 
to  such  an  extent  that  I  cannot  even  completely  appropriate  all  its 
results.  Which  of  us  knows  all  the  words  of  the  language  he  speaks 
and  the  entire  signification  of  each  ? 

This  remark  enables  us  to  determine  the  sense  in  which  we  mean 
to  say  that  concepts  are  collective  representations.  If  they  belong 
to  a  whole  social  group,  it  is  not  because  they  represent  the  average 
of  the  corresponding  individual  representations;  for  in  that  case 
they  would  be  poorer  than  the  latter  in  intellectual  content,  while,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  they  contain  much  that  surpasses  the  knowledge  of 
the  average  individual.  They  are  not  abstractions  which  have  a 
reality  only  in  particular  consciousnesses,  but  they  are  as  concrete 
representations  as  an  individual  could  form  of  his  own  personal 
environment;  they  correspond  to  the  way  in  which  this  very  special 
being,  society,  considers  the  things  of  its  own  proper  experience. 
If,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  concepts  are  nearly  always  general  ideas, 
and  if  they  express  categories  and  classes  rather  than  particular 
objects,  it  is  because  the  unique  and  variable  characteristics  of  things 
interest  society  but  rarely;  because  of  its  very  extent,  it  can  scarcely 
be  affected  by  more  than  their  general  and  permanent  qualities. 
Therefore  it  is  to  this  aspect  of  affairs  that  it  gives  its  attention: 
it  is  a  part  of  its  nature  to  see  things  in  large  and  under  the  aspect 
which  they  ordinarily  have.  But  this  generality  is  not  necessary  for 
them,  and,  in  any  case,  even  when  these  representations  have  the 
generic  character  which  they  ordinarily  have,  they  are  the  work  of 
society  and  are  enriched  by  its  experience. 

The  collective  consciousness  is  the  highest  form  of  the  psychic 
life,  since  it  is  the  consciousness  of  the  consciousnesses.  Being  placed 
outside  of  and  above  individual  and  local  contingencies,  it  sees  things 
only  in  their  permanent  and  essential  aspects,  which  it  crystallizes 
into  communicable  ideas.  At  the  same  time  that  it  sees  from  above, 
it  sees  farther;  at  every  moment  of  time,  it  embraces  all  known 
reality;  that  is  why  it  alone  can  furnish  the  mind  with  the  molds 
which  are  applicable  to  the  totality  of  things  and  which  make  it 


196          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

possible  to  think  of  them.  It  does  not  create  these  molds  artificially; 
it  finds  them  within  itself;  it  does  nothing  but  become  conscious  of 
them.  They  translate  the  ways  of  being  which  are  found  in  all  the 
stages  of  reality  but  which  appear  in  their  full  clarity  only  at  the  sum- 
mit, because  the  extreme  complexity  of  the  psychic  life  which  passes 
there  necessitates  a  greater  development  of  consciousness.  Collective 
representations  also  contain  subjective  elements,  and  these  must  be 
progressively  rooted  out  if  we  are  to  approach  reality  more  closely. 
But  howsoever  crude  these  may  have  been  at  the  beginning,  the 
fact  remains  that  with  them  the  germ  of  a  new  mentality  was  given, 
to  which  the  individual  could  never  have  raised  himself  by  his  own 
efforts;  by  them  the  way  was  opened  to  a  stable,  impersonal  and 
organized  thought  which  then  had  nothing  to  do  except  to  develop 
its  nature. 

D.      THE  SOCIAL  GROUP 
i.    Definition  of  the  Group1 

The  term  "group"  serves  as  a  convenient  sociological  designation 
for  any  number  of  people,  larger  or  smaller,  between  whom  such 
relations  are  discovered  that  they  must  be  thought  of  together. 
The  "group"  is  the  most  general  and  colorless  term  used  in  sociology 
for  combinations  of  persons.  A  family,  a  mob,  a  picnic  party,  a 
trade  union,  a  city  precinct,  a  corporation,  a  state,  a  nation,  the 
civilized  or  the  uncivilized  population  of  the  world,  may  be  treated 
as  a  group.  Thus  a  "group"  for  sociology  is  a  number  of  persons 
whose  relations  to  each  other  are  sufficiently  impressive  to  demand 
attention.  The  term  is  merely  a  commonplace  tool.  It  contains 
no  mystery.  It  is  only  a  handle  with  which  to  grasp  the  innumerable 
varieties  of  arrangements  into  which  people  are  drawn  by  their 
variations  of  interest.  The  universal  condition  of  association  may  be 
expressed  in  the  same  commonplace  way:  people  always  live  in 
groups,  and  the  same  persons  are  likely  to  be  members  of  many 
groups. 

Individuals  nowhere  live  in  utter  isolation.  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  social  vacuum.  The  few  Robinson  Crusoes  are  not  exceptions  to 
the  rule.  If  they  are,  they  are  like  the  Irishman's  horse.  The 

1  From  Albion  W.  Small,  General  Sociology,  pp.  495-97.  (The  University  of 
Chicago  Press,  1905.) 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  197 

moment  they  begin  to  get  adjusted  to  the  exceptional  condition,  they 
die.  Actual  persons  always  live  and  move  and  have  their  being  in 
groups.  These  groups  are  more  or  less  complex,  more  or  less  con- 
tinuous, more  or  less  rigid  in  character.  The  destinies  of  human 
beings  are  always  bound  up  with  the  fate  of  the  groups  of  which 
they  are  members.  While  the  individuals  are  the  real  existences, 
and  the  groups  are  only  relationships  of  individuals,,  yet  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  the  groups  which  people  form  are  just  as 
distinct  and  efficient  molders  of  the  lives  of  individuals  as  though 
they  were  entities  that  had  existence  entirely  independent  of  the 
individuals. 

The  college  fraternity  or  the  college  class,  for  instance,  would  be 
only  a  name,  and  presently  not  even  that,  if  each  of  its  members 
should  withdraw.  It  is  the  members  themselves,  and  not  something 
outside  of  themselves.  Yet  to  A,  B,  or  C  the  fraternity  or  the  class 
might  as  well  be  a  river  or  a  mountain  by  the  side  of  which  he  stands, 
and  which  he  is  helpless  to  remove.  He  may  modify  it  somewhat. 
He  is  surely  modified  by  it  somewhat;  and  the  same  is  true  of  all 
the  other  groups  in  which  A,  B,  or  C  belong.  To  a  very  considerable 
extent  the  question,  Why  does  A,  B,  or  C  do  so  and  so  ?  is  equivalent 
to  the  question,  What  are  the  peculiarities  of  the  group  to  which 
A,  B,  or  C  belongs?  It  would  never  occur  to  A,  B,  or  C  to  skulk 
from  shadow  to  shadow  of  a  night,  with  paint-pot  and  brush  in  hand, 
and  to  smear  Arabic  numerals  of  bill-poster  size  on  sidewalk  or 
buildings,  if  "class  spirit"  did  not  add  stimulus  to  individual  bent. 
Neither  A,  B,  nor  C  would  go  out  of  his  way  to  flatter  and  cajole  a 
Freshman,  if  membership  in  a  fraternity  did  not  make  a  student 
something  different  from  an  individual.  These  are  merely  familiar 
cases  which  follow  a  universal  law.- 

In  effect,  the  groups  to  which  we  belong  might  be  as  separate 
and  independent  of  us  as  the  streets  and  buildings  of  a  city  are  from 
the  population.  If  the  inhabitants  should  migrate  in  a  body,  the 
streets  and  buildings  would  remain.  This  is  not  true  of  human 
groups,  but  their  reaction  upon  the  pejsons  who  compose  them  is  no 
less  real  and  evident.  We  are  in  large  part  what  our  social  set,  our 
church,  our  political  party,  our  business  and  professional  circles  are. 
This  has  always  been  the  case  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  and 
will  always  be  the  case.  To  understand  what  society  is,  either  in  its 


198  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

larger  or  its  smaller  parts,  and  why  it  is  so,  and  how  far  it  is  possible 
to  make  it  different,  we  must  invariably  explain  groups  on  the  one 
hand,  no  less  than  individuals  on  the  other.  There  is  a  striking 
illustration  in  Chicago  at  present  (summer,  1905).  Within  a  short 
time  a  certain  man  has  made  a  complete  change  in  his  group-relations. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  influential  trade-union  leaders  in  the  city.  He 
has  now  become  the  executive  officer  of  an  association  of  employers. 
In  the  elements  that  are  not  determined  by  his  group-relationships 
he  is  the  same  man  that  he  was  before.  Those  are  precisely  the 
elements,  however,  that  may  be  canceled  out  of  the  social  problem. 
All  the  elements  in  his  personal  equation  that  give  him  a  distinct 
meaning  in  the  life  of  the  city  are  given  to  him  by  his  membership 
in  the  one  group  or  the  other.  Till  yesterday  he  gave  all  his  strength 
to  organizing  labor  against  capital.  Now  he  gives  all  his  strength  to 
the  service  of  capital  against  labor. 

Whatever  social  problem  we  confront,  whatever  persons  come 
into  our  field  of  view,  the  first  questions  involved  will  always  be: 
To  what  groups  do  these  persons  belong  ?  What  are  the  interests  of 
these  groups?  What  sort  of  means  do  the  groups  use  to  promote 
their  interests?  How  strong  are  these  groups,  as  compared  with 
groups  that  have  conflicting  interests?  These  questions  go  to  one 
tap  roof  of  all  social  interpretation,  whether  in  the  case  of  historical 
events  far  in  the  past,  or  of  the  most  practical  problems  of  our  own 
neighborhood. 

2.    The  Unity  of  the  Social  Group ' 

It  has  long  been  a  cardinal  problem  in  sociology  to  determine  just 
how  to  conceive  in  objective  terms  so  very  real  and  palpable  a  thing 
as  the  continuity  and  persistence  of  social  groups.  Looked  at  as  a 
physical  object  society  appears  to  be  made  up  of  mobile  and  inde- 
pendent units.  The  problem  is  to  understand  the  nature  of  the 
bonds  that  bind  these  independent  units  together  and  how  these 
connections  are  maintained  and  transmitted. 

Conceived  of  in  its  lowest  terms  the  unity  of  the  social  group 
may  be  compared  to  that  of  the  plant  communities.  In  these  com- 

1  From  R.  E.  Park,  "Education  in  Its  Relation  to  the  Conflict  and  Fusion 
of  Cultures,"  in  the  Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  VIII 
(1918),  38-40. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  199 

munities,  the  relation  between  the  individual  species  which  compose 
them  seems  at  first  wholly  fortuitous  and  external.  Co-operation  and 
community,  so  far  as  it  exists,  consists  merely  in  the  fact  that  within 
a  given  geographical  area,  certain  species  come  together  merely 
because  each  happens  to  provide  by  its  presence  an  environment  in 
which  the  life  of  the  other  is  easier,  more  secure,  than  if  they  lived 
in  isolation.  It  seems  to  be  a  fact,  however,  that  this  communal 
life  of  the  associated  plants  fulfils,  as  in  other  forms  of  life,  a  typical 
series  of  changes  which  correspond  to  growth,  decay  and  death. 
The  plant  community  comes  into  existence,  matures,  grows  old, 
and  eventually  dies.  In  doing  this,  however,  it  provides  by  its  own 
death  an  environment  in  which  another  form  of  community  finds  its 
natural  habitat.  Each  community  thus  precedes  and  prepares  the  way 
for  its  successor.  Under  such  circumstances  the  succession  of  the  indi- 
vidual communities  itself  assumes  the  character  of  a  life-process. 

In  the  case  of  the  animal  and  human  societies  we  have  all  these 
conditions  and  forces  and  something  more.  The  individuals  asso- 
ciated in  an  animal  community  not  only  provide,  each  for  the  other, 
a  physical  environment  in  which  all  may  live,  but  the  members  of 
the  community  are  organically  pre-adapted  to  one  another  in  ways 
which  are  not  characteristic  of  the  members  of  a  plant  community. 
As  a  consequence,  the  relations  between  the  members  of  the  animal 
community  assume  a  much  more  organic  character.  It  is,  in  fact,  a 
characteristic  of  animal  society  that  the  members  of  a  social  group 
are  organically  adapted  to  one  another  and  therefore  the  organization 
of  animal  society  is  almost  wholly  transmitted  by  physical  inheritance. 

In  the  case  of  human  societies  we  discover  not  merely  organically 
inherited  adaptation,  which  characterizes  animal  societies,  but,  in 
addition,  a  great  body  of  habits  and  accommodations  which  are  trans- 
mitted in  the  form  of  social  inheritance.  Something  that  corresponds 
to  social  tradition  exists,  to  be  sure,  hi  animal  societies.  Animals 
learn  by  imitation  from  one  another,  and  there  is  evidence  that  this 
social  tradition  varies  with  changes  in  environment.  In  man,  how- 
ever, association  is  based  on  something  more  than  habits  or  instinct. 
In  human  society,  largely  as  a  result  of  language,  there  exists  a  con- 
scious community  of  purpose.  We  have  not  merely  folkways,  which 
by  an  extension  of  that  term  might  be  attributed  to  animals,  but  we 
have  mores  and  formal  standards  of  conduct. 


200  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

In  a  recent  notable  volume  on  education,  John  Dewey  has  formu- 
lated a  definition  of  the  educational  process  which  he  identifies  with 
the  process  by  which  the  social  tradition  of  human  society  is  trans- 
mitted. Education,  he  says  in  effect,  is  a  self-renewing  process,  a 
process  in  which  and  through  which  the  social  organism  lives. 

With  the  renewal  of  physical  existence  goes,  in  the  case  of  human 
beings,  the  re-creation  of  beliefs,  ideals,  hopes,  happiness,  misery  and 
practices.  The  continuity  of  experience,  through  renewal  of  the  social 
group,  is  a  literal  fact.  Education,  in  its  broadest  sense,  is  the  means  of 
this  social  continuity  of  life. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  the  transmission  of  the  social  tradi- 
tion is  from  the  parents  to  the  children.  Children  are  born  into 
the  society  and  take  over  its  customs,  habits,  and  standards  of  life 
simply,  naturally,  and  without  conflict.  But  it  will  at  once  occur  to 
anyone  that  the  physical  life  of  society  is  not  always  continued  and 
maintained  in  this  natural  way,  i.e.,  by  the  succession  of  parents  and 
children.  New  societies  are  formed  by  conquest  and  by  the  imposi- 
tion of  one  people  upon  another.  In  such  cases  there  arises  a  conflict 
of  cultures,  and  as  a  result  the  process  of  fusion  takes  place  slowly 
and  is  frequently  not  complete.  New  societies  are  frequently  formed 
by  colonization,  in  which  case  new  cultures  are  grafted  on  to  older 
ones.  The  work  of  missionary  societies  is  essentially  one  of  coloniza- 
tion in  this  sense.  Finally  we  have  societies  growing  up,  as  in  the 
United  States,  by  immigration.  These  immigrants,  coming  as  they 
do  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  bring  with  them  fragments  of  divergent 
cultures.  Here  again  the  process  of  assimilation  is  slow,  often  pain- 
ful, not  always  complete. 

3.    Types  of  Social  Groups1 

Between  the  two  extreme  poles — the  crowd  and  the  state  (nation) 
— between  these  extreme  links  of  the  chain  of  human  association, 
what  are  the  other  intermediate  groups,  and  what  are  their  distinctive 
characteristics  ? 

Gustave  Le  Bon  thus  classifies  the  different  types  of  crowds 
(aggregations): 

A.  Heterogeneous  crowds 

1.  Anonymous  (street  crowds,  for  example) 

2.  Not  anonymous  (parliamentary  assemblies,  for  example) 

'Translated  from  S.  Sighele,  Psychologic  des  Sectes,  pp.  42-51.  (M.  Giard 
et  Cie.  1898.) 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  2OI 

B.  Homogeneous  crowds 

1.  Sects  (political,  religious,  etc.) 

2.  Castes  (military,  sacerdotal,  etc.) 

3.  Classes  (bourgeois,  working-men,  etc.) 

This  classification  is  open  to  criticism.  First  of  all,  it  is  inaccu- 
rate to  give  the  name  of  crowd  indiscriminately  to  every  human 
group.  Literally  (from  the  etymological  standpoint)  this  objection 
seems  to  me  unanswerable.  Tarde  more  exactly  distinguishes 
between  crowds,  associations,  and  corporations. 

But  we  retain  the  generic  term  of  "crowd"  because  it  indicates 
the  first  stage  of  the  social  group  which  is  the  source  of  all  the  others, 
and  because  with  these  successive  distinctions  it  does  not  lend  itself 
to  equivocal  meaning. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  difficult  to  understand  why  Le  Bon 
terms  the  sect  a  homogeneous  crowd,  while  he  classifies  parliamentary 
assemblies  among  the  heterogeneous  crowds.  The  members  of  a  sect 
are  usually  far  more  different  from  one  another  in  birth,  education, 
profession,  social  status,  than  are  generally  the  members  of  a  political 
assembly. 

Turning  from  this  criticism  to  note  without  analyzing  hetero- 
geneous crowds,  let  us  then  proceed  to  determine  the  principal  charac- 
teristics of  the  three  large  types  of  homogeneous  crowds,  the  classes, 
the  castes,  the  sects. 

The  heterogeneous  crowd  is  composed  of  tout  le  monde,  of  people 
like  you,  like  me,  like  the  first  passer-by.  Chance  unites  these  indi- 
viduals physically,  the  occasion  unites  them  psychologically;  they  do 
not  know  each  other,  and  after  the  moment  when  they  find  themselves 
together,  they  may  never  see  each  other  again.  To  use  a  metaphor, 
it  is  a  psychological  meteor,  of  the  most  unforeseen,  ephemeral,  and 
transitory  kind. 

On  this  accidental  and  fortuitous  foundation  are  formed  here  and 
there  other  crowds,  always  heterogeneous,  but  with  a  certain  charac- 
ter of  stability  or,  at  least,  of  periodicity.  The  audience  at  a 
theater,  the  members  of  a  club,  of  a  literary  or  social  gathering, 
constitute  also  a  crowd  but  a  different  crowd  from  that  of  the  street. 
The  members  of  these  groups  know  each  other  a  little;  they  have,  if 
not  a  common  aim,  at  least  a  common  custom.  They  are  neverthe- 
less "anonymous  crowds,"  as  Le  Bon  calls  them,  because  they  do 
not  have  within  themselves  the  nucleus  of  organization. 


202  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Proceeding  further,  we  find  crowds  still  heterogeneous,  but  not  so 
anonymous — juries,  for  example,  and  assemblies.  These  small 
crowds  experience  a  new  sentiment,  unknown  to  anonymous  crowds, 
that  of  responsibility  which  may  at  times  give  to  their  actions  a 
different  orientation.  Then  the  parliamentary  crowds  are  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  others  because,  as  Tarde  observes  with  his 
habitual  penetration,  they  are  double  crowds:  they  represent  a 
majority  in  conflict  with  one  or  more  minorities,  which  safeguards 
them  in  most  cases  from  unanimity,  the  most  menacing  danger 
which  faces  crowds. 

We  come  now  to  homogeneous  crowds,  of  which  the  first  type  is 
the  sect.  Here  are  found  again  individuals  differing  in  birth,  in 
education,  in  profession,  in  social  status,  but  united  and,  indeed, 
voluntarily  cemented  by  an  extremely  strong  bond,  a  common  faith 
and  ideal.  Faith,  religious,  scientific,  or  political,  rapidly  creates  a 
communion  of  sentiments  capable  of  giving  to  those  who  possess  it 
a  high  degree  of  homogeneity  and  power.  History  records  the  deeds 
of  the  barbarians  under  the  influence  of  Christianity,  and  the  Arabs 
transformed  into  a  sect  by  Mahomet.  Because  of  their  sectarian 
organization,  a  prediction  may  be  made  of  what  the  future  holds  in 
store  for  the  socialists. 

The  sect  is  a  crowd,  picked  out  and  permanent;  the  crowd  is  a 
transitory  sect  which  has  not  chosen  its  members.  The  sect  is  a 
chronic  kind  of  crowd;  the  crowd  is  an  acute  kind  of  sect.  The 
crowd  is  composed  of  a  multitude  of  grains  of  sand  without  cohesion; 
the  sect  is  a  block  of  marble  which  resists  every  effort.  When  a 
sentiment  or  an  idea,  having  in  itself  a  reason  for  existence,  slips  into 
the  crowd,  its  members  soon  crystallize  and  form  a  sect.  The  sect 
is  then  the  first  crystallization  of  every  doctrine.  From  the  confused 
and  amorphous  state  in  which  it  manifests  itself  to  the  crowd,  every 
idea  is  predestined  to  define  itself  in  the  more  specific  form  of  the 
sect,  to  become  later  a  party,  a  school,  or  a  church — scientific,  political, 
or  religious. 

Any  faith,  whether  it  be  Islamism,  Buddhism,  Christianity, 
patriotism,  socialism,  anarchy,  cannot  but  pass  through  this  sec- 
tarian phase.  It  is  the  first  step,  the  point  where  the  human 
group  in  leaving  the  twilight  zone  of  the  anonymous  and  mobile 
crowd  raises  itself  to  a  definition  and  to  an  integration  which 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  263 

then  may  lead  up  to  the  highest  and  most  perfect  human  group, 
the  nation. 

If  the  sect  is  composed  of  individuals  united  by  a  common  idea 
and  aim,  in  spite  of  diversity  of  birth,  education,  and  social  status, 
the  caste  unites,  on  the  contrary,  those  who  could  have — and  who 
have  sometimes — diverse  ideas  and  aspirations,  but  who  are  brought 
together  through  identity  of  profession.  The  sect  corresponds  to 
the  community  of  faith,  the  caste  to  the  community  of  professional 
ideas.  The  sect  is  a  spontaneous  association;  the  caste  is,  in  many 
ways,  a  forced  association.  After  having  chosen  a  profession — let  it 
be  priest,  soldier,  magistrate — a  man  belongs  necessarily  to  a  caste. 
A  person,  on  the  contrary,  does  not  necessarily  belong  to  a  sect.  And 
when  one  belongs  to  a  caste — be  he  the  most  independent  man  in  the 
world — he  is  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  that  which  is  called 
esprit  de  corps. 

The  caste  represents  the  highest  degree  of  organization  to  which 
the  homogeneous  crowd  is  susceptible.  It  is  composed  of  individuals 
who  by  their  tastes,  their  education,  birth,  and  social  status,  resemble 
each  other  in  the  fundamental  types  of  conduct  and  mores.  There 
are  even  certain  castes,  the  military  and  sacerdotal,  for  example,  in 
which  the  members  at  last  so  resemble  one  another  in  appearance 
and  bearing  that  no  disguise  can  conceal  the  nature  of  their  profession. 

The  caste  offers  to  its  members  ideas  already  molded,  rules  of 
conduct  already  approved;  it  relieves  them,  in  short,  of  the  fatigue 
of  thinking  with  their  own  brains.  When  the  caste  to  which  an 
individual  belongs  is  known,  all  that  is  necessary  is  to  press  a  button 
of  his  mental  mechanism  to  release  a  series  of  opinions  and  of  phrases 
already  made  which  are  identical  in  every  individual  of  the  same 
caste. . 

This  harmonious  collectivity,  powerful  and  eminently  conserva- 
tive, is  the  most  salient  analogy  which  the  nations  of  the  Occident 
present  to  that  of  India.  In  India  the  caste  is  determined  by  birth, 
and  it  is  distinguished  by  a  characteristic  trait:  the  persons  of  one 
caste  can  live  with,  eat  with,  and  marry  only  individuals  of  the  same 
caste. 

In  Europe  it  is  not  only  birth,  but  circumstances  and  education 
which  determine  the  entrance  of  an  individual  into  a  caste;  to 
marry,  to  frequent,  to  invite  to  the  same  table  only  people  of  the 


204  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

same  caste,  exists  practically  in  Europe  as  in  India.  In  Europe  the 
above-mentioned  prescriptions  are  founded  on  convention,  but  they 
are  none  the  less  observed.  We  all  live  in  a  confined  circle,  where  we 
find  our  friends,  our  guests,  our  sons-  and  daughters-in-law. 

Misalliances  are  assuredly  possible  in  Europe;  they  are  impossible 
in  India.  But  if  there  religion  prohibits  them,  with  us  public  opin- 
ion and  convention  render  them  very  rare.  And  at  bottom  the 
analogy  is  complete. 

The  class  is  superior  to  the  caste  in  extent.  If  the  psychological 
bond  of  the  sect  is  community  of  faith,  and  that  of  the  caste  com- 
munity of  profession,  the  psychological  bond  of  the  class  is  community 
of  interests. 

Less  precise  in  its  limits,  more  diffuse  and  less  compact  than  the 
caste  or  the  sect,  the  class  represents  today  the  veritable  crowd  in  a 
dynamic  state,  which  can  in  a  moment's  time  descend  from  that  place 
and  become  statically  a  crowd.  And  it  is  from  the  sociological 
standpoint  the  most  terrible  kind  of  crowd;  it  is  that  which  today 
has  taken  a  bellicose  attitude,  and  which  by  its  attitude  and  precepts 
prepares  the  brutal  blows  of  mobs. 

We  speak  of  the  "conflict  of  the  classes,"  and  from  the  theoretical 
point  of  view  and  in  the  normal  and  peaceful  life  that  signifies  only 
a  contest  of  ideas  by  legal  means.  Always  depending  upon  the 
occasion,  the  audacity  of  one  or  many  men,  the  character  of 
the  situation,  the  conflict  of  the  classes  is  transformed  into  some- 
thing more  material  and  more  violent — into  revolt  or  into  revo- 
lution. 

Finally  we  arrive  at  the  state  (nation).  Tocqueville  said  that 
the  classes  which  compose  society  form  so  many  distinct  nations. 
They  are  the  greatest  collectivities  before  coming  to  the  nation,  the 
state. 

This  is  the  most  perfect  type  of  organization  of  the  crowd,  and 
the  final  and  supreme  type,  if  there  is  not  another  collectivity  superior 
in  number  and  extension,  the  collectivity  formed  by  race. 

The  bond  which  unites  all  the  citizens  of  a  state  is  language  and 
nationality.  Above  the  state  there  are  only  the  crowds  determined 
by  race,  which  comprise  many  states.  And  these  are,  like  the  states 
and  like  the  classes,  human  aggregates  which  in  a  moment  could  be 
transformed  into  violent  crowds.  But  then,  and  justly,  because 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  205 

their  evolution  and  their  organization  are  more  developed,  their  mobs 
are  called  armies,  and  their  violences  are  called  wars,  and  they  have 
the  seal  of  legitimacy  unknown  in  other  crowds.  In  this  order  of 
ideas  war  could  be  denned  as  the  supreme  form  of  collective  crimes. 

4.    Esprit  de  Corps,  Morale,  and  Collective  Representations 
of  Social  Groups1 

War  is  no  doubt  the  least  human  of  human  relationships.  It  can 
begin  only  when  persuasion  ends,  when  arguments  fitted  to  move 
minds  are  replaced  by  the  blasting-powder  fitted  to  move  rocks  and 
hills.  It  means  that  one  at  least  of  the  national  wills  concerned  has 
deliberately  set  aside  its  human  quality — as  only  a  human  will  can 
do — and  has  made  of  itself  just  such  a  material  obstruction  or  menace. 
Hence  war  seems,  and  is  often  called,  a  contest  of  brute  forces. 
Certainly  it  is  the  extremest  physical  effort  men  make,  every  resource 
of  vast  populations  bent  to  increase  the  sum  of  power  at  the  front, 
where  the  two  lines  writhe  like  wrestlers  laboring  for  the  final  fall. 

Yet  it  is  seldom  physical  force  that  decides  a  long  war.  For 
war  summons  skill  against  skill,  head  against  head,  staying-power 
against  staying-power,  as  well  as  numbers  and  machines  against 
machines  and  numbers.  When  an  engine  "exerts  itself"  it  spends 
more  power,  eats  more  fuel,  but  uses  no  nerve;  when  a  man  exerts 
himself,  he  must  bend  his  will  to  it,  The  extremer  the  physical 
effort,  the  greater  the  strain  on  the  inner  or  moral  powers.  Hence 
the  paradox  of  war:  just  because  it  calls  for  the  maximum  material 
performance,  it  calls  out  a  maximum  of  moral  resource.  As  long  as 
guns  and  bayonets  have  men  behind  them,  the  quality  of  the  men, 
the  quality  of  their  minds  and  wills,  must  be  counted  with  the  power 
of  the  weapons. 

And  as  long  as  men  fight  in  nations  and  armies,  that  subtle  but 
mighty  influence  that  passes  from  man  to  man,  the  temper  and  spirit 
of  the  group,  must  be  counted  with  the  quality  of  the  individual 
citizen  and  soldier.  But  how  much  does  this  intangible,  psychological 
factor  count?  Napoleon  hi  his  day  reckoned  it  high:  "In  war,  the 
moral  is  to  the  physical  as  three  to  one." 

1  Adapted  from  William  E.  Hocking,  Morale  and  Its  Enemies,  pp.  3-37. 
(Yale  University  Press.  1918.) 


206  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

For  war,  completely  seen,  is  no  mere  collision  of  physical  forces; 
it  is  a  collision  of  will  against  will.  It  is,  after  all,  the  mind  and 
will  of  a  nation — a  thing  intangible  and  invisible — that  assembles 
the  materials  of  war,  the  fighting  forces,  the  ordnance,  the  whole 
physical  array.  It  is  this  invisible  thing  that  wages  the  war;  it  is 
this  same  invisible  thing  that  on  one  side  or  the  other  must  admit 
the  finish  and  so  end  it.  As  things  are  now,  it  is  the  element  of 
"  morale  "  that  controls  the  outcome. 

I  say,  as  things  are  now;  for  it  is  certainly  not  true  as  a  rule  of 
history  that  will-power  is  enough  to  win  a  war,  even  when  supported 
by  high  fighting  spirit,  brains,  and  a  good  conscience:  Belgium  had 
all  this,  and  yet  was  bound  to  fall  before  Germany  had  she  stood 
alone.  Her  spirit  worked  miracles  at  Liege,  delayed  by  ten  days 
the  marching  program  of  the  German  armies,  and  thereby  saved — 
perhaps  Paris,  perhaps  Europe.  But  the  day  was  saved  because  the 
issue  raised  in  Serbia  and  in  Belgium  drew  to  their  side  material 
support  until  their  forces  could  compare  with  the  physical  advantages 
of  the  enemy.  Morale  wins,  not  by  itself,  but  by  turning  scales;  it 
has  a  value  like  the  power  of  a  minority  or  of  a  mobile  reserve.  It 
adds  to  one  side  or  the  other  the  last  ounce  of  force  which  is  to  its 
opponent  the  last  straw  that  breaks  its  back. 

Perhaps  *he  simplest  way  of  explaining  the  meaning  of  morale  is 
to  say  that  what  '' condition"  is  to  the  athlete's  body,  morale  is  to 
the  mind.  Morale  is  condition;  good  morale  is  good  condition  of  the 
inner  man:  it  is  the  state  of  will  in  which  you  can  get  most  from 
the  machinery,  deliver  blows  with  the  greatest  effect,  take  blows 
with  the  least  depression,  and  hold  out  for  the  longest  time.  It  is 
both  fighting-power  and  staying-power  and  strength  to  resist  the 
mental  infections  which  fear,  discouragement,  and  fatigue  bring  with 
them,  such  as  eagerness  for  any  kind  of  peace  if  only  it  gives  momen- 
tary relief,  or  the  irritability  that  sees  large  the  defects  in  one's  own 
side  until  they  seem  more  important  than  the  need  of  defeating  the 
enemy.  And  it  is  the  perpetual  ability  to  come  back. 

From  this  it  follows  that  good  morale  is  not  the  same  as  good 
spirits  or  enthusiasm.  It  is  anything  but  the  cheerful  optimism  of 
early  morning,  or  the  tendency  to  be  jubilant  at  every  victory.  It 
has  nothing  in  common  with  the  emotionalism  dwelt  on  by  psycholo- 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  207 

gists  of  the  "crowd."  It  is  hardly  to  be  discovered  in  the  early 
stages  of  war.  Its  most  searching  test  is  found  in  the  question,  How 
does  war-weariness  affect  you  ? 

No  one  going  from  America  to  Europe  in  the  last  year  could  fail 
to  notice  the  wide  difference  between  the  mind  of  nations  long  at 
war  and  that  of  a  nation  just  entering.  Over  there,  "crowd  psy- 
chology" had  spent  itself.  There  was  little  flag-waving;  the  com- 
mon purveyors  of  music  were  not  everywhere  playing  (or  allowed  to 
play)  the  national  airs.  If  in  some  Parisian  cinema  the  Marseillaise 
was  given,  nobody  stood  or  sang. '  The  reports  of  atrocities  roused 
little  visible  anger  or  even  tcrik — they  were  taken  for  granted.  In 
short,  the  simpler  emotions  had  been  worn  out,  or  rather  had  resolved 
themselves  into  clear  connections  between  knowledge  and  action. 
The  people  had  found  the  mental  gait  that  can  be  held  indefinitely. 
Even  a  great  advance  finds  them  on  their  guard  against  too  much 
joy.  As  the  news  from  the  second  victory  of  the  Marne  begins  to 
come  in,  we  find  this  despatch:  "Paris  refrains  from  exultation." 

And  in  the  trenches  the  same  is  true  in  even  greater  degree.  All 
the  bravado  and  illusion  of  war  are  gone,  also  all  the  nervous  revul- 
sion; and  in  their  places  a  grimly  reliable  resource  of  energy  held  in 
instant,  almost  mechanical,  readiness  to  do  what  is  necessary.  The 
hazards  which  it  is  useless  to  speculate  about,  the  miseries,  delays, 
tediums,  casualties,  have  lost  their  exclamatory  value  and  have  fallen 
into  the  sullen  routine  of  the  day's  work.  Here  it  is  that  morale 
begins  to  show  in  its  more  vital  dimensions.  Here  the  substantial 
differences  between  man  and  man,  and  between  side  and  side,  begin 
to  appear  as  they  can  never  appear  in  training  camp. 

Fitness  and  readiness  to  act,  the  positive  element  in  morale,  is  a 
matter  not  of  good  and  bad  alone,  but  of  degree.  Persistence, 
courage,  energy,  initiative,  may  vary  from  zero  upward  without 
limit.  Perhaps  the  most  important  dividing  line — one  that  has 
already  shown  itself  at  various  critical  points — is  that  between  the 
willingness  to  defend  and  the  willingness  to  attack,  between  the 
defensive  and  the  aggressive  mentality.  It  is  the  difference  between 
docility  and  enterprise,  between  a  faith  at  second  hand  dependent  on 
neighbor  or  leader,  and  a  faith  at  first  hand  capable  of  assuming  for 
itself  the  position  of  leadership. 


208  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

But  readiness  to  wait,  the  negative  element  in  morale,  is  as 
important  as  readiness  to  act,  and  oftentimes  it  is  a  harder  virtue. 
Patience,  especially  under  conditions  of  ignorance  of  what  may  be 
brewing,  is  a  torment  for  active  and  critical  minds  such  as  this 
people  is  made  of.  Yet  impetuosity,  exceeding  of  orders,  unwilling- 
ness to  retreat  when  the  general  situation  demands  it,  are  signs  not 
of  good  morale  but  the  reverse.  They  are  signs  that  one's  heart 
cannot  be  kept  up  except  by  the  flattering  stimulus  of  always  going 
forward — a  state  of  mind  that  may  cause  a  commanding  officer 
serious  embarrassment,  even  to  making  impossible  decisive  strokes 
of  strategy. 

In  fact,  the  better  the  morale,  the  more  profound  its  mystery  from 
the  utilitarian  angle  of  judgment.  There  is  something  miraculous  in 
the  power  of  a  bald  and  unhesitating  announcement  of  reverse  to 
steel  the  temper  of  men  attuned  to  making  sacrifices  and  to  meeting 
emergencies.  No  one  can  touch  the  deepest  moral  resources  of  an 
army  or  nation  who  does  not  know  the  fairly  regal  exaltation  with 
which  it  is  possible  for  men  to  face  an  issue — if  they  believe  in  it. 
There  are  times  when  men  seem  to  have  an  appetite  for  suffering, 
when,  to  judge  from  their  own  demeanor,  the  best  bait  fortune  could 
offer  them  is  the  chance  to  face  death  or  to  bear  an  inhuman  load. 
This  state  of  mind  does  not  exist  of  itself;  it  is  morale  at  its  best, 
and  it  appears  only  when  the  occasion  strikes  a  nerve  which  arouses 
the  super-earthly  vistas  of  human  consciousness  or  subconsciousness. 
But  it  commonly  appears  at  the  summons  of  a  leader  who  himself 
welcomes  the  challenge  of  the  task  he  sets  before  his  followers.  It 
is  the  magic  of  King  Alfred  in  his  appeal  to  his  chiefs  to  do  battle 
with  the  Danes,  when  all  that  he  could  hold  out  to  them  was  the 
prospect  of  his  own  vision, 

This — that  the  sky  grows  darker  yet 
And  the  sea  rises  higher. 

Morale,  for  all  the  greater  purposes  of  war,  is  a  state  of  faith;  and  its 
logic  will  be  the  superb  and  elusive  logic  of  human  faith.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  morale,  while  not  identical  with  the  righteousness  of 
the  cause,  can  never  reach  its  height  unless  the  aim  of  the  war  can 
be  held  intact  in  the  undissembled  moral  sense  of  the  people.  This 


SOCIETY  AND  THE   GROUP  209 

is  one  of  the  provisions  in  the  deeper  order  of  things  for  the  slow 
predominance  of  the  better  brands  of  justice. 

There  are  still  officers  in  army  and  navy — not  as  many  as  formerly 
— who  believe  exclusively  in  the  morale  that  works  its  way  into  every 
body  of  recruits  through  discipline  and  the  sway  of  esprit  de  corps. 
"They  know  that  they're  here  to  can  the  Kaiser,  and  that's  all  they 
need  to  know,"  said  one  such  officer  to  me  very  recently.  "After  a 
man  has  been  here  two  months,  the  worst  punishment  you  can  give 
him  is  to  tell  him  he  can't  go  to  France  right  away.  The  soldier  is  a 
man  of  action;  and  the  less  thinking  he  does,  the  better."  There  is 
an  amount  of  practical  wisdom  in  this;  for  the  human  mind  has  a 
large  capacity  for  adopting  beliefs  that  fit  the  trend  of  its  habits 
and  feelings,  and  this  trend  is  powerfully  molded  by  the  unanimous 
direction  of  an  army's  purpose.  There  is  an  all  but  irresistible 
orthodoxy  within  a  body  committed  to  a  war.  And  the  current 
(pragmatic)  psychology  referred  to,  making  the  intelligence  a  mere 
instrument  of  the  will,  would  seem  to  sanction  the  maxim,  "First 
decide,  and  then  think  accordingly." 

But  there  are  two  remarks  to  be  made  about  this  view;  first, 
that  in  the  actual  creation  of  morale  within  an  army  corps  much 
thinking  is  included,  and  nothing  is  accomplished  without  the  consent 
of  such  thoughts  as  a  man  already  has.  Training  does  wonders  in 
making  morale,  when  nothing  in  the  mind  opposes  it.  Second,  that 
the  morale  which  is  sufficient  for  purposes  of  training  is  not  neces- 
sarily sufficient  for  the  strains  of  the  field. 

The  intrinsic  weakness  of  "affective  morale,"  as  psychologists 
call  it,  is  that  it  puts  both  sides  on  the  same  mental  and  moral  footing: 
it  either  justifies  our  opponents  as  well  as  ourselves,  or  it  makes  both 
sides  the  creatures  of  irrational  emotion. 

Crowds  are  capable  of  doing  reasonless  things  upon  impulse  and 
of  adopting  creeds  without  reflection.  But  an  army  is  not  a  crowd; 
still  less  is  a  nation  a  crowd.  A  mob  or  crowd  is  an  unorganized 
group  of  people  governed  by  less  than  the  average  individual  intelli- 
gence of  its  members.  Armies  and  nations  are  groups  of  people  so 
organized  that  they  are  controlled  by  an  intelligence  higher  than  the 
average.  The  instincts  that  lend,  and  must  lend,  their  immense 
motive-power  to  the  great  purposes  of  war  are  the  servants,  not  the 
masters,  of  that  intelligence. 


210  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

III.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    The  Scientific  Study  of  Societies 

Interest  in  the  study  of  "society  as  it  is"  has  had  its  source 
in  two  different  motives.  Travelers'  tales  have  always  fascinated 
mankind.  The  ethnologists  began  their  investigations  by  criticising 
and  systematizing  the  novel  and  interesting  observations  of  travelers 
in  regard  to  customs,  cultures,  and  behavior  of  people  of  different 
races  and  nationalities.  Their  later  more  systematic  investigations 
were,  on  the  whole,  inspired  by  intellectual  curiosity  divorced  from 
any  overwhelming  desire  to  change  the  manner  of  life  and  social 
organizations  of  the  societies  studied. 

The  second  motive  for  the  systematic  observation  of  actual 
society  came  from  persons  who  wanted  social  reforms  but  who  were 
forced  to  realize  the  futility  of  Utopian  projects.  The  science  of 
sociology  as  conceived  by  Auguste  Comte  was  to  substitute  fact  for 
doctrines  about  society.  But  his  attempt  to  interpret  social  evolution 
resulted  in  a  philosophy  of  history,  not  a  natural  science  of  society. 

Herbert  Spencer  appreciated  the  fact  that  the  new  science  of 
sociology  required  an  extensive  body  of  materials  as  a  basis  for  its 
generalizations.  Through  the  work  of  assistants  he  set  himself  the 
monumental  task  of  compiling  historical  and  cultural  materials  not 
only  upon  primitive  and  barbarous  peoples  but  also  upon  the  Hebrews, 
the  Phoenicians,  the  French  and  the  English.  These  data  were 
classified  and  published  in  eight  large  volumes  under  the  title 
Descriptive  Sociology. 

The  study  of  human  societies  was  too  great  to  be  satisfactorily 
compassed  by  the  work  of  one  man.  Besides  that,  Spencer,  like  most 
English  sociologists,  was  more  interested  in  the  progress  of  civilization 
than  in  its  processes.  Spencer's  Sociology  is  still  a  philosophy  of 
history  rather  than  a  science  of  society.  The  philosophy  of  history 
took  for  its  unit  of  investigation  and  interpretation  the  evolution  of 
human  society  as  a  whole.  The  present  trend  in  sociology  is  toward 
the  study  of  societies  rather  than  society.  Sociological  research  has 
been  directed  less  to  a  study  of  the  stages  of  evolution  than  to  the 
diagnosis  and  control  of  social  problems. 

Modern  sociology's  chief  inheritance  from  Comte  and  Spencer 
was  a  problem  in  logic:  What  is  a  society  ? 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  21 1 

Manifestly  if  the  relations  between  individuals  in  society  are  not 
merely  formal,  and  if  society  is  something  more  than  the  sum  of 
its  parts,  then  these  relations  must  be  denned  in  terms  of  interaction, 
that  is  to  say,  in  terms  of  process.  What  then  is  the  social  process; 
what  are  the  social  processes  ?  How  are  social  processes  to  be  distin- 
guished from  physical,  chemical,  or  biological  processes?  What  is, 
in  general,  the  nature  of  the  relations  that  need  to  be  established 
in  order  to  make  of  individuals  in  society,  members  of  society  ?  These 
questions  are  fundamental  since  they  define  the  point  of  view  of 
sociology  and  describe  the  sort  of  facts  with  which  the  science  seeks 
to  deal.  Upon  these  questions  the  schools  have  divided  and  up  to 
the  present  time  there  is  no  very  general  consensus  among  sociologists 
in  regard  to  them.  The  introductory  chapter  to  this  volume  is  at 
once  a  review  of  the  points  of  view  and  an  attempt  to  find  answers. 
In  the  literature  to  which  reference  is  made  at  the  close  of  chapter  iii 
the  logical  questions  involved  are  discussed  in  a  more  thorough- 
going way  than  has  been  possible  to  do  in  this  volume. 

Fortunately  science  does  not  wait  to  define  its  points  of  view 
nor  solve  its  theoretical  problems  before  undertaking  to  analyze  and 
collect  the  facts.  The  contrary  is  nearer  the  truth.  Science  collects 
facts  and  answers  the  theoretical  questions  afterward.  In  fact,  it 
is  just  its  success  in  analyzing  and  collecting  facts  which  throw  light 
upon  human  problems  that  in  the  end  justifies  the  theories  of  science. 

2.    Surveys  of  Communities 

The  historian  and  the  philosopher  introduced  the  sociologist 
to  the  study  of  society.  But  it  was  the  reformer,  the  social  worker, 
and  the  business  man  who  compelled  him  to  study  the  community. 

The  study  of  the  community  is  still  in  its  beginnings.  Never- 
theless, there  is  already  a  rapidly  growing  literature  on  this  topic. 
Ethnologists  have  presented  us  with  vivid  and  detailed  pictures  of 
primitive  communities  as  in  McGee's  The  Seri  Indians,  Jenks's  The 
Bontoc  Igorot,  Rivers'  The  Todas.  Studies  of  the  village  communities 
of  India,  of  Russia,  and  of  early  England  have  thrown  new  light 
upon  the  territorial  factor  in  the  organization  of  societies. 

More  recently  the  impact  of  social  problems  has  led  to  the  inten- 
sive study  of  modern  communities.  The  monumental  work  of 


212  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Charles  Booth,  Life  and  Labour  of  the  People  in  London,  is  a  compre- 
hensive description  of  conditions  of  social  life  in  terms  of  the  commu- 
nity. In  the  United  States,  interest  in  community  study  is  chiefly 
represented  by  the  social-survey  movement  which  received  impetus 
from  the  Pittsburgh  Survey  of  1907.  For  sociological  research  of 
greater  promise  than  the  survey  are  the  several  monographs  which 
seek  to  make  a  social  analysis  of  the  community,  as  Williams,  An 
American  Town,  or  Galpin,  The  Social  Anatomy  of  an  Agricultural 
Community.  With  due  recognition  of  these  auspicious  beginnings,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  there  is  no  volume  upon  human  communities 
comparable  with  several  works  upon  plant  and  animal  communities. 

3.    The  Group  as  a  Unit  of  Investigation 

The  study  of  societies  is  concerned  primarily  with  types  of  social 
organization  and  with  attitudes  and  cultural  elements  embodied  in 
them.  The  survey  of  communities  deals  essentially  with  social 
situations  and  the  problems  connected  with  them. 

The  study  of  social  groups  was  a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  study 
of  the  individual.  In  order  to  understand  the  person  it  is  necessary 
to  consider  the  group.  Attention  first  turned  to  social  institutions, 
then  to  conflict  groups,  and  finally  to  crowds  and  crowd  influences. 

Social  institutions  were  naturally  the  first  groups  to  be  studied 
with  some  degree  of  detachment.  The  work  of  ethnologists  stimu- 
lated an  interest  in  social  origins.  Evolution,  though  at  first  a  purely 
biological  conception,  provoked  inquiry  into  the  historical  develop- 
ment of  social  structure.  Differences  in  institutions  in  contemporary 
societies  led  to  comparative  study.  Critics  of  institutions,  both 
iconoclasts  without  and  reformers  within,  forced  a  consideration  of 
their  more  fundamental  aspects. 

The  first  written  accounts  of  conflict  groups  were  quite  naturally 
of  the  propagandist  type  both  by  their  defenders  and  by  their  oppo- 
nents. Histories  of  nationalities,  for  example,  originated  in  the 
patriotic  motive  of  national  glorification.  With  the  acceptance  of 
objective  standards  of  historical  criticism  the  ground  was  prepared 
for  the  sociological  study  of  nationalities  as  conflict  groups.  A 
school  of  European  sociologists  represented  by  Gumplowicz,  Ratzen- 
hofer,  and  Novicow  stressed  conflict  as  the  characteristic  behavior  of 
social  groups.  Beginnings,  as  indicated  in  the  bibliography,  have 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  213 

been  made  of  the  study  of  various  conflict  groups  as  gangs,  labor 
unions,  parties,  and  sects. 

The  interest  in  the  mechanism  of  the  control  of  the  individual 
by  the  group  has  been  focused  upon  the  study  of  the  crowd.  Tarde 
and  Le  Bon  in  France,  Sighele  in  Italy,  and  Ross  in  the  United  States 
were  the  pioneers  in  the  description  and  interpretation  of  the  behavior 
of  mobs  and  crowds.  The  crowd  phenomena  of  the  Great  War  have 
stimulated  the  production  of  several  books  upon  crowds  and  crowd 
influences  which  are,  in  the  main,  but  superficial  and  popular  elabora- 
tions of  the  interpretations  of  Tarde  and  Le  Bon.  Concrete  material 
upon  group  behavior  has  rapidly  accumulated,  but  little  or  no  progress 
has  been  made  in  its  sociological  explanation. 

At  present  there  are  many  signs  of  an  increasing  interest  in  the 
study  of  group  behavior.  Contemporary  literature  is  featuring 
realistic  descriptions.  Sinclair  Lewis  in  Main  Street  describes  con- 
cretely the  routine  of  town  life  with  its  outward  monotony  and  its 
inner  zest.  Newspapers  and  magazines  are  making  surveys  of  the 
buying  habits  of  their  readers  as  a  basis  for  advertising.  The  federal 
department  of  agriculture  in  co-operation  with  schools  of  agriculture 
is  making  intensive  studies  of  rural  communities.  Social  workers  are 
conscious  that  a  more  fundamental  understanding  of  social  groups  is 
a  necessary  basis  for  case  work  and  community  organization.  Sur- 
veys of  institutions  and  communities  are  now  being  made  under  many 
auspices  and  from  varied  points  of  view.  All  this  is  having  a  fruitful 
reaction  upon  the  sociological  theory. 

4.    The  Study  of  the  Family 

The  family  is  the  earliest,  the  most  elementary,  and  the  most 
permanent  of  social  groups.  It  has  been  more  completely  studied, 
in  all  its  various  aspects,  than  other  forms  of  human  association. 
Methods  of  investigation  of  family  life  are  typical  of  methods  that 
may  be  employed  in  the  description  of  other  forms  of  society.  For 
that  reason  more  attention  is  given  here  to  studies  of  family  life  than 
it  is  possible  or  desirable  to  give  to  other  and  more  transient  types  of 
social  groups. 

The  descriptions  of  travelers,  of  ethnologists  and  of  historians 
made  the  first  contributions  to  our  knowledge  of  marriage,  cere- 
monials, and  family  organization  among  primitive  and  historical 


214  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

peoples.  Early  students  of  these  data  devised  theories  of  stages  in 
the  evolution  of  the  family.  An  anthology  might  be  made  of  the 
conceptions  that  students  have  formulated  of  the  original  form  of  the 
family,  for  example,  the  theory  of  the  matriarchate  by  Bachofen,  of 
group  marriage  growing  out  of  earlier  promiscuous  relations  by 
Morgan,  of  the  polygynous  family  by  Darwin,  of  pair  marriage  by 
Westermarck.  An  example  of  the  ingenious,  but  discarded  method 
of  arranging  all  types  of  families  observed  in  a  series  representing 
stages  of  the  evolution  is  to  be  found  in  Morgan's  Ancient  Society. 
A  survey  of  families  among  primitive  peoples  by  Hobhouse,  Gins- 
berg, and  Wheeler  makes  the  point  that  even  family  life  is  most 
varied  upon  the  lower  levels  of  culture,  and  that  the  historical  devel- 
opment of  the  family  with  any  people  must  be  studied  in  relation 
to  the  physical  and  social  environment. 

The  evolutionary  theory  of  the  family  has,  however,  furnished 
a  somewhat  detached  point  of  view  for  the  criticism  of  the  modern 
family.  Social  reformers  have  used  the  evolutionary  theory  as  a 
formula  to  justify  attacks  upon  the  family  as  an  institution  and  to 
support  the  most  varied  proposals  for  its  reconstruction.  Books  like 
Ellen  Key's  Love  and  Marriage  and  Meisel-Hess,  The  Sexual  Crisis 
are  not  scientific  studies  of  the  family  but  rather  social  political 
philippics  directed  against  marriage  and  the  family. 

The  interest  stimulated  by  ethnological  observation,  historical 
study,  and  propagandist  essays  has,  however,  turned  the  attention 
of  certain  students  to  serious  study  of  the  family  and  its  problems. 
Howard's  History  of  Matrimonial  Institutions  is  a  scholarly  and  com- 
prehensive treatise  upon  the  evolution  of  the  legal  status  of  the  family. 
Annual  statistics  of  marriage  and  divorce  are  now  compiled  and  pub- 
lished by  all  the  important  countries  except  the  United  States  govern- 
ment. In  the  United  States,  however,  three  studies  of  marriages 
and  divorces  have  been  made;  one  in  1887-88,  by  the  Department 
of  Labor,  covering  the  twenty  years  from  1867-86  inclusive;  another 
in  1906-7,  by  the  Bureau  of  the  Census,  for  the  twenty  years  1887- 
1906;  and  the  last,  also  by  the  Bureau  of  the  Census,  for  the 
year  1916. 

The  changes  in  family  life  resulting  from  the  transition  from 
home  industry  to  the  factory  system  have  created  new  social  prob- 
lems. Problems  of  woman  and  child  labor,  unemployment,  and 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  215 

poverty  are  a  product  of  the  machine  industry.  Attempts  to  relieve 
the  distress  under  conditions  of  city  life  resulted  in  the  formation  of 
charity  organization  societies  and  other  philanthropic  institutions, 
and  in  attempts  to  control  the  behavior  of  the  individuals  and  families 
assisted.  The  increasing  body  of  experience  gained  by  social  agencies 
has  gradually  been  incorporated  in  the  technique  of  the  workers. 
Mary  Richmond  in  Social  Diagnosis  has  analyzed  and  standardized 
the  procedure  of  the  social  case  worker. 

Less  direct  but  more  fundamental  studies  of  family  life  have 
been  made  by  other  investigators.  Le  Play,  a  French  social  econo- 
mist, who  lived  with  the  families  which  he  observed,  introduced  the 
method  of  the  monographic  study  of  the  economic  organization  of 
family  life.  Ernst  Engel,  from  his  study  of  the  expenditure  of  Saxon 
working-class  families,  formulated  so-called  "laws"  of  the  relation 
between  family  income  and  family  outlay.  Recent  studies  of  family 
incomes  and  budgets  by  Chapin,  Ogburn,  and  others  have  thrown 
additional  light  upon  the  relationship  between  wages  and  the  standard 
of  living.  Interest  in  the  economics  of  the  family  is  manifested  by  an 
increasing  number  of  studies  in  dietetics,  household  administration 
and  domestic  science. 

Westermarck  in  his  History  of  Human  Marriage  attempted  to 
write  a  sociology  of  the  family.  Particularly  interesting  is  his  attempt 
to  compare  the  animal  family  with  that  of  man.  The  effect  of  this 
was  to  emphasize  instinctive  and  biological  aspects  of  the  family 
rather  than  its  institutional  character.  The  basis  for  a  psychology 
of  family  life  was  first  laid  in  the  Studies  in  the  Psychology  of  Sex  by 
Havelock  Ellis.  The  case  studies  of  individuals  by  psychoanalysts 
often  lead  into  family  complexes  and  illuminate  the  structure  of 
family  attitudes  and  wishes. 

The  sociological  study  of  the  family  as  a  natural  and  a  cultural 
group  is  only  now  in  its  beginnings.  An  excellent  theoretical  study 
of  the  family  as  a  unity  of  interacting  members  is  presented  in  Bosan- 
quet,  The  Family.  The  family  as  defined  in  the  mores  has  been 
described  and  interpreted,  as  for  example,  by  Thomas  in  his  analysis 
of  the  organization  of  the  large  peasant  family  group  in  the  first  two 
volumes  of  the  Polish  Peasant.  Materials  upon  the  family  in  the 
United  States  have  been  brought  together  by  Calhoun  in  his  Social 
History  of  the  American  Family. 


2i6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

While  the  family  is  listed  by  Cooley  among  primary  groups,  the 
notion  is  gaining  ground  that  it  is  primary  in  a  unique  sense  which 
sets  it  apart  from  all  other  social  groups.  The  biological  inter- 
dependence and  co-operation  of  the  members  of  the  family,  intimacies 
of  closest  and  most  enduring  contacts  have  no  parallel  -among  other 
human  groups.  The  interplay  of  the  attractions,  tensions,  and 
accommodations  of  personalities  in  the  intimate  bonds  of  family  life 
have  up  to  the  present  found  no  concrete  description  or  adequate 
analysis  in  sociological  inquiry. 

The  best  case  studies  of  family  life  at  present  are  in  fiction,  not  in 
the  case  records  of  social  agencies,  nor  yet  in  sociological  literature. 
Arnold  Bennett's  trilogy,  Clayhanger,  Hilda  Lessways,  and  These 
Twain,  suggests  a  pattern  not  unworthy  of  consideration  by  social 
workers  and  sociologists.  The  Pastor's  Wife,  by  the  author  of  Eliza- 
beth and  Her  German  Garden,  is  a  delightful  contrast  of  English  and 
German  mores  in  their  effect  upon  the  intimate  relations  of  family 
life. 

In  the  absence  of  case  studies  of  the  family  as  a  natural  and 
cultural  group  the  following  tentative  outline  for  sociological  study 
is  offered: 

1.  Location  and  extent  in  time  and  space. — Genealogical  tree  as  retained 
in  the  family  memory;  geographical  distribution  and  movement  of  members 
of  small  family  group  and  of  large  family  group;  stability  or  mobility  of 
family;   its  rural  or  urban  location. 

2.  Family  traditions  and  ceremonials. — Family  romance;  family  skele- 
ton; family  ritual,  as  demonstration  of  affection,  family  events,  etc. 

3.  Family  economics. — Family  communism;  division  of  labor  between 
members  of  the  family;  effect  of  occupation  of  its  members. 

4.  Family  organization  and  control. — Conflicts  and  accommodation; 
superordination  and  subordination;   typical  forms  of  control — patriarchy, 
matriarchy,  consensus,  etc.;   family  esprit  de  corps,  family  morale,  family 
objectives;  status  in  community. 

5.  Family  behavior. — Family  life  from  the  standpoint  of  the  four  wishes 
(security,  response,  recognition,  and  new  experience);  family  crises;  the 
family  and  the  community;   familism  versus  individualism;   family  life 
and  the  development  of  personality. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  217 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 
I.      THE  DEFINITION   OF  SOCIETY 

(1)  Kistiakowski,  Dr.  Th.    Gesellschaft  und  Einselwesen;  eine  method- 
ologische  Studie.    Berlin,  1899.     [A  review  and  criticism  of  the 
principal  conceptions  of  society  with  reference  to  their  value  for  a 
natural  science  of  society.] 

(2)  Barth,  Paul.    Die  Philosophic  der  Geschichte  als  Sociologie.    Leipzig, 
1897.    [A  comparison  of  the  different  schools  and  an  attempt  to 
interpret  them  as  essays  in  the  philosophy  of  history.] 

(3)  Espinas,  Alfred.    Des  societes  animates.    Paris,  1877.    [A  definition 
of  society  based  upon  a  comparative  study  of  animal  associations, 
communities,  and  societies.] 

(4)  Spencer,    Herbert.     "The  Social  Organism,"  Essays,   Scientific, 
Political  and  Speculative.    I,  265-307.    New  York,  1892.    [First 
published  in  The  Westminster  Review  for  January,  1860.] 

(5)  Lazarus,  M.,  and  Steinthal,  H.    "EinleitendeGedankenzur  Volker- 
psychologie  als  Einladung  zu  einer  Zeitschrift  fur  Volkerpsychologie 
und   Sprachwissenschaft,"    Zeitschrift  far    Volkerpsychologie    und 
Sprachwissenschaft,  I  (1860),  1-73.    [This  is  the  most  important 
early  attempt  to  interpret  social  phenomena  from  a  social  psychologi- 
cal point  of  view.     See  p.  35  for  definition  of  Volk  "the  people."] 

(6)  Knapp,  G.  Friedrich.     "Quetelet  als  Theoretiker,"  Jahrbiicher  fur 
Nationalokonomie  und  Statistik,  XVIII  (1872),  89-124. 

(7)  Lazarus,  M.    Das  Leben  der  Seele  in  Monographieen  iiber  seine 
Erscheinungen  und  Gesetze.    Berlin,  1876. 

(8)  Durkheim,  Emile.     "Representations  individuelles  et  representa- 
tions collectives,"  Revue  de  metaphysique  et  de  morale,  VI  (1898), 
273-302. 

(9)  Simmel,  Georg.     Uber  sociale  Differenzierung.     Sociologische  und 
psychologische  Untersuchungen.    Leipzig,  1890. 

[See  also  in  Bibliography,  chap,  i,  volumes  listed  under  Systematic 
Treatises.] 

II.      PLANT  COMMUNITIES  AND  ANIMAL  SOCIETIES 

(1)  Clements,   Frederic   E.    Plant   Succession.    An   analysis   of   the 
development  of  vegetation.     Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington, 
1916. 

(2)  Wheeler,  W.  M.    "The  Ant-Colony  as  an  Organism,"  Journal  of 
Morphology,  XXII  (1911),  307-25. 

(3)  Parmelee,  Maurice.     The  Science  of  Human  Behavior.    Biological 
and  Psychological  Foundations.    New  York,  1913.    [Bibliography.] 


218  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(4)  Massart,  J.,  and  Vandervelde,  E.    Parasitism,  Organic  and  Social. 
ad  ed.    Translated  by  W.  Macdonald.     Revised  by  J.  Arthur 
Thomson.    London,  1907. 

(5)  Warming,   Eug.     Oecology  of  Plants.     An   introduction    to  the 
study  of  plant  coihmunities.     Oxford,  1909.     [Bibliography.] 

(6)  Adams,  Charles  C.    Guide  to  the  Study  of  Animal  Ecology.    New 
York,  1913.    [Bibliography.] 

(7)  Waxweiler,  E.     "Esquisse  d'une  sociologie,"  Travaux  de  I'lnstitut 
de  Sociologie  (Solvay),  Notes  et  memoires,  Fasc.  2.    Bruxelles,  1906. 

(8)  Reinheimer,  H.    Symbiosis.    A  socio-physiological  study  of  evo- 
lution.   London,  1920. 

III.     THE  CLASSIFICATION  OF  SOCIAL  GROUPS 

A.  Types  of  Social  Groups 

1.  Non-territorial  Groups: 

(1)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.     The  Crowd.    A  study  of  the  popular  mind. 
London,  1897. 

(2)  Sighele,  S.    Psychologic  des  secies.     Paris,  1898. 

(3)  Tarde,  G.    L' opinion  et  la  foule.     Paris,  1901. 

(4)  Fahlbeck,  Pontus.    Klasserna  och  Samhallet.    Stockholm,  1920. 
[Book  review  in  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XXVI  (1920-21), 

633'34.1 

(5)  Nesfield,  John  C.    Brief  View  of  the  Caste  System  of  the  North- 
western Provinces  and  Oudh.    Allahabad,  1885. 

2.  Territorial  Groups: 

(1)  Simmel,  Georg.     "Die  Grossstadte  und  das  Geistesleben,"  Die 
Grossstadt,  Vortrage  und  Aufsatze  zur  Stadteausstellung,  von 
K.  Bucher,  F.  Ratzel,  G.  v.  Mayr,  H.  Waentig,  G.  Simmel, 
Th.  Peterman,  und  D.  Schafer.    Dresden,  1903. 

(2)  Galpin,  C.  J.     The  Social  Anatomy  of  an  Agricultural  Commu- 
nity.   Madison,  Wis.,  1915.     (Agricultural  experiment  station 
of  the  University  of  Wisconsin.    Research  Bulletin  34.)     [See 
also  Rural  Life,  New  York,  1918.] 

(3)  Aronovici,  Carol.     The  Social  Survey.     Philadelphia,  1916. 

(4)  McKenzie,  R.  D.     The  Neighborhood.    A  study  of  local  life  in 
Columbus,  Ohio.     Chicago,  1921  [in  press]. 

(5)  Park,  Robert  E.     "The  City.     Suggestions  for  the  Investiga- 
tion of  Human  Behavior  in  the  City  Environment,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XX  (1914-15),  577-612. 

(6)  Sims,  Newell  L.     The  Rural  Community,  Ancient  and  Modern. 
New  York,  1920. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE   GROUP  219 

B.  Studies  of  Individual  Communities 

(1)  Maine,  Sir  Henry.     Village-Communities  in  the  East  and  West. 
London,  1871. 

(2)  Baden-Powell,   H.     The   Indian    Village   Community.    Examined 
with  reference  to  the  physical,  ethnographic,  and  historical  condi- 
tions of  the  provinces.    London,  1896. 

(3)  Seebohm,  Frederic.     The  English  Village  Community.    Examined 
in  its  relations  to  the  manorial  and  tribal  systems  and  to  the  common 
or  open  field  system  of  husbandry.    An  essay  in  economic  history. 
London, 1883. 

(4)  McGee,  W  J.    "The  Sen  Indians,"  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology 
ijth  Annual  Report  1895-96.     Washington,  1898. 

(5)  Rivers,  W.  H.  R.     The  Todas.    London  and  New  York,  1906. 

(6)  Jenks,  Albert.     The  Bontoc  Igorot.    Manila,  1905. 

(7)  Stow,  John.    A  Survey  of  London.    Reprinted  from  the   text  of 
1 603  with  introduction  and  notes  by  C .  L.  Kingsf ord .     Oxford ,  1 908 . 

(8)  Booth,  Charles.    Life  and  Labour  of  the  People  in  London.    9  vols. 
London  and  New  York,  1892-97.     8  additional  volumes,  1902. 

(9)  Kellogg,  P.  U.,  ed.     The  Pittsburgh  Survey.     Findings  in  6  vols. 
Russell  Sage  Foundation,  New  York,  1909-14. 

(10)  Woods,  Robert.     The  City  Wilderness.    A  settlement  study,  south 

end  of  Boston.    Boston,  1898. 

.    Americans  in  Process.    A  settlement  study,  north  and 

west  ends  of  Boston.    Boston,  1902. 
(n)  Kenngott,  G.  F.     The  Record  of  a  City.    A  social  survey  of  Lowell, 

Massachusetts.    New  York,  1912. 

(12)  Harrison,  Shelby  M.,  ed.     The  Springfield  Survey.    A  study  of 
social  conditions  in  an  American  city.     Findings  in  3  vols.    Russell 
Sage  Foundation.    New  York,  1918. 

(13)  Roberts,  Peter.    Anthracite  Coal  Communities.    A  study  of  the 
demography,  the  social,  educational,  and  moral  life  of  the  anthracite 
regions.    New  York  and  London,  1904. 

(14)  Williams,  J.  M.    An  American  Town.    A  sociological  study.    New 
York,  1906. 

(15)  Wilson,   Warren  H.    Quaker  Hill.    A  sociological  study.    New 
York,  1907. 

(16)  Taylor,  Graham  R.    Satellite  Cities.    A  study  of  industrial  suburbs. 
New  York  and  London,  1915. 

(17)  Lewis,  Sinclair.    Main  Street.    New  York,  1920. 

(18)  Kobrin,  Leon.    A  Lithuanian  Village.    Translated  from  the  Yid- 
dish by  Isaac  Goldberg.    New  York,  1920. 


220  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

IV.      THE  STUDY  OF  THE  FAMILY 

A.   The  Primitive  Family 

1.  The  Natural  History  of  Marriage: 

(1)  Bachofen,  J.  J.     Das  Mullerrechl.     Eine  Untersuchung  iiber  die 
Gynaikokratie  der  alten  Welt  nach  ihrer  religiosen  und  recht- 
lichen  Natur.     Stuttgart,  1861. 

(2)  Westermarck,  E.     The  History  of  Human  Marriage.    London, 
1891. 

(3)  McLennan,  J.  F.    Primitive  Marriage.    An  inquiry  into  the 
origin  of  the  form  of  capture  in  marriage  ceremonies.    Edin- 
burgh, 1865. 

(4)  Tylor,  E.  B.     "The  Matriarchal  Family  System,"  Nineteenth 
Century,  XL  (1896),  81-96. 

(5)  Dargun,  L.  von.    Mutterrecht  und  Valerrecht.    Leipzig,  1892. 

(6)  Maine,  Sir  Henry.    Dissertations  on  Early  Law  and  Custom. 
Chap.  vii.    London,  1883. 

(7)  Letourneau,  C.     The  Evolution  of  Marriage  and  of  the  Family. 
(Trans.)     New  York,  1891. 

(8)  Kovalevsky,  M.     Tableau  des  origines  el  de  I' evolution  de  la 
famille  et  de  la  propriete.     Stockholm,  1890. 

(9)  Lowie,  Robert  H.    Primitive  Society.    New  York,  1920. 

(10)  Starcke,  C.  N.  The  Primitive  Family  in  Its  Origin  and  Develop- 
ment. New  York,  1889. 

(n)  Hobhouse,  L.  T.,  Wheeler,  G.  C.,  and  Ginsberg,  M.  The 
Material  Culture  and  Social  Institutions  of  the  Simpler  Peoples. 
London,  1915. 

(12)  Parsons,  Elsie  Clews.  The  Family.  An  ethnographical  and 
historical  outline.  New  York  and  London,  1906. 

2.  Studies  of  Family  Life  in  Different  Cultural  Areas: 

(1)  Spencer,  B.,  and  Gillen,  F.  J.     The  Native  Tribes  of  Central 
Australia.     Chap,  iii,  "Certain  Ceremonies  Concerned  with 
Marriage,"  pp.  92-111.    London  and  New  York,  1899. 

(2)  Rivers,  W.  H.  R.    Kinship  and  Social  Organization.     "Studies 
in  Economics  and  Political  Science,"  No.  36.    In  the  series  of 
monographs  by  writers  connected  with  the  London  School  of 
Economics  and  Political  Science.     London,  1914. 

(3)  -      — .     "Kinship,"  Cambridge  Anthropological  Expedition  to 
Torres  Straits,   Report.    V,  129-47,  VI,  92-125.     Cambridge, 
1904-8. 

(4)  Kovalevsky,  M.     "La  famille  matriarcale  au  Caucase,"  L'An- 
thropologie,  IV  (1893),  259-78. 

(5)  Thomas,  N.  W.    Kinship  Organizations  and  Group  Marriage  in 
Australia.     Cambridge,  1906. 

(6)  Malinowski,   Bronislaw.     The   Family   among   the   Australian 
Aborigines.     A  sociological  study.    London,  1913. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  221 

B.  Materials  for  the  Study  of  Familial  Attitudes  and  Sentiments 

(1)  Frazer,  J.  G.     Totemism  and  Exogamy.    A  treatise  on  certain  early 
forms  of  superstition  and  society.    London,  1910. 

(2)  Durkheim,  fi.     "  La  prohibition  de  1'inceste  et  ses  origines,"  L'annee 
sociologique,  I  (1896-97),  1-70. 

(3)  Ploss,  H.    Das  Weib  in  der  Natur-  und  Volkerkunde.    Leipzig,  1902. 

(4)  Lasch,  R.     "Der  Selbstmord  aus  erotischen  Motiven  bei  den  primi- 
tiven  Volkern,"  Zeitschrift  fur  Sozialwissenschaft,  II  (1899),  578-85. 

(5)  Jacobowski,  L.     "Das  Weib  in  der  Poesie  der  Hottentotten," 
Globus,  LXX  (1896),  173-76. 

(6)  Stoll,  O.    Das  Geschlechtsleben  in  der  Volker  psychologic.     Leipzig, 
1908. 

(7)  Crawley,  A.  E.     "Sexual  Taboo:  A  Study  in  the  Relations  of  the 
Sexes,"  The  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute,  XXIV  (1894- 
95),  116-25;   219-35;   430-46. 

(8)  Simmel,  G.     "Zur  Psychologic  der  Frauen,"  Zeitschrift  filr  Volker- 
psychologie  und  Sprachwissenschaft,  XX,  6-46. 

(9)  Finck,  Henry  T.    Romantic  Love  and  Personal  Beauty.    Their  devel- 
opment, causal  relations,  historic  and  national  peculiarities.    Lon- 
don and  New  York,  1887. 

(10) .    Primitive  Love  and  Love  Stories.    New  York,  1899. 

(n)  Kline,  L.  W.     "The  Migratory  Impulse  versus  Love  of  Home," 
American  Journal  of  Psychology,  X  (1898-99),  1-81. 

(12)  Key,  Ellen.    Love  and  Marriage.    Translated  from  the  Swedish  by 
A.  G.  Chater;    with  a  critical  and  biographical  introduction  by 
Havelock  Ellis.    New  York  and  London,  1912. 

(13)  Meisel-Hess,  Crete.     The  Sexual  Crisis.    A  critique  of  our  sex  life. 
Translated  from  the  German  by  E.  and  C.  Paul.    New  York,  1917. 

(14)  Bloch,  Iwan.     The  Sexual  Life  of  Our  Time  in  Its  Relation  to  Modern 
Civilization.    Translated  from  the  6th  German  ed.  by  M.  Eden 
Paul.    Chap,  viii,    "The   Individualization  of  Love,"  pp.  159-76. 
London,  1908. 

C.  Economics  of  the  Family 

(1)  Grosse,  Ernst.    Die  Formen  der  Familie  und  die  Formen  der  Wirt- 
schaft.    Freiburg,  1896. 

(2)  Le  Play,  P.  G.  Frederic.    Les  ouvriers  europeens.     Etudes  sur  les 
travaux,  la  vie  domestique,  et  la  condition  morale  des  populations 
ouvrieres  de  1'Europe.    Precedees  d'un   expose   de  la  methode 
d'observation.    Paris,  1855.    [Comprises  a  series  of  36  monographs 
on  the  budgets  of  typical  families  selected  from  the  most  diverse 
industries.] 


222  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(3)  Le  Play,  P.  G.  Fr£d6ric.     L' organisation  de  lafamille.     Selon  le  vrai 
modele  signale  par  1'histoire  de  toutes  les  races  et  de  tous  les  temps. 
Paris,  1871. 

(4)  Engel,  Ernst.    Die  Lebenskosten  belgischer  Arbeiter-Familien  friiher 
und  jetzt.    Ermittelt  aus  Familien-Haushaltrechnungen  und  ver- 
gleichend  zusammengestellt.    Dresden,   1895. 

(5)  Chapin,  Robert  C.     The  Standard  of  Living  among  Workingmen's 
Families   in   New    York   City.    Russell   Sage   Foundation.     New 
York,  1909. 

(6)  Talbot,  Marion,  and  Breckinridge,  Sophonisba  P.     The  Modern 
Household.    Rev.  ed.    Boston,  1919.     [Bibliography  at  the  end  of 
each  chapter.] 

(7)  Nesbitt,  Florence.    Household  Management.     Preface  by  Mary  E. 
Richmond.    Russell  Sage  Foundation.    New  York,  1918. 

D.  The  Sociology  of  the  Family 

i.  Studies  in  Family  Organization: 

(1)  Bosanquet,  Helen.     The  Family.    London  and  New  York,  1006. 

(2)  Durkheim,  E.     "Introduction  a  la  sociologie  de  la  famille." 
Annales  de  la  faculty  des  lettres  de  Bordeaux  (1888),  257-81. 

(3)  .    "La  famille  conjugale,"   Revue  philosophique,  XLI 

^1921),  1-14. 

(4)  Howard,  G.  E.    A  History  of  Matrimonial  Institutions  Chiefly 
in  England  and  the  United  States.    With  an  introductory  analysis 
of  the  literature  and  theories  of  primitive  marriage  and  the 
family.    3  vols.     Chicago,  1904. 

(5)  Thwing,  Charles  F.  and  Carrie  F.  B.     The  Family.    A  historical 
and  social  study.     Boston,  1887. 

(6)  Goodsell,  Willystine.    A  History  of  the  Family  as  a  Social  and 
Educational  Institution.    New  York,  1915. 

(7)  Dealey,  J.  Q.     The  Family  in  Its  Sociological  Aspects.    Boston. 
1912. 

(8)  Calhoun,  Arthur  W.    A  Social  History  of  the  American  Family 
from  Colonial  Times  to  the  Present.    3  vols.     Cleveland,  1917- 
19.     [Bibliography.] 

(9)  Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F.     The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe 
and  America.     "Primary-Group  Organization,"  I,  87-524,  II. 
Boston,  1918.     [A   study   based  on   correspondence  between 
members  of  the  family  in  America  and  Poland.] 

(10)  Du  Bois,  W.  E.  B.     The  Negro  American  Family.    Atlanta, 
1908.     [Bibliography.] 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  223 

(n)  Williams,  James  M.  "Outline  of  a  Theory  of  Social  Motives," 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XV  (1009-10),  741-80.  [Theory 
of  motives  based  upon  observation  of  rural  and  urban  families.] 

Materials  for  the  Study  of  Family  Disorganization  : 

(1)  Willcox,  Walter  F.     The  Divorce  Problem.    A  study  in  statistics. 
("Columbia  University  Studies  in  History,  Economics  and 
Public  Law,"  Vol.  I.    New  York,  1891.) 

(2)  Lichtenberger,  J.  P.    Divorce.    A  study  in  social  causation. 
New  York,  1909. 

(3)  United  States  Bureau  of  the  Census.    Marriage  and  Divorce, 
1867-1906.     2  vols.    Washington,  1908-09.     [Results  of  two 
federal  investigations.] 

(4)  —  •  —  —  .    Marriage  and  Divorce,  ipi6.    Washington,  1919. 

(5)  Eubank,  Earle  E.    A  Study  in  Family  Desertion.     Department 
of  Public  Welfare.     Chicago,  1916.     [Bibliography.] 

(6)  Breckinridge,  Sophonisba  P.,  and  Abbott,  Edith.     The  Delin- 
quent Child  and  the  Home.    A  study  of  the  delinquent  wards  of 
the  Juvenile  Court  of  Chicago.    Russell  Sage  Foundation.    New 
York,  1912. 

(7)  Colcord,  Joanna.    Broken  Homes.    A  study  of  family  desertion 
and   its   social   treatment.    Russell   Sage   Foundation.    New 
York,  1919. 

(8)  Kammerer,  Percy  G.     The  Unmarried  Mother.    A  study  of  five 
hundred  cases.    Boston,  1918. 

(9)  Ellis,  Havelock.     The  Task  of  Social  Hygiene.     Boston,  1912. 
(10)  Myerson,  Abraham.     "Psychiatric  Family  Studies,"  American 

Journal  of  Insanity,  LXXIV  (April,  1918),  497-555. 
(n)  Morrow,   Prince   A.    Social   Diseases   and    Marriage.     Social 

prophylaxis.    New  York,  1904. 
(12)   Periodicals  on  Social  Hygiene: 

Zeitschrift  fiir  Sexualwissenschaft,  Bd.  i,  April,  1914-,  Bonn 


Social  Hygiene,  Vol.  I,  December,  1914-,  New  York  [1915-]. 
Die  Neuere  Generation,  Ed.  i,  1908-,  Berlin  [1908-].    Preceded 
by  Mutterschutz,  Vols.  I-III. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  Society  and  the  Individual:  The  Cardinal  Problem  of  Sociology 

2.  Historic  Conceptions  of  Society:   Aristotle,  Hobbes,  Rousseau,  etc. 

3.  Plant  Communities 

4.  Animal  Societies:  The  Ant  Colony,  the  Bee  Hive 

5.  Animal  Communities,  or  Studies  in  Animal  Ecology 


224  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

6.  Human  Communities,  Human  Ecology,  and  Economics 

7.  The  Natural  Areas  of  the  City 

8.  Studies  in  Group  Consciousness:  National,  Sectional,  State,  Civic 

9.  Co-operation  versus  Consensus 

10.  Taming  as  a  Form  of  Social  Control 

11.  Domestication  among  Plants,  Animals,  and  Man 

12.  Group  Unity  and  the  Different  Forms  of  Consensus:  Esprit  de  corps, 
Morale,  Collective  Representations 

13.  The  Social  Nature  of  Concepts 

14.  Conduct  and  Behavior 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  What,  in  your  opinion,  are  the  essential  elements  in  Espinas'  definition 
of  society  ? 

2.  In  what  sense  does  society  differ  from  association  ? 

3.  According  to  Espinas'  definition,  which  of  the  following  social  relations 
would  constitute  society:  robber  and  robbed;  beggar  and  almsgiver; 
charity  organization  and  recipients  of  relief;   master  and  slave;   em- 
ployer and  employee  ? 

4.  What  illustrations  of  symbiosis  in  human  society  occur  to  you  ? 

5.  Are  changes  resulting  from  human  symbiosis  changes  (a)  of  structure, 
or  (b)  of  function? 

6.  What  are  the  likenesses  and  the  differences  between  social  symbiosis 
in  human  and  in  ant  society  ? 

7.  What  is  the  difference  between  taming  and  domestication  ? 

8.  What  is  the  relation  of  domestication  to  society  ? 

9.  Is  man  a  tamed  or  a  domesticated  animal  ? 

10.  What  are  the  likenesses  between  a  plant  and  a  human  community  ? 
What  are  the  differences  ? 

11.  What  is  the  fundamental  difference  between  a  plant  community  arid  an 
ant  society  ? 

12.  What  are  the  differences  between  human  and  animal  societies? 

13.  Does  the  ant  have  customs?  ceremonies? 

14.  Do  you  think  that  there  is  anything  akin  to  public  sentiment  in  ant 
society  ? 

15.  What  is  the  relation  of  education  to  social  heredity? 

16.  In  what  way  do  you  differentiate  between  the  characteristic  behavior 
of  machines  and  human  beings  ? 

17.  "Society  not  only  continues  to  exist  by  transmission,  by  communication, 
but  it  may  fairly  be  said  to  exist  in  transmission,  in  communication." 
Interpret. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  GROUP  225 

1 8.  How  does  Dewey's  definition  of  society  differ  from  that  of  Espinas? 
Which  do  you  prefer  ?    Why  ? 

19.  Is  consensus  synonymous  with  co-operation? 

20.  Under  what  conditions  would  Dewey  characterize  the  following  social 
relations  as  society:    master  and  slave;    employer  and  employee; 
parent  and  child;  teacher  and  student  ? 

21.  In  what  sense  does  the  communication  of  an  experience  to  another 
person  change  the  experience  itself  ? 

22.  In  what  sense  are  concepts  social  in  contrast  with  sensations  which 
are  individual?    Would  it  be  possible  to  have  concepts  outside  of 
group  life  ? 

23.  How  does  Park  distinguish  between  behavior  and  conduct  ? 

24.  In  what  ways  is  human  society  in  its  origin  and  continuity  based  on 
conduct  ? 

25,/To  what  extent  does  "the  animal  nature  of  man"  (Hobhouse)  provide 
^   a  basis  for  the  social  organization  of  life  ? 

26.  What,  according  to  Hobhouse,  are  the  differentia  of  human  morality 
from  animal  behavior  ? 

27.  What  do  you  understand  by  a  collective  representation? 

28.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  the  terms  society,  social  community, 
and  group  ?    Can  you  name  a  society  that  could  not  be  considered  as 
a  community  ?    Can  you  name  a  community  that  is  not  a  society  ? 

29.  In  what,  fundamentally,  does  the  unity  of  the  group  consist  ? 

30.  What  groups  are  omitted  in  Le  Bon's  classification  of  social  groups  ? 
Make  a  list  of  all  the  groups,  formal  and  informal,  of  which  you  are  a 
member.    Arrange  these  groups  under  the  classification  given  in  the 
General  Introduction  (p.  50).     Compare  this  classification  with  that 
made  by  Le  Bon. 

31.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  esprit  de  corps,  morale,  and  collective 
representation  as  forms  of  consensus  ? 

32.  Classify  under  esprit  de  corps,  morale,  or  collective  representation  the 
following  aspects  of  group  behavior:    rooting  at  a  football  game; 
army  discipline;  the  flag;  college  spirit;  the  so-called  "war  psychosis"; 
the  fourteen  points  of  President  Wilson;  "  the  English  never  know  when 
they  are  beaten";   slogans;   "Paris  refrains  from  exultation";   crowd 
enthusiasm;   the  Golden  Rule;   "where  there's  a  will  there's  away"; 
Grant's   determination,    "I'll   fight   it   out   this  way  if  it   takes   all 
summer";  ideals. 

33.  "The  human  mind  has  a  large  capacity  for  adopting  beliefs  that  fit 
the  trends  of  its  habits  and  feelings."     Give  concrete  illustrations  out- 
side of  army  life. 

34.  What  is  the  importance  of  the  study  of  the  family  as  a  social  group  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 
ISOLATION 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.     Geographical  and  Biological  Conceptions  of  Isolation 

Relations  of  persons  with  persons,  and  of  groups  with  groups,  may 
be  either  those  of  isolation  or  those  of  contact.  The  emphasis  in  this 
chapter  is  placed  upon  isolation,  in  the  next  chapter  upon  contact  in 
a  comparison  of  their  effects  upon  personal  conduct  and  group 
behavior. 

Absolute  isolation  of  the  person  from  the  members  of  his  group  is 
unthinkable.  Even  biologically,  two  individuals  of  the  higher  animal 
species  are  the  precondition  to  a  new  individual  existence.  In  man, 
postnatal  care  by  the  parent  for  five  or  six  years  is  necessary  even 
for  the  physiological  survival  of  the  offspring.  Not  only  biologically 
but  sociologically  complete  isolation  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 
Sociologists  following  Aristotle  have  agreed  with  him  that  human 
nature  develops  within  and  decays  outside  of  social  relations.  Isola- 
tion, then,  in  the  social  as  well  as  the  biological  sense  is  relative,  not 
absolute. 

The  term  "isolation"  was  first  employed  in  anthropogeography, 
the  study  of  the  relation  of  man  to  his  physical  environment.  To 
natural  barriers,  as  mountains,  oceans,  and  deserts,  was  attributed 
an  influence  upon  the  location  of  races  and  the  movements  of  peoples 
and  the  kind  and  the  degree  of  cultural  contact.  The  nature  and  the 
extent  of  separation  of  persons  and  groups  was  considered  by  geog- 
raphers as  a  reflex  of  the  physical  environment. 

In  biology,  isolation  as  a  factor  in  the  evolution  and  the  life  of 
the  species,  is  studied  from  the  standpoint  of  the  animal  group  more 
than  from  that  of  the  environment.  Consequently,  the  separation 
of  species  from  each  other  is  regarded  as  the  outcome  not  only  of  a 
sheer  physical  impossibility  of  contact,  but  even  more  of  other  factors 
as  differences  in  physical  structure,  in  habits  of  lif e,  and  in  the  instincts 

226 


ISOLATION  227 

of  the  animal  groups.  J.  Arthur  Thomson  in  his  work  on  "  Heredity  " 
presents  the  following  compact  and  illuminating  statement  of  isolation 
as  a  factor  in  inheritance. 

The  only  other  directive  evolution-factor  that  biologists  are  at  all  agreed 
about,  besides  selection,  is  isolation — a  general  term  for  all  the  varied  ways 
in  which  the  radius  of  possible  intercrossing  is  narrowed.  As  expounded 
by  Wagner,  Weismann,  Romanes,  Gulick,  and  others,  isolation  takes  many 
forms — spatial,  structural,  habitudinal,  and  psychical — and  it  has  various 
results. 

It  tends  to  the  segregation  of  species  into  sub-species,  it  makes  it  easier 
for  new  variations  to  establish  themselves,  it  promotes  prepotency,  or  what 
the  breeders  call  "transmitting  power,"  it  fixes  characters.  One  of  the 
most  successful  breeds  of  cattle  (Polled  Angus)  seems  to  have  had  its  source 
in  one  farmsteading;  its  early  history  is  one  of  close  inbreeding,  its  pre- 
potency is  remarkable,  its  success  from  our  point  of  view  has  been  great. 
It  is  difficult  to  get  secure  data  as  to  the  results  of  isolation  in  nature,  but 
Gulick's  recent  volume  on  the  subject  abounds  in  concrete  illustrations, 
and  we  seem  warranted  in  believing  that  conditions  of  isolation  have  been 
and  are  of  frequent  occurrence. 

Reibmayr  has  collected  from  human  history  a  wealth  of  illustrations 
of  various  forms  of  isolation,  and  there  seems  much  to  be  said  for  his  thesis 
that  the  establishment  of  a  successful  race  or  stock  requires  the  alternation 
of  periods  of  inbreeding  (endogamy)  in  which  characters  are  fixed,  and 
periods  of  outbreeding  (exogamy)  in  which,  by  the  introduction  of  fresh 
blood,  new  variations  are  promoted.  Perhaps  the  Jews  may  serve  to 
illustrate  the  influence  of  isolation  in  promoting  stability  of  type  and 
prepotency;  perhaps  the  Americans  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  variability 
which  a  mixture  of  different  stocks  tends  to  bring  about.  In  historical 
inquiry  into  the  difficult  problem  of  the  origin  of  distinct  races,  it  seems 
legitimate  to  think  of  periods  of  "mutation" — of  discontinuous  sporting — 
which  led  to  numerous  offshoots  from  the  main  stock,  of  the  migration  of 
these  variants  into  new  environments  where  in  relative  isolation  they  became 
prepotent  and  stable.1 

The  biological  use  of  the  term  "isolation"  introduces  a  new 
emphasis.  Separation  may  be  spatial,  but  its  effects  are  increas- 
ingly structural  and  functional.  Indeed,  spatial  isolation  was  a 
factor  in  the  origin  of  species  because  of  specialized  organic  adaptation 
to  varied  geographic  conditions.  In  other  words,  the  structure  of 

1  J.  Arthur  Thomson,  Heredity,  pp.  536-37.     (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  1908.) 


228  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  species,  its  habits  of  life,  and  its  original  and  acquired  responses, 
tend  to  isolate  it  from  other  species. 

Man  as  an  animal  species  in  his  historical  development  has 
attempted  with  fair  success  to  destroy  the  barriers  separating  him 
from  other  animals.  Through  domestication  and  taming  he  has 
changed  the  original  nature  and  habits  of  life  of  many  animals.  The 
dog,  the  companion  of  man,  is  the  summit  of  human  achievement  in 
association  with  animals.  Nevertheless,  the  barriers  that  separate  the 
dog  and  his  master  are  insurmountable.  Even  if  "a  candidate  for 
humanity,"  the  dog  is  forever  debarred  from  any  share  in  human 
tradition  and  culture. 

2.    Isolation  and  Segregation 

ID  geography,  isolation  denotes  separation  in  space.  In  sociology, 
the  essential  characteristic  of  isolation  is  found  in  exclusion  from 
communication. 

Geographical  forms  of  isolation  are  sociologically  significant  in 
so  far  as  they  prevent  communication.  The  isolation  of  the  moun- 
tain whites  in  the  southern  states,  even  if  based  on  spatial  separation, 
consisted  in  the  absence  of  contacts  and  competition,  participation 
in  the  progressive  currents  of  civilization. 

Biological  differences,  whether  physical  or  mental,  between  the 
different  races  are  sociologically  important  to  the  extent  to  which 
they  affect  communication.  Of  themselves,  differences  in  skin  color 
between  races  would  not  prevent  intercommunication  of  ideas.  But 
the  physical  marks  of  racial  differences  have  invariably  become  the 
symbols  of  racial  solidarity  and  racial  exclusiveness.  The  problems 
of  humanity  are  altogether  different  from  what  they  would  have  been 
were  all  races  of  one  complexion  as  they  are  of  one  blood. 

Certain  physical  and  mental  defects  and  differences  in  and  of 
themselves  tend  to  separate  the  individual  from  his  group.  The 
deafmute  and  the  blind  are  deprived  of  normal  avenues  to  communi- 
cation. "My  deafness,"  wrote  Beethoven,  "forces  me  to  live  in 
exile."  The  physically  handicapped  are  frequently  unable  to  par- 
ticipate in  certain  human  activities  on  equal  terms  with  their  fellows. 
Minor  physical  defects  and  marked  physical  variations  from  the 
normal  tend  to  become  the  basis  of  social  discrimination. 


ISOLATION  229 

« 

Mental  differences  frequently  offer  still  greater  obstacles  to  social 
contacts.  The  idiot  and  the  imbecile  are  obviously  debarred  from 
normal  communication  with  their  intelligent  associates.  The  "  dunce  " 
was  isolated  by  village  ridicule  and  contempt  long  before  the  term 
"moron"  was  coined,  or  the  feeble-minded  segregated  in  institutions 
and  colonies.  The  individual  with  the  highest  native  endowments, 
the  genius,  and  the  talented  enjoy  or  suffer  from  a  more  subtle  type 
of  isolation  from  their  fellows,  that  is,  the  isolation  of  eminence. 
"The  reason  of  isolation,"  says  Thoreau,  a  lover  of  solitude,  "is 
not  that  we  love  to  be  alone,  but  that  we  love  to  soar;  and  when 
we  soar,  the  company  grows  thinner  and  thinner  until  there  is 
none  left." 

So  far,  isolation  as  a  tool  of  social  analysis  has  been  treated  as 
an  effect  of  geographical  separation  or  of  structural  differentiation 
resulting  in  limitation  of  communication.  Social  distances  are  fre- 
quently based  on  other  subtler  forms  of  isolation. 

The  study  of  cultural  differences  between  groups  has  revealed 
barriers  quite  as  real  and  as  effective  as  those  of  physical  space  and 
structure.  Variations  in  language,  folkways,  mores,  conventions, 
and  ideals  separate  individuals  and  peoples  from  each  other  as  widely 
as  oceans  and  deserts.  Communication  between  England  and  Aus- 
tralia is  far  closer  and  freer  than  between  Germany  and  France. 

Conflict  groups,  like  sects  and  parties,  and  accommodation  groups 
like  castes  and  classes  depend  for  survival  upon  isolation.  Free 
intercourse  of  opposing  parties  is  always  a  menace  to  their  morale. 
Fraternization  between  soldiers  of  contending  armies,  or  between 
ministers  of  rival  denominations  is  fraught  with  peril  to  the  fighting 
efficiency  of  the  organizations  they  represent.  The  solidarity  of  the 
group,  like  the  integrity  of  the  individual,  implies  a  measure  at  least 
of  isolation  from  other  groups  and  persons  as  a  necessary  condition 
of  its  existence. 

The  life-history  of  any  group  when  analyzed  is  found  to  incorpo- 
rate within  it  elements  of  isolation  as  well  as  of  social  contact. 
Membership  in  a  group  makes  for  increasing  contacts  within  the 
circle  of  participants,  but  decreasing  contacts  with  persons  without. 
Isolation  is  for  this  reason  a  factor  in  the  preservation  of  individuality 
and  unity.  The  esprit  de  corps  and  morale  of  the  group  is  in  large 
part  maintained  by  the  fixation  of  attention  upon  certain  collective 


230          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

representations  to  the  exclusion  of  others.  The  memories  and  senti- 
ments of  the  members  have  their  source  in  common  experiences  of 
the  past  from  which  non-members  are  isolated.  This  natural  ten- 
dency toward  exclusive  experiences  is  often  reinforced  by  conscious 
emphasis  upon  secrecy.  Primitive  and  modern  secret  societies, 
sororities,  and  fraternities  have  been  organized  around  the  principle 
of  isolation.  Secrecy  in  a  society,  like  reserve  in  an  individual,  pro- 
tects it  from  a  disintegrating  publicity.  The  family  has  its  "  skeleton 
in  the  closet,"  social  groups  avoid  the  public  "washing  of  dirty  linen"; 
the  community  banishes  from  consciousness,  if  it  can,  its  slums,  and 
parades  its  parks  and  boulevards.  Every  individual  who  has  any 
personality  at  all  maintains  some  region  of  privacy. 

A  morphological  survey  of  group  formation  in  any  society  dis- 
closes the  fact  that  there  are  lateral  as  well  as  vertical  divisions  in 
the  social  structure.  Groups  are  arranged  in  strata  of  relative 
superiority  and  inferiority.  In  a  stratified  society  the  separation 
into  castes  is  rigid  and  quite  unalterable.  In  a  free  society  compe- 
tition tends  tc  destroy  classes  and  castes.  New  devices  come  into 
use  to  keep  aspiring  and  insurgent  individuals  and  groups  at  the 
proper  social  level.  If  "familiarity  breeds  contempt"  respect  may 
be  secured  by  reserve.  In  the  army  the  prestige  of  the  officer  is 
largely  a  matter  of  "distance."  The  "divinity  that  doth  hedge  the 
king"'  is  due  in  large  part  to  the  hedge  of  ceremonial  separating  him 
from  his  subjects.  Condescension  and  pity,  while  they  denote  exter- 
nal contact,  involve  an  assumption  of  spiritual  eminence  not  to 
be  found  in  consensus  and  sympathy.  As  protection  against  the 
penetration  of  the  inner  precincts  of  personality  and  the  group  indi- 
viduality, there  are  the  defenses  of  suspicion  and  aversion,  of 
reticence  and  reserve,  designed  to  insure  the  proper  social  distance. 

3.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  materials  in  the  present  chapter  are  intended  to  illustrate 
the  fact  that  individuality  of  the  person  and  of  the  group  is  both  an 
effect  of  and  a  cause  of  isolation. 

The  first  selections  under  the  heading  "Isolation  and  Personal 
Individuality"  bring  out  the  point  that  the  function  of  isolation  in 
personal  development  lies  not  so  much  in  sheer  physical  separation 
from  other  persons  as  in  freedom  from  the  control  of  external  social 


ISOLATION  231 

contacts.  Thus  Rousseau  constructs  an  ideal  society  in  the  solitude 
of  his  forest  retreat.  The  lonely  child  enjoys  the  companionship  of 
his  imaginary  comrade.  George  Eliot  aspires  to  join  the  choir 
invisible.  The  mystic  seeks  communion  with  divinity. 

This  form  of  isolation  within  the  realm  of  social  contacts  is  known 
as  privacy.  Indeed  privacy  may  be  denned  as  withdrawal  from  the 
group,  with,  at  the  same  time,  ready  access  to  it.  It  is  in  solitude 
that  the  creative  mind  organizes  the  materials  appropriated  from  the 
group  in  order  to  make  novel  and  fruitful  innovations.  Privacy 
affords  opportunity  for  the  individual  to  reflect,  to  anticipate,  to 
recast,  and  to  originate.  Practical  recognition  of  the  human  demand 
for  privacy  has  been  realized  in  the  study  of  the  minister,  the  office 
.of  the  business  man,  and  the  den  of  the  boy.  Monasteries  and 
universities  are  institutions  providing  leisure  and  withdrawal  from 
the  world  as  the  basis  for  personal  development  and  preparation  for 
life's  work.  Other  values  of  privacy  are  related  to  the  growth  of 
self-consciousness,  self-respect,  and  personal  ideals  of  conduct. 

Many  forms  of  isolation,  unlike  privacy,  prevent  access  to  stimu- 
lating social  contact.  Selections  under  the  heading  "Isolation  and 
Retardation"  indicate  conditions  responsible  for  the  arrest  of  mental 
and  personal  growth. 

The  cases  of  feral  men,  in  the  absence  of  contradictory  evidence, 
seem  adequate  in  support  of  Aristotle's  point  that  social  contacts  are 
indispensable  for  human  development.  The  story  by  Helen  Keller, 
the  talented  and  celebrated  blind  deaf-mute,  of  her  emergence  from 
the  imprisonment  of  sense  deprivation  into  the  free  life  of  commu- 
nication is  a  most  significant  sociological  document.  With  all  of  us 
the  change  from  the  animal-like  isolation  of  the  child  at  birth  to 
personal  participation  in  the  fullest  human  life  is  gradual.  In  Helen 
Keller's  case  the  transformation  of  months  was  telescoped  into 
minutes.  The  "miracle"  of  communication  when  sociologically 
analyzed  seems  to  consist  in  the  transition  from  the  experience  of 
sensations  and  sense  perceptions  which  man  shares  in  common  with 
animals  to  the  development  of  ideas  and  self-consciousness  which  are 
the  unique  attributes  of  human  beings. 

The  remaining  selections  upon  isolation  and  retardation  illus- 
trate the  different  types  of  situations  hi  which  isolation  makes  for 
retardation  and  retardation  in  turn  emphasizes  the  isolation.  The 


232  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

reversion  of  a  man  of  scientific  training  in  the  solitudes  of  Patagonia 
to  the  animal  level  of  mentality  suggests  that  the  low  intelligence  of 
the  savage,  the  peasant,  and  the  backward  races  is  probably  due 
more  to  the  absence  of  stimulating  contacts  than  to  original  mental 
inferiority.  So  the  individuality  and  conservatism  of  the  farmer, 
his  failure  to  keep  pace  with  the  inhabitant  of  the  town  and  city, 
Galpin  assigns  to  deficiency  in  social  contacts.  Then,  too,  the 
subtler  forms  of  handicap  in  personal  development  and  achievement 
result  from  social  types  of  isolation,  as  race  prejudice,  the  sheltered 
life  of  woman,  exclusiveness  of  social  classes,  and  make  for  increased 
isolation. 

Up  to  this  point,  isolation  has  been  treated  statically  as  a  cause. 
Under  the  heading,  "Isolation  and  Segregation"  it  is  conceived  as. 
an  effect,  an  effect  of  competition,  and  the  consequent  selection  and 
segregation. 

The  first  effect  of  the  introduction  of  competition  in  any  society 
is  to  break  up  all  types  of  isolation  and  provincialism  based  upon 
lack  of  communication  and  contact.  But  as  competition  continues, 
natural  and  social  selection  comes  into  play.  Successful  types  emerge 
in  the  process  of  competitive  struggle  while  variant  individuals  who 
fail  to  maintain  the  pace  or  conform  to  standard  withdraw  or  are 
ejected  from  the  group.  Exiled  variants  from  several  groups  under 
auspicious  circumstances  may  in  turn  form  a  community  where  the 
process  of  selection  will  be  directly  opposite  to  that  in  their  native 
groups.  In  the  new  community  the  process  of  selection  naturally 
accentuates  and  perfects  the  traits  originally  responsible  for  exclusion. 
The  outcome  of  segregation  is  the  creation  of  specialized  social  types 
with  the  maximum  of  isolation.  The  circle  of  isolation  is  then 
complete. 

This  circular  effect  of  the  processes  of  competition,  selection,  and 
segregation,  from  isolation  to  isolation,  may  be  found  everywhere  in 
modern  western  society.  Individual  variants  with  criminalistic  tend- 
encies exiled  from  villages  and  towns  through  the  process  of  selection 
form  a  segregated  group  in  city  areas  popularly  called  "breeding  places 
of  crime."  The  tribe  of  Pineys,  Tin  Town,  The  Village  of  a  Thousand 
Souls,  are  communities  made  up  by  adverse  selection  of  feeble-minded 
individuals,  outcasts  of  the  competitive  struggle  of  intelligent,  "high- 
minded"  communities.  The  result  is  the  formation  of  a  criminal 
type  and  of  a  feeble-minded  caste.  These  slums  and  outcast  groups 


ISOLATION  233 

are  in  turn  isolated  from  full  and  free  communication  with  the  pro- 
gressive outside  world. 

National  individuality  in  the  past,  as  indicated  in  the  selections 
upon  "Isolation  and  National  Individuality,"  has  been  in  large  degree 
the  result  of  a  cultural  process  based  upon  isolation.  The  historical 
nations  of  Europe,  biologically  hybrid,  are  united  by  common  lan- 
guage, folkways,  and  mores.  This  unity  of  mother  tongue  and  culture 
is  the  product  of  historical  and  cultural  processes  circumscribed,  as 
Shaler  points  out,  by  separated  geographical  areas. 

A  closer  examination  of  the  cultural  process  in  the  life  of  pro- 
gressive historical  peoples  reveals  the  interplay  of  isolation  and 
social  contacts.  Grote  gives  a  penetrating  analysis  of  Grecian 
achievement  in  terms  of  the  individuality  based  on  small  isolated 
land  areas  and  the  contacts  resulting  from  maritime  communication. 
The  world-hegemony  of  English-speaking  peoples  today  rests  not 
only  upon  naval  supremacy  and  material  resources  but  even  more 
upon  the  combination  of  individual  development  in  diversified  areas 
with  large  freedom  in  international  contacts. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      ISOLATION  AND  PERSONAL  INDIVIDUALITY 
i.     Society  and  Solitude1 

It  had  been  hard  for  him  that  spake  it  to  have  put  more  truth 
and  untruth  together  in  few  words  than  in  that  speech:  "Whosoever 
is  delighted  in  solitude  is  either  a  wild  beast  or  a  god."  For  it  is 
most  true  that  a  natural  and  secret  hatred  and  aversation  towards 
society  in  any  man  hath  somewhat  of  the  savage  beast;  but  it  is 
most  untrue  that  it  should  have  any  character  at  all  of  the  divine 
nature  except  it  proceed,  not  out  of  a  pleasure  in  solitude,  but  out  of 
a  love  and  desire  to  sequester  a  man's  self  for  a  higher  conversation, 
such  as  is  found  to  have  been  falsely  and  feignedly  in  some  of  the 
heathen,  as  Epimenides  the  Candian,  Numa  the  Roman,  Empedocles 
the  Sicilian,  and  Apollonius  of  Tyana;  and  truly  and  really  in  divers 
of  the  ancient  hermits  and  Holy  Fathers  of  the  Church.  But  little 
do  men  perceive  what  solitude  is,  and  how  far  it  extendeth.  For  a 
crowd  is  not  company,  and  faces  are  but  a  gallery  of  pictures,  and 

1  From  Francis  Bacon,  Essays,  "Of  Friendship." 


234          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

talk  but  a  tinkling  cymbal,  where  there  is  no  love.  The  Latin  adage 
meeteth  with  it  a  little:  Magna  civitas  magna  solitudo  ("A  great  town 
is  a  great  solitude"),  because  in  a  great  town  friends  are  scattered,  so 
that  there  is  not  that  fellowship,  for  the  most  part,  which  is  in  less 
neighborhoods.  But  we  may  go  further,  and  affirm  most  truly  that 
it  is  a  mere  and  miserable  solitude  to  want  true  friends,  without 
which  the  world  is  but  a  wilderness;  and,  even  hi  this  sense  also  of 
solitude,  whosoever  in  the  frame  of  his  nature  and  affections  is  unfit 
for  friendship,  he  taketh  it  of  the  beast  and  not  from  humanity. 

2.     Society  in  Solitude1 

What  period  do  you  think,  sir,  I  recall  most  frequently  and  most 
willingly  in  my  dreams  ?  Not  the  pleasures  of  my  youth:  they  were 
too  rare,  too  much  mingled  with  bitterness,  and  are  now  too  distant. 
I  recall  the  period  of  my  seclusion,  of  my  solitary  walks,  of  the  fleet- 
ing but  delicious  days  that  I  have  passed  entirely  by  myself,  with 
my  good  and  simple  housekeeper,  with  my  beloved  dog,  my  old  cat, 
with  the  birds  of  the  field,  the  hinds  of  the  forest,  with  all  nature,  and 
her  inconceivable  Author. 

But  what,  then,  did  I  enjoy  when  I  was  alone?  Myself;  the 
entire  universe;  all  that  is;  all  that  can  be;  all  that  is  beautiful  in 
the  world  of  sense;  all  that  is  imaginable  in  the  world  of  intellect. 
I  gathered  around  me  all  that  could  delight  my  heart;  my  desires 
were  the  limit  of  my  pleasures.  No,  never  have  the  voluptuous  known 
such  enjoyments;  and  I  have  derived  a  hundred  times  more  happiness 
from  my  chimeras  than  they  from  their  realities. 

The  wild  spot  of  the  forest  [selected  by  Rousseau  for  his  solitary 
walks  and  meditations]  could  not  long  remain  a  desert  to  my  imagina- 
tion. I  soon  peopled  it  with  beings  after  my  own  heart,  and,  dis- 
missing opinion,  prejudice,  and  all  factitious  passions,  I  brought  to 
these  sanctuaries  of  nature  men  worthy  of  inhabiting  them.  I  formed 
with  these  a  charming  society,  of  which  I  did  not  feel  myself  unworthy. 
I  made  a  golden  age  according  to  my  fancy,  and,  filling  up  these 
bright  days  with  all  the  scenes  of  my  life  that  had  left  the  tenderest 
recollections,  and  with  all  that  my  heart  still  longed  for,  I  affected 
myself  to  tears  over  the  true  pleasures  of  humanity — pleasure  so 

1  Adapted  from  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  Letter  to  the  President  de  Malesherbes, 
1762. 


ISOLATION  235 

delicious,  so  pure,  and  yet  so  far  from  men!  Oh,  if  in  these  moments 
any  ideas  of  Paris,  of  the  age,  and  of  my  little  author  vanity,  disturbed 
my  reveries,  with  what  contempt  I  drove  them  instantly  away,  to 
give  myself  up  entirely  to  the  exquisite  sentiments  with  which  my 
soul  was  filled.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  I  confess  the  nothing- 
ness of  my  chimeras  would  sometimes  appear,  and  sadden  me  in  a 
moment. 

3.     Prayer  as  a  Form  of  Isolation1 

He  who  prays  begins  his  prayer  with  some  idea  of  God,  generally 
one  that  he  has  received  irom  instruction  or  from  current  traditions. 
He  commonly  retires  to  a  quiet  place,  or  to  a  place  having  mental 
associations  of  religious  cast,  in  order  to  ''shut  out  the  world."  This 
beginning  of  concentration  is  followed  by  closing  the  eyes,  which 
excludes  a  mass  of  irrelevant  impressions.  The  body  bows,  kneels, 
or  assumes  some  other  posture  that  requires  little  muscular  tension 
and  that  may  favor  extensive  relaxation.  Memory  now  provides 
the  language  of  prayer  or  of  hallowed  scripture,  or  makes  vivid  some 
earlier  experiences  of  one's  own.  The  worshiper  represents  to  him- 
self his  needs,  or  the  interests  (some  of  them  happy  ones)  that  seem 
most  important,  and  he  brings  them  into  relation  to  God  by  thinking 
how  God  regards  them.  The  presupposition  of  the  whole  procedure 
is  that  God's  way  of  looking  at  the  matters  in  question  is  the  true  and 
important  one.  Around  God,  then,  the  interests  of  the  individual 
are  now  freshly  organized.  Certain  ones  that  looked  large  before  the 
prayer  began,  now  look  small  because  of  their  relation  to  the  organ- 
izing idea  upon  which  attention  has  focused.  On  the  other  hand, 
interests  that  express  this  organizing  idea  gain  emotional  quality 
by  this  release  from  competing,  inhibiting  considerations.  To  say 
that  the  will  now  becomes  organized  toward  unity  and  that  it  acquires 
fresh  power  thereby  is  simply  to  name  another  aspect  of  the  one  move- 
ment. This  movement  is  ideational,  emotional,  and  volitional  con- 
centration, all  in  one,  achieved  by  fixation  of  attention  upon  the  idea 
of  God. 

Persons  who  have  been  troubled  with  insomnia,  or  wakefulness 
or  disturbing  dreams,  have  been  enabled  to  secure  sound  sleep  by 

'Adapted  from  George  Albert  Coe,  The  Psychology  of  Religion,  pp.  311-18. 
(The  University  of  Chicago  Press,  1917.) 


236 

merely  relaxing  the  muscles  and  repeating  mechanically,  without 
effort  at  anything  more,  some  formula  descriptive  of  what  is  desired. 
The  main  point  is  that  attention  should  fix  upon  the  appropriate 
organizing  idea.  When  this  happens  in  a  revival  meeting  one  may 
find  one's  self  unexpectedly  converted.  When  it  happens  in  prayer 
one  may  be  surprised  to  find  one's  whole  mood  changed  from  dis- 
couragement to  courage,  from  liking  something  to  hating  it  (as  in 
the  case  of  alcoholic  drinks,  or  tobacco),  or  from  loneliness  to  the 
feeling  of  companionship  with  God. 

This  analysis  of  the  structure  of  prayer  has  already  touched 
upon  some  of  its  functions.  It  is  a  way  of  getting  one's  self  together, 
of  mobilizing  and  concentrating  one's  dispersed  capacities,  of  begetting 
the  confidence  that  tends  toward  victory  over  difficulties.  It  pro- 
duces in  a  distracted  mind  the  repose  that  is  power.  It  freshens  a 
mind  deadened  by  routine.  It  reveals  new  truth,  because  the  mind 
is  made  more  elastic  and  more  capable  of  sustained  attention.  Thus 
does  it  remove  mountains  in  the  individual,  and,  through  him,  in  the 
world  beyond. 

The  values  of  prayer  in  sickness,  distress,  and  doubt  are  by  no 
means  measurable  by  the  degree  to  which  the  primary  causes  thereof 
are  made  to  disappear.  There  is  a  real  conquest  of  trouble,  even 
while  trouble  remains.  It  is  sometimes  a  great  source  of  strength, 
also,  merely  to  realize  that  one  is  fully  understood.  The  value  of 
having  some  friend  or  helper  from  whom  I  reserve  no  secrets  has 
been  rendered  more  impressive  than  ever  by  the  Freud- Jung  methods 
of  relieving  mental  disorders  through  (in  part)  a  sort  of  mental  house- 
cleaning,  or  bringing  into  the  open  the  patient's  hidden  distresses 
and  even  his  most  intimate  and  reticent  desires.  Into  the  psychology 
of  the  healings  that  are  brought  about  by  this  psychoanalysis  we  need 
not  go,  except  to  note  that  one  constant  factor  appears  to  be  the 
turning  of  a  private  possession  into  a  social  possession,  and  particularly 
the  consciousness  that  another  understands.  I  surmise  that  we  shall 
not  be  far  from  the  truth  here  if  we  hold  that,  as  normal  experience 
has  the  ego-alter  form,  so  the  continuing  possession  of  one's  self  in 
one's  developing  experience  requires  development  of  this  relation. 
We  may,  perhaps,  go  as  far  as  to  believe  that  the  bottling  up  of  any 
experience  as  merely  private  is  morbid.  But,  however  this  may  be, 
there  are  plenty  of  occasions  when  the  road  to  poise,  freedom,  and 


ISOLATION  237 

joy  is  that  of  social  sharing.  Hence  the  prayer  of  confession,  not 
only  because  it  helps  us  to  see  ourselves  as  we  are,  but  also  because 
it  shares  our  secrets  with  another,  has  great  value  for  organizing  the 
self.  In  this  way  we  get  relief  from  the  misjudgments  of  others, 
also,  and  from  the  mystery  that  we  are  to  ourselves,  for  we  lay  our 
case,  as  it  were,  before  a  judge  who  does  not  err.  Thus  prayer  has 
value  in  that  it  develops  the  essentially  social  form  of  personal 
self-realization. 

To  complete  this  functional  view  of  prayer  we  must  not  fail  to 
secure  the  evolutionary  perspective.  If  we  glance  at  the  remote 
beginnings,  and  then  at  the  hither  end,  of  the  evolution  of  prayer 
we  discover  that  an  immense  change  has  taken  place.  It  is  a  correlate 
of  the  transformed  character  of  the  gods,  and  of  the  parallel  dis- 
ciplining of  men's  valuations.  In  the  words  of  Fosdick,  prayer  may 
be  considered  as  dominant  desire.  But  it  is  also  a  way  of  securing 
domination  over  desire.  It  is  indeed  self-assertion;  sometimes  it  is 
the  making  of  one's  supreme  claim,  as  when  life  reaches  its  most 
tragic  crisis;  yet  it  is,  even  in  the  same  act,  submission  to  an  over- 
self.  Here,  then,  is  our  greater  problem  as  to  the  function  of  prayer. 
It  starts  as  the  assertion  of  any  desire;  it  ends  as  the  organization  of 
one's  own  desires  into  a  system  of  desires  recognized  as  superior  and 
then  made  one's  own. 

4.     Isolation,  Originality,  and  Erudition1 

The  question  as  to  how  far  the  world's  leaders  in  thought  and 
action  were  great  readers  is  not  quite  an  easy  one  to  answer,  partly 
because  the  sources,  of  information  are  sometimes  scanty,  and  partly 
because  books  themselves  have  been  few  in  number.  If  we  could 
prove  that  since  the  days  of  Caxton  the  world's  total  of  original 
thought  declined  in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  published  works, 
we  should  stand  on  firm  ground,  and  might  give  orders  for  a  holocaust 
such  as  that  which  Hawthorne  once  imagined.  But  no  such  proof  is 
either  possible  or  probable.  We  can  only  be  impressed  by  the  fact 
that  the  finest  intellectual  epoch  of  history  was  marked  by  a  compara- 
tive absence  of  the  manuscripts  which  -were  books  to  the  Greeks,  and 
if  a  further  analysis  of  the  lives  of  men  of  light  and  leading  in  all 

'From  T.  Sharper  Knowlson,  Originality,  pp.  173-75.  (T.  Werner  Laurie, 
1918.) 


238  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

ages  should  show  that  their  devotion  to  the  books  of  the  period  was 
slight,  it  will,  only  accentuate  the  suspicion  that  even  today  we  are 
still  minus  the  right  perspective  between  the  printed  volume  and  the 
thinking  mind. 

Buddha,  Christ,  St.  Paul,  Mohammed — these  are  names  of  men 
who  changed  the  course  of  history.  But  do  they  suggest  vast  scholar- 
ship, or  a  profound  acquaintance  with  books  in  any  sense  whatever  ? 
They  were  great  originators,  even  though  they  built  on  other  men's 
foundations,  but  their  originality  was  not  inspired  by  libraries.  Can 
we  imagine  Mohammed  poring  over  ancient  manuscripts  in  order  to 
obtain  the  required  knowledge  and  impetus  for  his  new  religion? 
With  Buddha  was  it  not  i  per  cent  papyrus  roll  and  99  per  cent 
meditation  ?  When  St.  Paul  was  struck  down  on  the  way  to  Damas- 
cus, he  did  not  repair  to  the  nearest  Jewish  seminary  to  read  up 
prophecy.  He  says:  "I  went  into  Arabia."  The  desert  solitude 
was  the  only  place  in  which  to  find  a  rationale  of  his  new  experience. 
And  was  it  not  in  a  similar  life  of  solitude  that  Jesus — Essene- 
like — came  to  self-realization  ?  Deane's  Pseudepigrapha:  Books  that 
Influenced  our  Lord  and  His  Apostles  does  not  suggest  that  the 
Messiah  obtained  his  ideas  from  the  literature  of  the  Rabbis,  much 
less  from  Greek  or  other  sources ;  indeed,  the  New  Testament  suggests 
that  in  the  earliest  years  he  showed  a  genius  for  divine  things. 

It  will  be  urged  that  to  restrict  this  inquiry  to  great  names  in 
religion  would  be  unfair  because  such  leaders  are  confessedly  inde- 
pendent of  literature;  indeed,  they  are  often  the  creators  of  it.  True; 
but  that  fact  alone  is  suggestive.  If  great  literature  can  come  from 
meditation  alone,  are  we  not  compelled  to  ask:  "Where  shall  wisdom 
be  found  and  where  is  the  place  of  understanding?"  Is  enlighten- 
ment to  be  found  only  in  the  printed  wisdom  of  the  past  ?  We  know 
it  is  not,  but  we  also  know  it  is  useless  to  set  one  source  of  truth  over 
against  another,  as  if  they  were  enemies.  The  soul  has  its  place  and 
so  has  the  book;  but  need  it  be  said  that  the  soul  has  done  more 
wonderful  things  than  the  book?  Language  is  merely  the  symbol; 
the  soul  is  the  reality. 

But  let  us  take  other  names  with  different  associations — e.g., 
Plato,  Charlemagne,  Caesar,  Shakespeare,  Napoleon,  Bismarck.  Can 
it  be  said  of  any  one  of  these  that  he  owed  one-third  of  his  dis- 
tinction to  what  he  learned  from  manuscripts  or  books?  We  do 


ISOLATION  239 

know,  indeed,  that  Bismarck  was  a  wide  reader,  but  it  was  on  the 
selective  principle  as  a  student  of  history  and  affairs.  His  library 
grew  under  the  influence  of  the  controlling  purpose  of  his  life — i.e., 
the  unification  of  Germany,  so  that  there  was  no  vague  distribution 
of  energy.  Of  Shakespeare's  reading  we  know  less,  but  there  is  no 
evidence  that  he  was  a  collector  of  books  or  that  he  was  a  student 
after  the  manner. of  the  men  of  letters  of  his  day.  The  best  way  to 
estimate  him  as  a  reader  is  to  judge  him  by  the  references  in  his  plays, 
and  these  do  not  show  an  acquaintance  with  literature  so  extensive 
as  it  is  intensive.  The  impression  he  made  on  Ben  Jonson,  an 
all-round  scholar,  was  not  one  of  learning — quite  otherwise.  The 
qualities  that  impressed  the  author  of  Timber,  or  Discoveries  upon 
Men  and  Matter,  were  Shakespeare's  "open  and  free  nature,"  his 
"excellent  fancy,  brave  notions,  and  gentle  expressions  wherein  he 
flowed  with  that  facility  that  sometimes  it  was  necessary  he  should 
be  stopped."  And,  true  to  himself,  Ben  Jonson  immediately  adds: 
"Sufflaminandus  erat,  as  Augustus  said  of  Haterius."  Shakespeare, 
when  in  the  company  of  kindred  spirits,  showed  precisely  the  kind  of 
talk  we  should  expect — not  Latin  and  Greek  or  French  and  Italian 
quotations,  not  a  commentary  on  books  past  or  present,  but  a  stream 
of  conversation  marked  by  brilliant  fancy,  startling  comparison, 
unique  contrast,  and  searching  pathos,  wherein  life,  not  literature, 
was  the  chief  subject. 

B.      ISOLATION  AND  RETARDATION 
i.     Feral  Men1 

What  would  the  results  be  if  children  born  with  a  normal  organism 
and  given  food  and  light  sufficient  to  sustain  life  were  deprived  of 
the  usual  advantage  of  human  intercourse?  What  psychic  growth 
would  be  possible  ? 

Perhaps  no  character  ever  aroused  greater  interest  than  Caspar 
Hauser.  More  than  a  thousand  articles  of  varying  merit  have  been 
written  concerning  him.  In  the  theaters  of  England,  France,  Ger- 
many, Hungary,  and  Austria,  plays  were  founded  on  his  strange 
story  and  many  able  men  have  figured  in  the  history  of  his  case. 

1  From  Maurice  H.  Small,  "On  Some  Psychical  Relations  of  Society  and 
Solitude,"  in  the  Pedagogical  Seminary,  VII,  No.  2  (1900),  32-36. 


240  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

According  to  a  letter  which  he  bore  when  found  at  Niirnberg  one 
afternoon  in  1828,  he  was  born  in  1812,  left  on  the  doorstep  of  a  Hun- 
garian peasant's  hut,  adopted  by  him,  and  reared  in  strict  seclusion. 

At  the  time  of  his  appearance  in  Niirnberg,  he  could  walk  only 
with  difficulty.  He  knew  no  German,  understood  but  little  that  was 
said  to  him,  paid  no  heed  to  what  went  on  about  him,  and  was  ignorant 
of  social  customs.  When  taken  to  a  stable,  he  at  once  fell  asleep 
on  a  heap  of  straw.  In  time  it  was  learned  that  he  had  been  kept 
in  a  low  dark  cell  on  the  ground;  that  he  had  never  seen  the  face  of 
the  man  who  brought  him  food,  that  sometimes  he  went  to  sleep  after 
the  man  gave  him  a  drink;  that  on  awakening  he  found  his  nails  cut 
and  clean  clothing  on  his  body;  and  that  his  only  playthings  had  been 
two  wooden  horses  with  red  ribbons. 

When  first  found,  he  suffered  much  pain  from  the  light,  but  he 
could  see  well  at  night.  He  could  distinguish  fruit  from  leaves  on  a 
tree,  and  read  the  name  on  a  doorplate  where  others  could  see  nothing 
in  the  darkness.  He  had  no  visual  idea  of  distance  and  would  grasp 
at  remote  objects  as  though  they  were  near.  He  called  both  men  and 
women  Bua  and  all  animals  Rosz.  His  memory  span  for  names  was 
marvelous.  Drawing  upon  the  pages  of  Von  Kolb  and  Stanhope,  a 
writer  in  The  Living  Age  says  that  he  burned  his  hand  in  the  first 
flame  that  he  saw  and  that  he  had  no  fear  of  being  struck  with  swords, 
but  that  the  noise  of  a  drum  threw  him  into  convulsions.  He  thought 
that  pictures  and  statuary  were  alive,  as  were  plants  and  trees, 
bits  of  paper,  and  anything  that  chanced  to  be  in  motion.  He 
delighted  in  whistles  and  glittering  objects,  but  disliked  the  odor 
of  paint,  fabrics,  and  most  flowers.  His  hearing  was  acute  and  his 
touch  sensitive  at  first,  but  after  interest  in  him  had  lessened,  all  his 
senses  showed  evidence  of  rapid  deterioration.  He  seemed  to  be 
wanting  in  sex  instinct  and  to  be  unable  to  understand  the  meaning 
of  religious  ceremonies.  Merker,  who  observed  him  secretly  during 
the  early  days  which  he  spent  in  jail,  declared  that  he  was  "in  all 
respects  like  a  child."  Meyer,  of  the  school  at  Ansbach,  found  him 
"idle,  stupid,  and  vain."  Dr.  Osterhausen  found  a  deviation  from 
the  normal  in  the  shape  of  his  legs,  which  made  walking  difficult,  but 
Caspar  never  wearied  of  riding  on  horseback. 

His  autopsy  revealed  a  small  brain  without  abnormalities.  It 
simply  gave  evidence  of  a  lack  of  development. 


ISOLATION  241 

To  speak  of  children  who  have  made  the  struggle  for  life  with 
only  animals  for  nurses  and  instructors  is  to  recall  the  rearing  of 
Cyrus  in  a  kennel  and  the  fabulous  story  of  the  founding  of  Rome. 
Yet  Rauber  has  collected  many  cases  of  wild  men  and  some  of  them, 
taken  as  they  are  from  municipal  chronicles  and  guaranteed  by 
trustworthy  writers,  must  be  accepted  as  authentic. 

a)  The   Hessian   Boy.     Was   discovered   by   hunters   in    1341, 
running  on  all  fours  with  wolves;  was  captured  and  turned  over  to 
the  landgrave.    Was  always  restless,  could  not  adapt  himself  to 
civilized  life,  and  died  untamed.    The  case  is  recorded  in  the  Hessian 
chronicles  by  Wilhelm  Dilich.    Rousseau  refers  to  it  in  his  Discours 
sur  Vorigine  el  les  fondements  de  Vinegaliti  parmi  les  hommes. 

b)  The  Irish  Boy.     Studied  and  described  by  Dr.  Tulp,  curator 
of  the  gymnasium  at  Amsterdam;    features  animal,  body  covered 
with  hair;  lived  with  sheep  and  bleated  like  them;  stolid,  unconscious 
of  self;  did  not  notice  people;  fierce,  untamable,  and  indocible;  skin 
thick,  sense  of  touch  blunted  so  that  thorns  and  stones  were  unnoticed. 
Age  about  sixteen.     (Rauber.) 

c)  The  Lithuanian  Boys.    Three  are  described.    The  first  was 
found  with  bears  in  1657;    face  not  repulsive  nor  beastlike;    hair 
thick  and  white;    skin  dry  and  insensitive;    voice  a  growl;    grea 
physical  strength.    He  was  carefully  instructed  and  learned  to  obey 
his  trainer  to  some  degree  but  always  kept  the  bear  habit;  ate  vege- 
table food,  raw  flesh,  and  anything  not  containing  oils;  had  a  habit 
of  rolling  up  in  secluded  places  and  taking  long  naps.    The  second, 
said  to  have  been  captured  in  1669,  is  not  so  well  described  as  the 
third,  which  Dr.  Connor,  in  the  History  of  Poland,  says  was  found  hi 
1694.    This  one  learned  to  walk  erect  with  difficulty,  but  was  always 
leaping  restlessly  about;  he  learned  to  eat  from  a  table,  but  mastered 
only  a  few  words,  which  he  spoke  in  a  voice  harsh  and  inhuman.    He 
showed  great  sagacity  in  wood  life. 

d}  The  Girl  of  Cranenburg.  Born  in  1700;  lost  when  sixteen 
months  old;  skin  dark,  rough,  hard;  understood  but  little  that  was 
said  to  her;  spoke  little  and  stammeringly;  food — roots,  leaves,  and 
milk.  (Rauber.) 

e)  Clemens  of  Overdyke.  This  boy  was  brought  to  Count  von 
der  Ricke's  Asylum  after  the  German  struggle  with  Napoleon.  He 
knew  little  and  said  little.  After  careful  training  it  was  gathered 


242  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

that  his  parents  were  dead  and  that  a  peasant  had  adopted  him  and 
set  him  to  herd  pigs.  Little  food  was  given  him,  and  he  learned  to 
suck  a  cow  and  eat  grass  with  the  pigs.  At  Overdyke  he  would  get 
down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  pull  up  vegetables  with  his  teeth. 
He  was  of  low  intelligence,  subject  to  fits  of  passion,  and  fonder  of 
pigs  than  of  men.1 

/)  Jean  de  Liege.  Lost  at  five;  lived  in  the  woods  for  sixteen 
years;  food — roots,  plants,  and  wild  fruit;  sense  of  smell  extraordi- 
narily keen;  could  distinguish  people  by  odor  as  a  dog  would  recog- 
nize his  master;  restless  in  manner,  and  always  trying  to  escape. 
(Rauber.) 

g)  The  Savage  of  Aveyron.  After  capture,  was  given  into  the 
care  of  Dr.  Itard  by  Abbe  Sicard.  Dermal  sense  duller  than  in 
animals;  gaze  wandering;  language  wanting  and  ideas  few;  food — 
raw  potatoes,  acorns,  and  fruit;  would  eagerly  tear  open  a  bird  and 
eat  it  raw;  indolent,  secretive;  would  hide  in  the  garden  until  hunger 
drove  him  to  the  kitchen;  rolled  in  new  snow  like  an  animal;  paid 
no  heed  to  the  firing  of  a  gun,  but  became  alert  at  the  cracking  of 
a  nut;  sometimes  grew  wildly  angry;  all  his  powers  were  then 
enlarged;  was  delighted  with  hills  and  woods,  and  always  tried  to 
escape  after  being  taken  to  them;  when  angry  would  gnaw  clothing 
and  hurl  furniture  about;  feared  to  look  from  a  height,  and  Itard 
cured  him  of  spasms  of  rage  by  holding  his  head  out  of  a  window; 
met  all  efforts  to  teach  him  with  apathy,  and  learned  but  little  of 
language.2 

ti)  The  Wolf  Children  of  India.  The  two  cases  described  by  a 
writer  in  Chambers'  Journal  and  by  Rauber  were  boys  of  about  ten 
years.  Both  ate  raw  food  but  refused  cooked  food;  one  never  spoke, 
smiled,  or  laughed;  both  shunned  human  beings  of  both  sexes,  but 
would  permit  a  dog  to  eat  with  them;  they  pined  in  captivity,  and 
lived  but  a  short  time.3 

f)  Peter  of  Hanover.  Found  in  the  woods  of  Hanover;  food — 
buds,  barks,  roots,  frogs,  eggs  of  birds,  and  anything  else  that  he 
could  get  out  of  doors;  had  a  habit  of  wandering  away  in  the  spring; 
always  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  he  had  his  supper;  was  unable  to 
walk  hi  shoes  at  first,  and  it  was  long  before  he  would  tolerate  a 

1  Anthropological  Review,  I  (London,  1863),  21  ff. 

2  All  the  Year,  XVIII,  302  ff.  *  Chambers'  Journal,  LIX,  579  ff. 


ISOLATION  243 

covering  for  his  head.  Although  Queen  Caroline  furnished  him  a 
teacher,  he  could  never  learn  to  speak;  he  became  docile,  but  remained 
stoical  in  manner;  he  learned  to  do  farm  work  willingly  unless  he  was 
compelled  to  do  it;  his  sense  of  hearing  and  of  smell  was  acute,  and 
before  changes  in  the  weather  he  was  sullen  and  irritable;  he  lived  to 
be  nearly  seventy  years  old.1 

j)  The  Savage  of  Kronstadt.  Of  middle  size,  wild-eyed,  deep- 
jawed,  and  thick- throated;  elbows  and  knees  thick;  cuticle  insensi- 
tive; unable  to  understand  words  or  gestures  perfectly;  generally 
indifferent;  found  1784.* 

k)  The  Girl  of  Songi.  According  to  Rauber,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  frequently  quoted  of  feral  cases.  The  girl  came  out  of  the 
forest  near  Chalons  in  1731.  She  was  thought  to  be  nine  years  old. 
She  carried  a  club  in  her  hand,  with  which  she  killed  a  dog  that 
attacked  her.  She  climbed  trees  easily,  and  made  niches  on  walls 
and  roofs,  over  which  she  ran  like  a  squirrel.  She  caught  fish  and 
ate  them  raw;  a  cry  served  for  speech.  She  showed  an  instinct  for 
decorating  herself  with  leaves  and  flowers.  She  found  it  difficult 
to  adapt  herself  to  the  customs  of  civilized  life  and  suffered  many 
fits  of  sickness.  In  1747  she  was  put  into  a  convent  at  Chalons. 
She  learned  something  of  the  French  language,  of  domestic  science, 
and  embroidery.  She  readily  understood  what  was  pointed  out  to 
her  but  always  had  certain  sounds  which  were  not  understood.  She 
claimed  to  have  first  begun  to  reflect  after  the  beginning  of  her  educa- 
tion. In  her  wild  life  she  thought  only  of  her  own  needs.  She 
believed  that  the  earth  and  the  trees  produced  her,  and  her  earliest 
memory  of  shelter  was  of  holes  in  the  ground.3 

2.    From  Solitude  to  Society4 

The  most  important  day  I  remember  in  all  my  life  is  the  one  on 
which  my  teacher,  Anne  Mansfield  Sullivan,  came  to  me.  I  am 

1  The  Penny  Magazine,  II,  113. 

3  Wagner,  Beilragen  zur  philosophischen  Anthropologie;  Rauber,  pp.  49-55. 

3  "Histoire  d'une  jeune  fille  sauvage  trouvee  dans  les  bois  a  Page  de  dix  ans," 
Magazin  der  Natur,  Kunst,  und  Wissensckaft,  Leipzig,  1756,  pp.  219-72;  Mercurede 
France,  December,  1731;  Rudolphi,  Grundriss  der  Physiologic,  I,  25;  Blumenbach, 
Beitrage  zur  Natur geschichte,  II,  38. 

4  Adapted  from  Helen  Keller,  The  Story  of  My  Life,  pp.  22-24.     (Doubleday, 
Page  &  Co.,  1917.) 


244  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

filled  with  wonder  when  I  consider  the  immeasurable  contrast  between 
the  two  lives  which  it  connects.  It  was  the  third  of  March,  1887, 
three  months  before  I  was  seven  years  old. 

The  morning  after  my  teacher  came  she  led  me  into  her  room  and 
gave  me  a  doll.  The  little  blind  children  at  the  Perkins  Institution 
had  sent  it  and  Laura  Bridgman  had  dressed  it;  but  I  did  not  know 
this  until  afterward.  When  I  had  played  with  it  a  little  while, 
Miss  Sullivan  slowly  spelled  into  my  hand  the  word  "d-o-1-1."  I 
was  at  once  interested  in  this  finger  play  and  tried  to  imitate  it. 
When  I  finally  succeeded  in  making  the  letters  correctly  I  was  flushed 
with  childish  pleasure  and  pride.  Running  downstairs  to  my  mother 
I  held  up  my  hand  and  made  the  letters  for  doll.  I  did  not  know 
that  I  was  spelling  a  word  or  even  that  words  existed;  I  was  simply 
making  my  fingers  go  in  monkey-like  imitation.  In  the  days  that 
followed  I  learned  to  spell  in  this  uncomprehending  way  a  great 
many  words,  among  them  pin,  hat,  cup  and  a  few  verbs  like  sit, 
stand,  and  walk.  But  my  teacher  had  been  with  me  several  weeks 
before  I  understood  that  everything  has  a  name. 

One  day,  while  I  was  playing  with  my  new  doll,  Miss  Sullivan 
put  my  big  rag  doll  into  my  lap  also,  spelled  "d-o-1-1"  and  tried  to 
make  me  understand  that  "d-o-1-1"  applied  to  both.  Earlier  in  the 
day  we  had  had  a  tussle  over  the  words  "m-u-g"  and  "w-a-t-e-r." 
Miss  Sullivan  had  tried  to  impress  it  upon  me  that  "m-u-g"  is  mug 
and  that  "w-a-t-e-r"  is  water,  but  I  persisted  in  confounding  the 
two.  In  despair  she  had  dropped  the  subject  for  the  time,  only  to 
renew  it  at  the  first  opportunity.  I  became  impatient  at  her  repeated 
attempts  and,  seizing  the  new  doll,  I  dashed  it  upon  the  floor.  I 
was  keenly  delighted  when  I  felt  the  fragments  of  the  broken  doll 
at  my  feet.  Neither  sorrow  nor  regret  followed  my  passionate  out- 
burst. I  had  not  loved  the  doll.  In  the  still,  dark  world  hi  which 
I  lived  there  was  no  strong  sentiment  or  tenderness.  I  felt  my 
teacher  sweep  the  fragments  to  one  side  of  the  hearth,  and  I  had  a 
sense  of  satisfaction  that  the  cause  of  my  discomfort  was  removed. 
She  brought  me  my  hat,  and  I  knew  I  was  going  out  into  the  warm 
sunshine.  This  thought,  if  a  wordless  sensation  may  be  called  a 
thought,  made  me  hop  and  skip  with  pleasure. 

We  walked  down  the  path  to  the  well-house,  attracted  by  the 
fragrance  of  the  honeysuckle  with  which  it  was  covered.  Some 


ISOLATION  245 

one  was  drawing  water  and  my  teacher  placed  my  hand  under  the 
spout.  As  the  cool  stream  gushed  over  one  hand  she  spelled  into 
the  other  the  word  water,  first  slowly,  then  rapidly.  I  stood  still, 
my  whole  attention  fixed  upon  the  motions  of  her  fingers.  Suddenly 
I  felt  a  misty  consciousness  as  of  something  forgotten — a  thrill  of 
returning  thought;  and  somehow  the  mystery  of  language  was 
revealed  to  me.  I  knew  then  that  "w-a-t-e-r"  meant  the  wonderful 
cool  something  that  was  flowing  over  my  hand.  That  living  word 
awakened  my  soul,  gave  it  light,  hope,  joy,  set  it  free!  There  were 
barriers  still,  it  is  true,  but  barriers  that  could  in  time  be  swept 
away. 

I  left  the  well-house  eager  to  learn.  Everything  had  a  name,  and 
each  name  gave  birth  to  a  new  thought.  As  we  returned  to  the  house 
every  object  which  I  touched  seemed  to  quiver  with  life.  That  was 
because  I  saw  everything  with  the  strange,  new  sight  that  had  come 
to  me.  On  entering  the  door  I  remembered  the  doll  I  had  broken. 
I  felt  my  way  to  the  hearth  and  picked  up  the  pieces.  I  tried  vainly 
to  put  them  together.  Then  my  eyes  filled  with  tears;  for  I  realized 
what  I  had  done,  and  for  the  first  time  I  felt  repentance  and  sorrow. 

I  learned  a  great  many  new  words  that  day.  I  do  not  remember 
what  they  all  were;  but  I  do  know  that  mother,  father,  sister,  teacher, 
were  among  them — words  that  were  to  make  the  world  blossom  for 
me,  "like  Aaron's  rod,  with  flowers."  It  would  have  been  difficult 
to  find  a  happier  child  than  I  was  as  I  lay  in  my  crib  at  the  close  of 
that  eventful  day  and  lived  over  the  joys  it  had  brought  me,  and 
for  the  first  time  longed  for  a  new  day  to  come. 

3.     Mental  Effects  of  Solitude1 

I  spent  the  greater  part  of  one  whiter  at  a  point  on  the  Rio  Negro, 
seventy  or  eighty  miles  from  the  sea.  It  was  my  custom  to  go  out 
every  morning  on  horseback  with  my  gun,  and,  followed  by  one  dog, 
to  ride  away  from  the  valley;  and  no  sooner  would  I  climb  the  terrace 
and  plunge  into  the  gray  universal  thicket,  than  I  would  find  myself 
as  completely  alone  as  if  five  hundred  instead  of  only  five  miles 
separated  me  from  the  valley  and  river.  So  wild  and  solitary  and 
remote  seemed  that  gray  waste,  stretching  away  into  infinitude,  a  waste 

1  Adapted  from  W.  H.  Hudson,  "The  Plains  of  Patagonia,"  Universal  Review, 
VII  (1890),  S5I-S7- 


246  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

untrodden  by  man,  and  where  the  wild  animals  are  so  few  that  they 
have  made  no  discoverable  path  in  the  wilderness  of  thorns. 

Not  once  nor  twice  nor  thrice,  but  day  after  day  I  returned  to 
this  solitude,  going  to  it  in  the  morning  as  if  to  attend  a  festival,  and 
leaving  it  only  when  hunger  and  thirst  and  the  westering  sun  com- 
pelled me.  And  yet  I  had  no  object  in  going — no  motive  which  could 
be  put  into  words;  for,  although  I  carried  a  gun,  there  was  nothing 
to  shoot — the  shooting  was  all  left  behind  in  the  valley.  Sometimes 
I  would  pass  an  entire  day  without  seeing  one  mammal  and  perhaps 
not  more  than  a  dozen  birds  of  any  size.  The  weather  at  that  time 
was  cheerless,  generally  with  a  gray  film  of  cloud  spread  over  the  sky, 
and  a  bleak  wind,  often  cold  enough  to  make  my  bridle  hand  quite 
numb.  At  a  slow  pace,  which  would  have  seemed  intolerable  in 
other  circumstances,  I  would  ride  about  for  hours  at  a  stretch.  On 
arriving  at  a  hill,  I  would  slowly  ride  to  its  summit,  and  stand  there 
to  survey  the  prospect.  On  every  side  it  stretched  away  in  great 
undulations,  wild  and  irregular.  How  gray  it  all  was!  Hardly  less 
so  near  at  hand  than  on  the  haze-wrapped  horizon,  where  the  hills 
were  dim  and  the  outline  blurred  by  distance.  Descending  from  my 
outlook,  I  would  take  up  my  aimless  wanderings  again,  and  visit 
other  elevations  to  gaze  on  the  same  landscape  from  another  point; 
and  so  on  for  hours;  and  at  noon  I  would  dismount  and  sit  or  lie  on 
my  folded  poncho  for  an  hour  or  longer.  One  day,  in  these  rambles, 
I  discovered  a  small  grove  composed  of  twenty  or  thirty  trees,  grow- 
ing at  a  convenient  distance  apart,  that  had  evidently  been  resorted 
to  by  a  herd  of  deer  or  other  wild  animals.  This  grove  was  on  a 
hill  differing  in  shape  from  other  hills  in  its  neighborhood;  and  after 
a  time  I  made  a  point  of  finding  and  using  it  as  a  resting-place  every 
day  at  noon.  I  did  not  ask  myself  why  I  made  choice  of  that  one 
spot,  sometimes  going  miles  out  of  my  way  to  sit  there,  instead  of 
sitting  down  under  any  one  of  the  millions  of  trees  and  bushes  on 
any  other  hillside.  I  thought  nothing  at  all  about  it,  but  acted 
unconsciously.  Only  afterward  it  seemed  to  me  that,  after  having 
rested  there  once,  each  time  I  wished  to  rest  again  the  wish  came 
associated  with  the  image  of  that  particular  clump  of  trees,  with 
polished  stems  and  clean  bed  of  sand  beneath;  and  in  a  short 
time  I  formed  a  habit  of  returning,  animal-like,  to  repose  at  that 
same  spot. 


ISOLATION  247 

It  was  perhaps  a  mistake  to  say  that  I  would  sit  down  and  rest, 
since  I  was  never  tired:  and  yet,  without  being  tired,  that  noonday 
pause,  during  which  I  sat  for  an  hour  without  moving,  was  strangely 
grateful.  All  day  there  would  be  no  sound,  not  even  the  rustle  of 
a  leaf.  One  day  while  listening  to  the  silence,  it  occurred  to  my 
mind  to  wonder  what  the  effect  would  be  if  I  were  to  shout  aloud. 
This  seemed  at  the  time  a  horrible  suggestion,  which  almost  made  me 
shudder;  but  during  those  solitary  days  it  was  a  rare  thing  for  any 
thought  to  cross  my  mind.  In  the  state  of  mind  I  was  in,  thought 
had  become  impossible.  My  state  was  one  of  suspense  and  watcH- 
fulness;  yet  I  had  no  expectation  of  meeting  with  an  adventure,  and 
felt  as  free  from  apprehension  as  I  feel  now  when  sitting  in  a  room 
in  London.  The  state  seemed  familiar  rather  than  strange,  and 
accompanied  by  a  strong  feeling  of  elation;  and  I  did  not  know  that 
something  had  come  between  me  and  my  intellect  until  I  returned 
to  my  former  self — to  thinking,  and  the  old  insipid  existence. 

I  had  undoubtedly  gone  back;  and  that  state  of  intense  watch- 
fulness, or  alertness  rather,  with  suspension  of  the  higher  intellectual 
faculties,  represented  the  mental  state  of  the  pure  savage.  He 
thinks  little,  reasons  little,  having  a  surer  guide  in  his  instincts;  he 
is  in  perfect  harmony  with  nature,  and  is  nearly  on  a  level,  mentally, 
with  the  wild  animals  he  preys  on,  and  which  in  their  turn  sometimes 
prey  on  him. 

4.    Isolation  and  the  Rural  Mind1 

As  an  occupation  farming  has  dealt  largely,  if  not  exclusively, 
with  the  growth  and  care  of  plant  and  animal  life.  Broadly  speaking, 
the  farmer  has  been  engaged  in  a  struggle  with  nature  to  produce 
certain  staple  traditional  raw  foods  and  human  comfort  materials 
in  bulk.  He  has  been  excused,  on  the  whole,  from  the  delicate 
situations  arising  from  the  demands  of  an  infinite  variety  of  human 
wishes,  whims,  and  fashions,  perhaps  because  the  primary  grains, 
fruits,  vegetables,  fibers,  animals,  and  animal  products,  have  afforded 
small  opportunity  for  manipulation  to  satisfy  the  varying  forms  of 
human  taste  and  caprice.  This  exemption  of  the  farmer  in  the  greater 
part  of  his  activity  from  direct  work  upon  and  with  persons  and  from 

1  Adapted  from  C.  J.  Galpin,  Rural  Social  Centers  in  Wisconsin,  pp.  1-3. 
(Wisconsin  Experiment  Station,  Bulletin  234,  1913.) 


248  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

strenuous  attempts  to  please  persons,  will  doubtless  account  very 
largely,  perhaps  more  largely  than  mere  isolation  on  the  land,  for  the 
strong  individualism  of  the  country  man. 

In  striking  contrast,  the  villager  and  city  worker  have  always  been 
occupied  in  making  things  or  parts  of  things  out  of  such  impres- 
sionable materials  as  iron,  wood,  clay,  cloth,  leather,  gold,  and  the 
like,  to  fit,  suit,  and  satisfy  a  various  and  increasingly  complex  set 
of  human  desires;  or  they  have  been  dealing  direct  with  a  kaleido- 
scopic human  mind,  either  in  regard  to  things  or  in  regard  to  troubles 
and  ideals  of  the  mind  itself.  This  constant  dealing  with  persons 
in  business  will  account  even  more  than  mere  congestion  of  population 
for  the  complex  organization  of  city  life.  The  highly  organized  social 
institutions  of  the  city,  moreover,  have  reinforced  the  already  keen- 
edged  insight  of  the  city  man  of  business,  so  that  he  is  doubly  equipped 
to  win  his  struggles.  The  city  worker  knows  men,  the  farmer  knows 
nature.  Each  has  reward  for  his  deeper  knowledge,  and  each  suffers 
some  penalty  for  his  circle  of  ignorance. 

Modern  conditions  underlying  successful  farm  practice  and  profit- 
making  require  of  the  farmer  a  wider  and  more  frequent  contact 
with  men  than  at  any  time  in  the  past.  His  materials,  too,  have 
become  more  plastic,  subject  to  rapid  change  by  selection  and  breeding. 

The  social  problem  of  the  farmer  seems  to  be  how  to  overcome  the 
inevitable  handicap  of  a  social  deficiency  in  the  very  nature  of  his 
occupation,  so  as  to  extend  his  acquaintance  with  men;  and  secondly, 
how  to  erect  social  institutions  on  the  land  adequate  to  reinforce  his 
individual  personality  so  as  to  enable  him  to  cope  with  his  perplexities. 

Occasions  must  be  created,  plans  must  be  made,  to  bring  people 
together  in  a  wholesale  manner  so  as  to  facilitate  this  interchange  of 
community  acquaintance.  Especially  is  it  necessary  for  rural  chil- 
dren to  know  many  more  children.  The  one-room  district  school  has 
proved  its  value  hi  making  the  children  of  the  neighborhood  acquainted 
with  one  another.  One  of  the  large  reasons  for  the  consolidated  and 
centralized  school  is  the  increased  size  of  territorial  unit,  with  more 
children  to  know  one  another  and  mingle  together.  Intervisiting 
of  district  schools — one  school,  teachers  and  pupils,  playing  host  to  a 
half-dozen  other  schools,  with  some  regularity,  using  plays  and  games, 
children's  readiest  means  of  getting  acquainted — is  a  successful 
means  of  extending  acquaintance  under  good  auspices. 


ISOLATION  249 

If  large-scale  acquaintance — men  with  men,  women  with  women, 
children  with  children — in  a  rural  community  once  becomes  a  fact, 
the  initial  step  will  have  been  taken  for  assuring  the  rise  of  appropriate 
social  institutions  on  the  land  of  that  community. 

5.    The  Subtler  Effects  of  Isolation1 

The  mechanics  of  modern  culture  is  complicated.  The  individual 
has  access  to  materials  outside  his  group,  from  the  world  at  large. 
His  consciousness  is  built  up  not  only  by  word  of  mouth  but  by  the 
printed  page.  He  may  live  as  much  in  German  books  as  in  fireside 
conversation.  Much  more  mail  is  handled  every  day  in  the  New 
York  post-office  than  was  sent  out  by  all  the  thirteen  states  in  a  year 
at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  by  reason  of  poverty, 
geographical  isolation,  caste  feeling,  or  "pathos,"  individuals,  com- 
munities, and  races  may  be  excluded  from  some  of  the  stimulations 
and  copies  which  enter  into  a  high  grade  of  mind.  The  savage,  the 
Negro,  the  peasant,  the  slum  dwellers,  and  the  white  woman  are 
notable  sufferers  by  exclusion. 

Easy  communication  of  ideas  favors  differentiation  of  a  rational  and 
functional  sort,  as  distinguished  from  the  random  variations  fostered  by 
isolation.  And  it  must  be  remembered  that  any  sort  is  rational  and 
functional  that  really  commends  itself  to  the  human  spirit.  Even  revolt 
from  an  ascendant  type  is  easier  now  than  formerly  because  the  rebel 
can  fortify  himself  with  the  triumphant  records  of  the  non-conformers  of 
the  past. 

The  peasant  [at  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century],  limited  in  a 
cultural  respect  to  his  village  life,  thinks,  feels,  and  acts  solely  in  the  bounds 
of  his  native  village;  his  thought  never  goes  beyond  his  farm  and  his 
neighbor;  toward  the  political,  economic,  or  national  events  taking  place 
outside  of  his  village,  be  they  of  his  own  or  of  a  foreign  country,  he  is 
completely  indifferent,  and  even  if  he  has  learned  something  of  them,  this 
is  described  by  him  in  a  fantastic,  mythological  way,  and  only  in  this  adopted 
form  is  it  added  to  his  cultural  condition  and  transmitted  to  his  descendants. 
Every  peasant  farm  produced  almost  exclusively  for  itself,  only  to  the  most 
limited  extent  for  exchange;  every  village  formed  an  economic  unit,  which 
stood  in  only  a  loose  economic  connection  with  the  outer  world.  Outwardly 
complete  isolation  of  the  village  settlements  and  their  inhabitants  from 

1  Adapted  from  W.  I.  Thomas,  "Race  Psychology,"  in  the  American  Journal 
of  Sociology,  XVII  (1911-12),  744-47. 


250  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

each  other  and  from  the  rest  of  the  country  and  other  classes  of  society; 
inwardly  complete  homogeneity,  one  and  the  same  economic,  social,  and 
cultural  equality  of  the  peasant  mass,  no  possibility  of  advance  for  the 
more  gifted  and  capable  individuals,  everyone  pressed  down  to  a  flat  level. 
The  peasant  of  one  village  holds  himself,  if  not  directly  hostile,  at  least  as 
a  rule  not  cordial  to  the  peasants  of  another  village.  The  nobles  living  in 
the  same  village  territory  even  wanted  to  force  upon  the  peasants  an 
entirely  different  origin,  in  that  with  the  assistance  of  the  Biblical  legend 
they  wished  to  trace  him  from  the  accursed  Ham  (from  this  the  curse  and 
insult  Ty  chamie,  "Thou  Ham"),  but  themselves  from  Japhet,  of  better 
repute  in  the  Bible,  while  they  attributed  to  the  Jews,  Shem  as  an  ancestor. 

The  pathetic  effect  of  isolation  on  the  state  of  knowledge  is 
recorded  in  many  of  the  stories  of  runaway  slaves: 

With  two  more  boys,  I  started  for  the  free  states.  We  did  not  know 
where  they  were,  but  went  to  try  to  find  them.  We  crossed  the  Potomac 
and  hunted  round  and  round  and  round.  Some  one  showed  us  the  way  to 
Washington;  but  we  missed  it,  and  wandered  all  night;  then  we  found 
ourselves  where  we  set  out. 

For  our  purposes  race  prejudice  may  be  regarded  as  a  form  of 
isolation.  And  in  the  case  of  the  American  Negro  this  situation  is 
aggravated  by  the  fact  that  the  white  man  has  developed  a  deter- 
mination to  keep  him  in  isolation — "in  his  place."  Now,  when  the 
isolation  is  willed  and  has  at  the  same  time  the  emotional  nature  of 
a  tabu,  the  handicap  is  very  grave  indeed.  It  is  a  fact  that  the  most 
intelligent  Negroes  are  usually  half  or  more  than  half  white,  but  it 
is  still  a  subject  for  investigation  whether  this  is  due  to  mixed  blood 
or  to  the  fact  that  they  have  been  more  successful  in  violating  the  tabu. 

The  humblest  white  employee  knows  that  the  better  he  does  his  work, 
the  more  chance  there  is  for  him  to  rise  in  the  business.  The  black  employee 
knows  that  the  better  he  does  his  work,  the  longer  he  may  do  it ;  he  cannot 
often  hope  for  promotion. 

All  these  careers  are  at  the  very  outset  closed  to  the  Negro  on  account 
of  his  color;  what  lawyer  would  give  even  a  minor  case  to  a  Negro  assistant  ? 
Or  what  university  would  appoint  a  promising  young  Negro  as  tutor? 
Thus  the  white  young  man  starts  in  life  knowing  that  within  some  limits 
and  barring  accidents,  talent  and  application  will  tell.  The  young  Negro 
starts  knowing  that  on  all  sides  his  advance  is  made  doubly  difficult,  if  not 
wholly  shut  off,  by  his  color. 


ISOLATION  251 

In  all  walks  of  life  the  Negro  is  liable  to  meet  some  objection  to  his 
presence  or  some  discourteous  treatment.  If  an  invitation  is  issued  to  the 
public  for  any  occasion,  the  Negro  can  never  know  whether  he  would  be 
welcomed  or  not;  if  he  goes  he  is  liable  to  have  his  feelings  hurt  and  get 
into  unpleasant  altercation ;  if  he  stays  away,  he  is  blamed  for  indifference. 
If  he  meet  a  lifelong  white  friend  on  the  street,  he  is  in  a  dilemma;  if  he 
does  not  greet  the  friend  he  is  put  down  as  boorish  and  impolite ;  if  he  does 
greet  the  friend  he  is  liable  to  be  flatly  snubbed.  If  by  chance  he  is  intro- 
duced to  a  white  woman  or  man,  he  expects  to  be  ignored  on  the  next 
meeting,  and  usually  is.  White  friends  may  call  on  him,  but  he  is  scarcely 
expected  to  call  on  them,  save  for  strictly  business  matters.  If  he  gain  the 
affections  of  a  white  woman  and  marry  her  he  may  invariably  expect  that 
slurs  will  be  thrown  on  her  reputation  and  on  his,  and  that  both  his  and  her 
race  will  shun  their  compan; .  When  he  dies  he  cannot  be  buried  beside 
white  corpses. 

Kelly  Miller,  himself  a  full-blooded  black  (for  which  the  Negroes 
have  expressed  their  gratitude),  refers  to  the  backwardness  of  the 
negro  in  the  following  terms: 

To  expect  the  Negroes  of  Georgia  to  produce  a  great  general  like 
Napoleon  when  they  are  not  even  allowed  to  carry  arms,  or  to  deride  them 
for  not  producing  scholars  like  those  of  the  Renaissance  when  a  few  years 
ago  they  were  forbidden  the  use  of  letters,  verges  closely  upon  the  outer 
rim  of  absurdity.  Do  you  look  for  great  Negro  statesmen  in  states  where 
black  men  are  not  allowed  to  vote  ?  Above  all,  for  southern  white  men  to 
berate  the  Negro  for  failing  to  gain  the  highest  rounds  of  distinction  reaches 
the  climax  of  cruel  inconsistency.  One  is  reminded  of  the  barbarous 
Teutons  in  Titus  Andronicus,  who,  after  cutting  out  the  tongue  and  hacking 
off  the  hands  of  the  lovely  Lavinia,  ghoulishly  chided  her  for  not  calling 
for  sweet  water  with  which  to  wash  her  delicate  hands. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  no  Negro  and  no  mulatto,  in  America 
at  least,  has  ever  been  fully  in  the  white  man's  world.  But  we  must 
recognize  that  their  backwardness  is  not  wholly  due  to  prejudice. 
A  race  with  an  adequate  technique  can  live  in  the  midst  of  prejudice 
and  even  receive  some  stimulation  from  it.  But  the  Negro  has  lost 
many  of  the  occupations  which  were  particularly  his  own,  and  is 
outclassed  in  others — not  through  prejudice  but  through  the  faster 
pace  of  his  competitors. 

Obviously  obstacles  which  discourage  one  race  may  stimulate 
another.  Even  the  extreme  measures  in  Russia  and  Roumania 


252  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

against  the  Jew  have  not  isolated  him.  He  has  resources  and  tradi- 
tions and  technique  of  his  own,  and  we  have  even  been  borrowers 
from  him. 

C.      ISOLATION  AND  SEGREGATION 
i.     Segregation  as  a  Process1 

Within  the  limitations  prescribed,  however,  the  inevitable  processes 
of  human  nature  proceed  to  give  these  regions  and  these  buildings  a 
character  which  it  is  less  easy  to  control.  Under  our  system  of  indi- 
vidual ownership,  for  instance,  it  is  not  possible  to  determine  in 
advance  the  extent  of  concentration  of  population  in  any  given  area. 
The  city  cannot  fix  land  values,  and  we  leave  to  private  enterprise,  for 
the  most  part,  the  task  of  determining  the  city's  limits  and  the  loca- 
tion of  its  residential  and  industrial  districts.  Personal  tastes  and 
convenience,  vocational  and  economic  interests,  infallibly  tend  to 
segregate  and  thus  to  classify  the  populations  of  great  cities.  In 
this  way  the  city  acquires  an  organization  which  is  neither  designed 
nor  controlled. 

Physical  geography,  natural  advantages,  and  the  means  of 
transportation  determine  in  advance  the  general  outlines  of  the 
urban  plan.  As  the  city  increases  in  population,  the  subtler  influ- 
ences of  sympathy,  rivalry,  and  economic  necessity  tend  to  control 
the  distribution  of  population.  Business  and  manufacturing  seek 
advantageous  locations  and  draw  around  them  a  certain  portion  of 
the  population.  There  spring  up  fashionable  residence  quarters 
from  which  the  poorer  classes  are  excluded  because  of  the  increased 
value  of  the  land.  Then  there  grow  up  slums  which  are  inhabited 
by  great  numbers  of  the  poorer  classes  who  are  unable  to  defend 
themselves  from  association  with  the  derelict  and  vicious.  In  the 
course  of  tune  every  section  and  quarter  of  the  city  takes  on  something 
of  the  character  and  qualities  of  its  inhabitants.  Each  separate  part 
of  the  city  is  inevitably  stained  with  the  peculiar  sentiments  of  its 
population.  The  effect  of  this  is  to  convert  what  was  at  first  a  mere 
geographical  expression  into  a  neighborhood,  that  is  to  say,  a  locality 
with  sentiments,  traditions,  and  a  history  of  its  own.  Within  this 

1  Adapted  from  Robert  E.  Park,  "The  City:  Suggestions  for  the  Investigation 
of  Behavior  in  the  City  Environment,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XX 
(1915),  S79-83- 


ISOLATION  253 

neighborhood  the  continuity  of  the  historical  processes  is  somehow 
maintained.  The  past  imposes  itself  upon  the  present  and  the  life 
of  every  locality  moves  on  with  a  certain  momentum  of  its  own,  more 
or  less  independent  of  the  larger  circle  of  life  and  interests  about  it. 

In  the  city  environment  the  neighborhood  tends  to  lose  much  of 
the  significance  which  it  possessed  in  simpler  and  more  primitive 
forms  of  society.  The  easy  means  of  communication  and  of  trans- 
portation, which  enables  individuals  to  distribute  their  attention  and 
to  live  at  the  same  time  in  several  different  worlds,  tends  to  destroy 
the  permanency  and  intimacy  of  the  neighborhood.  Further  than 
that,  where  individuals  of  the  same  race  or  of  the  same  vocation  live 
together  in  segregated  groups,  neighborhood  sentiment  tends  to  fuse 
together  with  racial  antagonisms  and  class  interests. 

In  this  way  physical  and  sentimental  distances  reinforce  each 
other,  and  the  influences  of  local  distribution  of  the  population 
participate  with  the  influences  of  class  and  race  in  the  evolution 
of  the  social  organization.  Every  great  city  has  its  racial  colonies, 
like  the  Chinatowns  of  San  Francisco  and  New  York,  the  Little 
Sicily  of  Chicago,  and  various  other  less  pronounced  types.  In 
addition  to  these,  most  cities  have  their  segregated  vice  districts, 
like  that  which  until  recently  existed  in  Chicago,  and  their  rendez- 
vous for  criminals  of  various  sorts.  Every  large  city  has  its  occu- 
pational suburbs  like  the  Stockyards  in  Chicago,  and  its  residence 
suburbs  like  Brookline  in  Boston,  each  of  which  has  the  size  and  the 
character  of  a  complete  separate  town,  village,  or  city,  except  that 
its  population  is  a  selected  one.  Undoubtedly  the  most  remarkable 
of  these  cities  within  cities,  of  which  the  most  interesting  character- 
istic is  that  they  are  composed  of  persons  of  the  same  race,  or  of 
persons  of  different  races  but  of  the  same  social  class,  is  East  London, 
with  a  population  of  2,000,000  laborers. 

The  people  of  the  original  East  London  have  now  overflowed  and 
crossed  the  Lea,  and  spread  themselves  over  the  marshes  and  meadows 
beyond.  This  population  has  created  new  towns  which  were  formerly  rural 
villages,  West  Ham,  with  a  population  of  nearly  300,000;  East  Ham,  with 
00,000;  Stratford,  with  its  "daughters,"  150,000;  and  other  "hamlets" 
similarly  overgrown.  Including  these  new  populations  we  have  an  aggre- 
gate of  nearly  two  millions  of  people.  The  population  is  greater  than  that 
of  Berlin  or  Vienna,  or  St.  Petersburg,  or  Philadelphia. 


254  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  a  city  full  of  churches  and  places  of  worship,  yet  there  are  no 
cathedrals,  either  Anglican  or  Roman;  it  has  a  sufficient  supply  of  ele- 
mentary schools,  but  it  has  no  public  or  high  school,  and  it  has  no  colleges 
for  the  higher  education,  and  no  university;  the  people  all  read  newspapers, 
yet  there  is  no  East  London  paper  except  of  the  smaller  and  local  kind. 
....  In  the  streets  there  are  never  seen  any  private  carriages;  there  is 
no  fashionable  quarter  ....  one  meets  no  ladies  in  the  principal  thorough- 
fares. People,  shops,  houses,  conveyances — all  together  are  stamped  with 
the  unmistakable  seal  of  the  working  class. 

Perhaps  the  strangest  thing  of  all  is  this:  in  a  city  of  two  millions  of 
people  there  are  no  hotels !  That  means,  of  course,  that  there  are  no  visitors. 

In  the  older  cities  of  Europe,  where  the  processes  of  segregation 
have  gone  farther,  neighborhood  distinctions  are  likely  to  be  more 
marked  than  they  are  in  America.  East  London  is  a  city  of  a  single 
class,  but  within  the  limits  of  that  city  the  population  is  segregated 
again  and  again  by  racial  and  vocational  interests.  Neighborhood 
sentiment,  deeply  rooted  in  local  tradition  and  in  local  custom, 
exercises  a  decisive  selective  influence  upon  city  population  and 
shows  itself  ultimately  in  a  marked  way  in  the  characteristics  of  the 
inhabitants. 

2.    Isolation  as  a  Result  of  Segregation1 

There  is  the  observed  tendency  of  mental  defectives  to  congregate 
in  localized  centers,  with  resulting  inbreeding.  Feeble-mindedness 
is  a  social  level  and  the  members  of  this  level,  like  those  in  other  levels, 
are  affected  by  social  and  biological  tendencies,  such  as  the  con- 
gregation of  like  personalities  and  the  natural  selection  in  matings 
of  persons  of  similar  mental  capacities.  These  are  general  tendencies 
and  not  subject  to  invariable  laws.  The  feeble-minded  are  primarily 
quantitatively  different  from  normals  in  mental  and  social  qualities, 
and  do  not  constitute  a  separate  species.  The  borderline  types  of 
high-grade  feeble-minded  and  low-grade  normals  may  therefore  prove 
exceptions  to  the  general  rule.  But  such  studies  as  Davenport  and 
Danielson's  "Hill  Folk,"  Davenport  and  Estabrook's  "Nams,'' 
Dugdale's  "Jukes,"  Kostir's  "Sam  Sixty,"  Goddard's  "Kallikaks," 
Key's  "Vennams"  and  "  Fale-Anwals,"  Kite's  "Pineys,"  and  many 
others  emphatically  prove  that  mental  defectives  show  a  tendency 

1  Adapted  from  L.  W.  Crafts  and  E.  A.  Doll,  "The  Proportion  of  Mental 
Defectives  among  Juvenile  Delinquents,"  in  the  Journal  of  Delinquency,  II  (1917). 
123-37. 


ISOLATION  255 

to  drift  together,  intermarry,  and  isolate  themselves  from  the  rest 
of  the  community,  just  as  the  rich  live  in  exclusive  suburbs.  Con- 
sequently they  preponderate  in  certain  localities,  counties,  and 
cities.  In  a  large  measure  this  segregation  is  not  so  much  an  expres- 
sion of  voluntary  desire  as  it  is  a  situation  forced  upon  mental  defec- 
tives through  those  natural  intellectual  and  social  deficiencies  which 
restrict  them  to  environments  economically  and  otherwise  less 
desirable  to  normal  people.  This  phenomenon  is  most  conspicuous 
in  rural  communities  where  such  migratory  movements  as  the  modern 
city-drift  have  exercised  a  certain  natural  selection,  but  it  is  also 
plainly  evident  in  the  slums  and  poorer  sections  of  the  cities,  both 
large  and  small,  as  any  field  worker  will  testify.  Closely  related  to 
this  factor  of  isolation  are  the  varying  percentages  of  mental  defectives 
found  in  different  states  ana  in  different  sections  of  the  same  state, 
city  or  community.  It  is  therefore  likely  that  the  percentages  of 
mental  defectives  among  different  groups  of  juvenile  delinquents 
will  vary  according  to  the  particular  ward,  city,  county,  or  state, 
whence  the  delinquents  come.  For  this  reason  it  is  essential  to  any 
study  of  the  number  of  mental  defectives  in  a  group  of  juvenile 
delinquents  coming  from  a  particular  locality,  that  some  idea  should 
be  available  as  to  the  probable  or  approximate  number  of  mental 
defectives  in  that  community.  If  more  mental  defectives  are  found 
among  the  population  in  the  slum  quarter  of  a  city  than  in  the  resi- 
dential quarter,  it  is  to  be  expected  that  there  will  be  more  mental 
defectives  in  groups  of  juvenile  delinquents  from  the  slum  quarter, 
because,  in  the  first  place,  they  constitute  a  larger  proportion  of  the 
population,  and  because,  secondly,  of  their  greater  proneness  to  social 
offenses.  Moreover,  the  prevalence  of  the  feeble-minded  hi  certain 
localities  may  affect  the  attitude  of  the  law-enforcing  machinery 
toward  the  children  of  that  community. 

A  further  result  of  the  innate  characteristics  and  tendencies  of 
the  feeble-minded  is  to  be  found  in  the  effect  upon  them  of  the  biologi- 
cal law  of  natural  selection,  resulting  from  the  universal  struggle  for 
existence  and  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  We  need  not  discuss  here 
its  profound  influences,  economic  and  otherwise,  upon  the  lives  of  the 
mentally  defective  in  general,  but  it  will  be  profitable  to  review  briefly 
the  effect  of  natural  selection  upon  the  juvenile  delinquent  group. 

Any  group  of  delinquents  is  subject  to  this  selection  from  the  times 
of  offenses  to  final  commitment.  It  undergoes  a  constant  sifting 


256  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

process  whose  operation  is  mainly  determined  by  the  natural  con- 
sequences of  the  group  members;  a  large  proportion  of  the  "lucky," 
the  intelligent,  or  the  socially  favored  individuals  escape  from  the 
group,  so  that  the  remaining  members  of  the  group  are  the  least  fit 
socially  and  intellectually.  The  mentally  defective  delinquents  con- 
stitute an  undue  proportion  of  this  unfit  residue,  for  although  they 
may  receive  as  many  favors  of  chance  as  do  their  intellectually  normal 
fellow-delinquents,  they  cannot,  like  them,  by  reason  of  intelligence 
or  social  status,  escape  the  consequences  of  their  delinquent  acts. 
Furthermore,  the  feeble-minded  offender  is  caught  oftener  than  are 
his  more  clever  and  energetic  companions  of  normal  endowments, 
and  after  apprehension  he  is  less  likely  to  receive  the  benefits  of  police 
and  court  prejudices,  or  the  advantages  of  family  wealth  and  social 
influence.  If  placed  on  probation  he  is  more  likely  to  fail,  because 
of  his  own  weaknesses  and  his  unfavorable  environment.  Hence 
the  feeble-minded  delinquent  is  much  more  likely  to  come  before 
the  court  and  also  to  be  committed  to  a  reformatory,  jail,  or  industrial 
school  than  is  his  companion  of  normal  mind.  Therefore  practically 
every  group  of  juvenile  delinquents  which  ultimately  reaches  commit- 
ment will  have  a  very  different  aspect  with  regard  to  its  proportion 
of  mental  defectives  from  that  larger  group  of  offenders,  apprehended 
or  non-apprehended,  of  which  it  was  once  a  part.  In  fact,  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  any  group  of  apprehended,  detained,  or  probationed  offenders 
can  be  said  to  be  representative,  or  at  least  to  be  exactly  repre- 
sentative, of  the  true  proportion  of  mental  defectives  among  all 
delinquents.  Except  where  specific  types  of  legal  procedure  bring 
about  the  elimination  of  the  defectives,  it  seems  as  if  it  must  inevitably 
result  that  the  operation  of  natural  selection  will  continually  increase 
the  proportion  of  mental  defectives  above  that  existing  in  the  original 
group. 

This  factor  of  natural  selection  has  not  to  our  knowledge  been 
given  adequate  consideration  in  any  published  investigation  on 
delinquency.  But  if  our  estimate  of  its  effects  is  at  all  justified, 
then  most  examinations  of  juvenile  delinquents,  especially  in  reform 
and  industrial  schools,  have  disclosed  proportions  of  mental  defec- 
tives distinctly  in  excess  of  the  original  proportion  previously  existent 
among  the  entire  mass  of  all  offenders.  The  reports  of  these  examina- 
tions have  given  rise  to  quite  erroneous  impressions  concerning  the 


ISOLATION  257 

extent  of  criminality  among  the  feeble-minded  and  its  relation  to  the 
whole  volume  of  crime,  and  have  consequently  led  to  inaccurate 
deductions.  The  feeble-minded  are  undoubtedly  more  prone  to 
commit  crime  than  are  the  average  normals;  but  through  disregard 
of  the  influences  of  this  factor  of  natural  selection,  as  well  as  of  others, 
both  the  proportion  of  crime  committed  by  mental  defectives  and  the 
true  proportion  of  mental  defectives  among  delinquents  and  criminals 
have  very  often  been  exaggerated. 

D.      ISOLATION  AND  NATIONAL  INDIVIDUALITY 
i.     Historical  Races  as  Products  of  Isolation1 

The  continent  of  Europe  differs  from  the  other  great  land-masses 
in  the  fact  that  it  is  a  singular  aggregation  of  peninsulas  and  islands, 
originating  in  separate  centers  of  mountain  growth,  and  of  enclosed 
valleys  walled  about  from  the  outer  world  by  elevated  summits. 
Other  continents  are  somewhat  peninsulated;  Asia  approaches 
Europe  in  that  respect;  North  America  has  a  few  great  dependencies 
in  its  larger  islands  and  considerable  promontories;  but  Africa, 
South  America,  and  Australia  are  singularly  united  lands. 

The  highly  divided  state  of  Europe  has  greatly  favored  the 
development  within  its  area  of  isolated  fields,  each  fitted  for  the 
growth  of  a  separate  state,  adapted  even  in  this  day  for  local  life 
although  commerce  in  our  time  binds  lands  together  in  a  way  which 
it  did  not  of  old.  These  separated  areas  were  marvelously  suited 
to  be  the  cradles  of  peoples;  and  if  we  look  over  the  map  of  Europe  we 
readily  note  the  geographic  insulations  which  that  remarkably  varied 
land  affords. 

Beginning  with  the  eastern  Mediterranean,  we  have  the  peninsula 
on  which  Constantinople  stands — a  region  only  partly  protected 
from  assault  by  its  geographic  peculiarities;  and  yet  it  owes  to  its 
partial  separation  from  the  mainlands  on  either  side  a  large  measure 
of  local  historic  development.  Next,  we  have  Greece  and  its  asso- 
ciated islands,  which — a  safe  stronghold  for  centuries — permitted  the 
nurture  of  the  most  marvelous  life  the  world  has  ever  known.  Farther 
to  the  west  the  Italian  peninsula,  where  during  three  thousand  years 

1  Adapted  from  N.  S.  Shaler,  Nature  and  Man  in  America,  pp.  15 1-66.  (Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  1900.)  . 


258  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  protecting  envelope  of  the  sea  and  the  walls  of  Alps  and  Apennines 
have  enabled  a  score  of  states  to  attain  a  development;  where  the 
Roman  nation,  absorbing,  with  its  singular  power  of  taking  in  other 
life,  a  number  of  primitive  centers  of  civilization,  grew  to  power  which 
made  it  dominant  in  the  ancient  world.  Sicily,  Sardinia,  Corsica, 
have  each  profited  by  their  isolation,  and  have  bred  diverse  qualities 
in  man  and  contributed  motives  which  have  interacted  in  the  earth's 
history.  Again,  in  Spain  we  have  a  region  well  fitted  to  be  the 
cradle  of  a  great  people;  to  its  geographic  position  it  owed  the  fact 
that  it  became  the  seat  of  the  most  cultivated  Mahometanism  the 
world  has  ever  known.  To  the  Pyrenees,  the  mountain  wall  of  the 
north,  we  owe  in  good  part  the  limitation  of  that  Mussulman  invasion 
and  the  protection  of  central  Europe  from  its  forward  movement, 
until  luxury  and  half-faith  had  sapped  its  energies.  Going  north- 
ward, we  find  in  the  region  of  Normandy  the  place  of  growth  of  that 
fierce  but  strong  folk,  the  ancient  Scandinavians,  who,  transplanted 
there,  held  their  ground,  and  grew  until  they  were  strong  enough 
to  conquer  Britain  and  give  it  a  large  share  of  the  quality  which  belongs 
to  our  own  state. 

To  a  trifling  geographic  accident  we  owe  the  isolation  of  Great 
Britain  fn>m  the  European  continent;  and  all  the  marvelous  history 
of  the  English  folk,  as  we  all  know,  hangs  upon  the  existence  of  that 
narrow  strip  of  sea  between  the  Devon  coast  and  the  kindred  lowlands 
of  northern  France. 

East  of  Britain  lie  two  peninsulas  which  have  been  the  cradle 
of  very  important  peoples.  That  of  Sweden  and  Norway  is  the 
result  of  mountain  development;  that  of  Denmark  appears  to  be  in 
the  main  the  product  of  glacial  and  marine  erosion,  differing  in  its 
non-mountainous  origin  from  all  the  other  peninsulas  and  islands 
of  the  European  border.  Thus  on  the  periphery  of  Europe  we  have 
at  least  a  dozen  geographical  isolated  areas,  sufficiently  large  and 
well  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  to  make  them  the  seats  of 
independent  social  life.  The  interior  of  the  country  has  several 
similarly,  though  less  perfectly,  detached  areas.  Of  these  the  most 
important  lie  fenced  within  the  highlands  of  the  Alps.  In  that 
extensive  system  of  mountain  disturbances  we  have  the  geographical 
conditions  which  most  favor  the  development  of  peculiar  divisions 
of  men,  and  which  guard  such  cradled  peoples  from  the  destruction 


ISOLATION  259 

which  so  often  awaits  them  on  the  plains.  Thus,  while  the  folk  of 
the  European  lowlands  have  been  overrun  by  the  successive  tides 
of  invasion,  their  qualities  confused,  and  their  succession  of  social 
life  interrupted,  Switzerland  has  to  a  great  extent,  by  its  mountain 
walls,  protected  its  people  from  the  troubles  to  which  their  lowland 
neighbors  have  been  subjected.  The  result  is  that  within  an  area 
not  twice  as  large  as  Massachusetts  we  find  a  marvelous  diversity 
of  folk,  as  is  shown  by  the  variety  in  physical  aspect,  moral  quality, 
language,  and  creed  in  the  several  important  valleys  and  other 
divisions  of  that  complicated  topography. 

After  a  race  has  bee),  formed  and  bred  to  certain  qualities  within 
a  limited  field,  after  it  has  come  to  possess  a  certain  body  of  character- 
istics which  gives  it  its  particular  stamp,  the  importance  of  the  original 
cradle  passes  away.  There  is  something  very  curious  in  the  per- 
manence of  race  conditions  after  they  have  been  fixed  for  a  thousand 
years  or  so  in  a  people.  When  the  assemblage  of  physical  and  mental 
motives  are  combined  in  a  body  of  country  folk,  they  may  endure 
under  circumstances  in  which  they  could  not  have  originated;  thus, 
even  in  our  domesticated  animals  and  plants,  we  find  that  varieties 
created  under  favorable  conditions,  obtaining  their  inheritances  in 
suitable  conditions,  may  then  flourish  in  many  conditions  of  environ- 
ment in  which  they  could  not  by  any  chance  have  originated.  The 
barnyard  creatures  of  Europe,  with  their  established  qualities,  may 
be  taken  to  Australia,  and  there  retain  their  nature  for  many  genera- 
tions; even  where  the  form  falls  away  from  the  parent  stock,  the 
decline  is  generally  slow  and  may  not  for  a  great  time  become  apparent. 

This  fixity  of  race  characteristics  has  enabled  the  several  national 
varieties  of  men  to  go  forth  from  their  nurseries,  carrying  the  qualities 
bred  in  their  earlier  conditions  through  centuries  of  life  in  other  climes. 
The  Gothic  blood  of  Italy  and  of  Spain  still  keeps  much  of  its  parent 
strength;  the  Aryan's  of  India,  though  a  world  apart  in  its  conditions 
from  those  which  gave  it  character  in  its  cradle,  is  still,  in  many  of 
its  qualities,  distinctly  akin  to  that  of  the  home  people.  Moor,  Hun 
and  Turk — all  the  numerous  folk  we  find  in  the  present  condi- 
tion of  the  world  so  far  from  their  cradle-lands — are  still  to  a  great 
extent  what  their  primitive  nurture  made  them.  On  this  rigidity 
which  comes  to  mature  races  in  the  lower  life  as  well  as  in  man, 
depends  the  vigor  with  which  they  do  their  appointed  work. 


200          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

2.  Geographical  Isolation  and  Maritime  Contact1 
Greece,  considering  its  limited  total  extent,  offers  but  little  motive, 
and  still  less  of  convenient  means,  for  internal  communication  among 
its  various  inhabitants.  Each  village  or  township  occupying  its 
plain  with  the  inclosing  mountains,  supplied  its  own  main  wants, 
whilst  the  transport  of  commodities  by  land  was  sufficiently  difficult 
to  discourage  greatly  any  regular  commerce  with  neighbors.  In  so 
far  as  the  face  of  the  interior  country  was  concerned,  it  seemed  as 
if  nature  had  been  disposed  from  the  beginning  to  keep  the  population 
of  Greece  socially  and  politically  disunited  by  providing  so  many 
hedges  of  separation  and  so  many  boundaries,  generally  hard,  some- 
times impossible,  to  overleap.  One  special  motive  to  intercourse, 
however,  arose  out  of  this  very  geographical  constitution  of  the 
country,  and  its  endless  alternation  of  mountain  and  valley.  The 
difference  of  climate  and  temperature  between  the  high  and  low 
grounds  is  very  great;  the  harvest  is  secured  in  one  place  before  it  is 
ripe  in  another,  and  the  cattle  find  during  the  heat  of  summer  shelter 
and  pasture  on  the  hills,  at  a  time  when  the  plains  are  burnt  up.  The 
practice  of  transferring  them  from  the  mountains  to  the  plain  accord- 
ing to  the  change  of  season,  which  subsists  still  as  it  did  in  ancient 
times,  is  intimately  connected  with  the  structure  of  the  country, 
and  must  from  the  earliest  period  have  brought  about  communication 
among  the  otherwise  disunited  villages. 

Such  difficulties,  however,  in  the  internal  transit  by  land  were 
to  a  great  extent  counteracted  by  the  large  proportion  of  coast  and 
the  accessibility  of  the  country  by  sea.  The  prominences  and  indenta- 
tions in  the  line  of  Grecian  coast  are  hardly  less  remarkable  than  the 
multiplicity  of  elevations  and  depressions  which  everywhere  mark 
the  surface.  There  was  no  part  of  Greece  proper  which  could  be 
considered  as  out  of  reach  of  the  sea,  while  most  parts  of  it  were 
convenient  and  easy  of  access.  As  the  only  communication  between 
them  was  maritime,  so  the  sea,  important  even  if  we  look  to  Greece 
proper  exclusively,  was  the  sole  channel  for  transmitting  ideas  and 
improvements,  as  well  as  for  maintaining  sympathies — social,  politi- 
cal, religious,  and  literary — throughout  these  outlying  members  of 
the  Hellenic  aggregate. 

1  Adapted  from  George  Grote,  History  of  Greece,  II,  149-57.  (John  Murray, 
1888.) 


ISOLATION  261 

The  ancient  philosophers  and  legislators  were  deeply  impressed 
with  the  contrast  between  an  inland  and  a  maritime  city:  in  the 
former,  simplicity  and  uniformity  of  life,  tenacity  of  ancient  habits 
and  dislike  of  what  is  new  or  foreign,  great  force  of  exclusive  sym- 
pathy and  narrow  range  both  of  objects  and  ideas;  in  the  latter,  variety 
and  novelty  of  sensations,  expansive  imagination,  toleration,  and 
occasional  preference  for  extraneous  customs,  greater  activity  of  the 
individual  and  corresponding  mutability  of  the  state.  This  distinc- 
tion stands  prominent  in  the  many  comparisons  instituted  between 
the  Athens  of  Pericles  and  the  Athens  of  the  earlier  tunes  down  to 
Solon.  Both  Plato  and  Aristotle  dwell  upon  it  emphatically — and 
the  former  especially,  whose  genius  conceived  the  comprehensive 
scheme  of  prescribing  beforehand  and  insuring  in  practice  the  whole 
course  of  individual  thought  and  feeling  in  his  imaginary  community, 
treats  maritime  communication,  if  pushed  beyond  the  narrowest 
limits,  as  fatal  to  the  success  and  permanence  of  any  wise  scheme  of 
education.  Certain  it  is  that  a  great  difference  of  character  existed 
between  those  Greeks  who  mingled  much  in  maritime  affairs  and  those 
who  did  not.  The  Arcadian  may  stand  as  a  type  of  the  pure  Grecian 
landsman,  with  his  rustic  and  illiterate  habits — his  diet  of  sweet 
chestnuts,  barley  cakes,  and  pork  (as  contrasted  with  the  fish  which 
formed  the  chief  seasoning  for  the  bread  of  an  Athenian) — his  superior 
courage  and  endurance — his  reverence  for  Lacedaemonian  headship 
as  an  old  and  customary  influence — his  sterility  of  intellect  and 
imagination  as  well  as  his  slackness  in  enterprise — his  unchange- 
able rudeness  of  relations  with  the  gods,  which  led  him  to  scourge 
and  prick  Pan  if  he  came  back  empty-handed  from  the  chase;  while 
the  inhabitant  of  Phokaea  or  Miletus  exemplifies  the  Grecian  mariner, 
eager  in  search  of  gain — active,  skilful,  and  daring  at  sea,  but  inferior 
in  steadfast  bravery  on  land — more  excitable  in  imagination  as 
well  as  more  mutable  in  character — full  of  pomp  and  expense  in 
religious  manifestations  toward  the  Ephesian  Artemis  or  the  Apollo 
of  Branchidae:  with  a  mind  more  open  to  the  varieties  of  Grecian 
energy  and  to  the  refining  influences  of  Grecian  civilization. 

The  configuration  of  the  Grecian  territory,  so  like  in  many 
respects  to  that  of  Switzerland,  produced  two  effects  of  great  moment 
upon  the  character  and  history  of  the  people.  In  the  first  place,  it 
materially  strengthened  their  powers  of  defense:  it  shut  up  the 


262  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

country  against  those  invasions  from  the  interior  which  successively 
subjugated  all  their  continental  colonies;  and  it  at  the  same  time 
rendered  each  fraction  more  difficult  to  be  attacked  by  the  rest,  so 
as  to  exercise  a  certain  conservative  influence  in  assuring  the  tenure 
of  actual  possessors:  for  the  pass  of  Thermopylae  between  Thessaly 
and  Phokis,  that  of  Kithaeron  between  Boeotia  and  Attica,  or  the 
mountainous  range  of  Oneion  and  Geraneia  along  the  Isthmus  of 
Corinth,  weie  positions  which  an  inferior  number  of  brave  men  could 
hold  against  a  much  greater  force  of  assailants.  But,  in  the  next 
place,  while  it  tended  to  protect  each  section  of  Greeks  from  being 
conquered,  it  also  kept  them  politically  disunited  and  perpetuated 
their  separate  autonomy.  It  fostered  that  powerful  principle  of 
repulsion,  which  disposed  even  the  smallest  township  to  constitute 
itself  a  political  unit  apart  from  the  rest,  and  to  resist  all  idea  of 
coalescence  with  others,  either  amicable  or  compulsory.  To  a  modern 
reader,  accustomed  to  large  political  aggregations,  and  securities  for 
good  government  through  the  representative  system,  it  requires  a 
certain  mental  effort  to  transport  himself  back  to  a  time  when  even 
the  smallest  town  clung  so  tenaciously  to  its  right  of  self-legislation. 
Nevertheless,  such  was  the  general  habit  and  feeling  of  the  ancient 
world,  throughout  Italy,  Sicily,  Spain,  and  Gaul.  Among  the  Hellens 
it  stands  out  more  conspicuously,  for  several  reasons — first,  because 
they  seem  to  have  pushed  the  multiplication  of  autonomous  units  to 
an  extreme  point,  seeing  that  even  islands  not  larger  than  Peparethos 
and  Amorgos  had  two  or  three  separate  city  communities;  secondly, 
because  they  produced,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  mankind, 
acute  systematic  thinkers  on  matters  of  government,  amongst  all 
of  whom  the  idea  of  the  autonomous  city  was  accepted  as  the  indis- 
pensable basis  of  political  speculation;  thirdly,  because  this  incurable 
subdivision  proved  finally  the  cause  of  their  ruin,  in  spite  of  pro- 
nounced intellectual  superiority  over  their  conquerors;  and  lastly, 
because  incapacity  of  political  coalescence  did  not  preclude  a  power- 
ful and  extensive  sympathy  between  the  inhabitants  of  all  the  separate 
cities,  with  a  constant  tendency  to  fraternize  for  numerous  purposes, 
social,  religious,  recreative,  intellectual,  and  aesthetical.  For  these 
reasons,  the  indefinite  multiplication  of  self-governing  towns,  though 
in  truth  a  phenomenon  common  to  ancient  Europe  as  contrasted 
with  the  large  monarchies  of  Asia,  appears  more  marked  among  the 


ISOLATION  263 

ancient  Greeks  than  elsewhere;  and  there  cannot  be  any  doubt  that 
they  owe  it,  in  a  considerable  degree,  to  the  multitude  of  insulating 
boundaries  which  the  configuration  of  their  country  presented. 

Nor  is  it  rash  to  suppose  that  the  same  causes  may  have  tended 
to  promote  that  unborrowed  intellectual  development  for  which 
they  stand  so  conspicuous.  General  propositions  respecting  the 
working  of  climate  and  physical  agencies  upon  character  are  indeed 
treacherous;  for  our  knowledge  of  the  globe  is  now  sufficient  to 
teach  us  that  heat  and  cold,  mountain  and  plain,  sea  and  land,  moist 
and  dry  atmosphere,  are  all  consistent  with  the  greatest  diversities 
of  resident  men:  moreover,  the  contrast  between  the  population  of 
Greece  itself,  for  the  seven  centuries  preceding  the  Christian  era,  and 
the  Greeks  of  more  modern  times,  is  alone  enough  to  inculcate  reserve 
in  such  speculations.  Nevertheless  we  may  venture  to  note  certain 
improving  influences,  connected  with  their  geographical  position, 
at  a  time  when  they  had  no  books  to  study,  and  no  more  advanced 
predecessors  to  imitate. 

We  may  remark,  first,  that  their  position  made  them  at  once 
mountaineers  and  mariners,  thus  supplying  them  with  great  variety 
of  objects,  sensations,  and  adventures;  next,  that  each  petty  com- 
munity, nestled  apart  amidst  its  own  rocks,  was  sufficiently  severed 
from  the  rest  to  possess  an  individual  life  and  attributes  of  its  own, 
yet  not  so  far  as  to  subtract  it  from  the  sympathies  of  the  remainder; 
so  that  an  observant  Greek,  commercing  with  a  great  diversity  of 
half-countrymen,  whose  language  he  understood,  and  whose  idiosyn- 
crasies he  could  appreciate,  had  access  to  a  larger  mass  of  social  and 
political  experience  than  any  other  man  in  so  unadvanced  an  age 
could  personally  obtain.  The  Phoenician,  superior  to  the  Greek  on 
shipboard,  traversed  wider  distances  and  saw  a  greater  number 
of  strangers,  but  had  not  the  same  means  of  intimate  communion 
with  a  multiplicity  of  fellows  in  blood  and  language.  His  relations, 
confined  to  purchase  and  sale,  did  not  comprise  that  mutuality  of 
action  and  reaction  which  pervaded  the  crowd  at  a  Grecian  festival. 
The  scene  which  here  presented  itself  was  a  mixture  of  uniformity 
and  variety  highly  stimulating  to  the  observant  faculties  of  a  man 
of  genius — who  at  the  same  time,  if  he  sought  to  communicate  his 
own  impressions,  or  to  act  upon  this  mingled  and  diverse  audience, 
was  forced  to  shake  off  what  was  peculiar  to  his  own  town  or 


264  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

community,  and  to  put  forth  matter  in  harmony  with  the  feelings  of  all. 
It  is  thus  that  we  may  explain,  in  part,  that  penetrating  apprehension 
of  human  life  and  character,  and  that  power  of  touching  sympathies 
common  to  all  ages  and  nations,  which  surprises  us  so  much  in  the 
unlettered  authors  of  the  old  epic.  Such  periodical  intercommunion 
of  brethren  habitually  isolated  from  each  other  was  the  only  means 
then  open  of  procuring  for  the  bard  a  diversified  range  of  experience 
and  a  many-colored  audience;  and  it  was  to  a  great  degree  the  result 
of  geographical  causes.  Perhaps  among  other  nations  such  facili- 
tating causes  might  have  been  found,  yet  without  producing  any 
results  comparable  to  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey.  But  Homer  was  never- 
theless dependent  upon  the  conditions  of  his  age,  and  we  can  at  least 
point  out  those  peculiarities  in  early  Grecian  society  without  which 
Homeric  excellence  would  never  have  existed — the  geographical 
position  is  one,  the  language  another. 

3.    Isolation  as  an  Explanation  of  National  Differences 

To  decide  between  race  and  environment  as  the  efficient  cause  of 
any  social  phenomenon  is  a  matter  of  singular  interest  at  this  time. 
A  school  of  sociological  writers,  dazzled  by  the  recent  brilliant  dis- 
coveries in  European  ethnology,  show  a  decided  inclination  to  sink 
the  racial  explanation  up  to  the  handle  in  every  possible  phase  of 
social  life  in  Europe.  It  must  be  confessed  that  there  is  provocation 
for  it.  So  persistent  have  the  physical  characteristics  of  the  people 
shown  themselves  that  it  is  not  surprising  to  find  theories  of  a  corre- 
sponding inheritance  of  mental  attributes  hi  great  favor. 

This  racial  school  of  social  philosophers  derives  much  of  its  data 
from  French  sources.  For  this  reason,  and  also  because  our  anthropo- 
logical knowledge  of  that  country  is  more  complete  than  for  any  other 
part  of  Europe,  we  shall  confine  our  attention  primarily  to  France. 
In  the  unattractive  upland  areas  of  isolation  is  the  Alpine  broad- 
headed  race  common  to  central  Europe.  At  the  north,  extending 
down  in  a  broad  belt  diagonally  as  far  as  Limoges  and  along  the  coast 
of  Brittany,  there  is  intermixture  with  the  blond,  long-headed  Teu- 
tonic race;  while  along  the  southern  coast,  penetrating  up  the  Rhone 
Valley,  is  found  the  extension  of  the  equally  long-headed  but  brunet 

1  From  William  Z.  Ripley,  The  Races  of  Europe,  pp.  515-30.  (D.  Appleton 
&  Co.,  1899.) 


ISOLATION  265 

Mediterranean  stock.  These  ethnic  facts  correspond  to  physical 
ones;  three  areas  of  geographical  isolation  are  distinct  centers  of 
distribution  of  the  Alpine  race. 

The  organization  of  the  family  is  the  surest  criterion  of  the  stage 
of  social  evolution  attained  by  a  people.  No  other  phase  of  human 
association  is  so  many-sided,  so  fundamental,  so  pregnant  for  the 
future.  For  this  reason  we  may  properly  begin  our  study  by  an 
examination  of  a  phenomenon  which  directly  concerns  the  stability 
of  the  domestic  institution — viz.,  divorce.  What  are  the  facts  as  to 
its  distribution  in  France?  Marked  variations  between  different 
districts  occur.  Paris  is  at  one  extreme;  Corsica,  as  always,  at  the 
other.  Of  singular  interest  to  us  is  the  parallel  which  at  once  appears 
between  this  distribution  of  divorce  and  that  of  head  form.  The 
areas  of  isolation  peopled  by  the  Alpine  race  are  characterized  by 
almost  complete  absence  of  legal  severance  of  domestic  relations 
between  husband  and  wife. 

Do  the  facts  instanced  above  have  any  ethnic  significance  ?  Do 
they  mean  that  the  Alpine  type,  as  a  race,  holds  more  tenaciously 
than  does  the  Teuton  to  its  family  traditions,  resenting  thereby  the 
interference  of  the  state  in  its  domestic  institutions?  A  foremost 
statistical  authority,  Jacques  Bertillon,  has  devoted  considerable 
space  to  proving  that  some  relation  between  the  two  exists.  Con- 
fronted by  the  preceding  facts,  his  explanation  is  this:  that  the 
people  of  the  southern  departments,  inconstant  perhaps  and  fickle, 
nevertheless  are  quickly  pacified  after  a  passionate  outbreak  of  any 
kind.  Husband  and  wife  may  quarrel,  but  the  estrangement  is 
dissipated  before  recourse  to  the  law  can  take  place.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Norman  peasant,  Teutonic  by  race,  cold  and  reserved, 
nurses  his  grievances  for  a  long  time;  they  abide  with  him,  smoldering 
but  persistent.  "Words  and  even  blows  terminate  quarrels  quickly 
in  the  south;  in  the  north  they  are  settled  by  the  judge."  From 
similar  comparisons  in  other  European  countries,  M.  Bertillon  draws 
the  final  conclusion  that  the  Teutonic  race  betrays  a  singular  prefer- 
ence for  this  remedy  for  domestic  ills.  It  becomes  for  him  an  ethnic 
trait. 

Another  social  phenomenon  has  been  laid  at  the  door  of  the 
Teutonic  race  of  northern  Europe;  one  which  even  more  than  divorce 
is  directly  the  concomitant  of  modern  intellectual  and  economic 


266  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

progress.  We  refer  to  suicide.  Morselli  devotes  a  chapter  of  his 
interesting  treatise  upon  this  subject  to  proving  that  "the  purer  the 
German  race — that  is  to  say,  the  stronger  the  Germanism  (e.g., 
Teutonism)  of  a  country — the  more  it  reveals  in  its  psychical  char- 
acter an  extraordinary  propensity  to  self-destruction." 

Consider  for  a  moment  the  relative  frequency  of  suicide  with 
reference  to  the  ethnic  composition  of  France.  The  parallel  between 
the  two  is  almost  exact  in  every  detail.  There  are  again  our  three 
areas  of  Alpine  racial  occupation — Savoy,  Auvergne,  and  Brittany — 
in  which  suicide  falls  annually  below  seventy-five  per  million  inhabit- 
ants. There,  again,  is  the  Rhone  Valley  and  the  broad  diagonal 
strip  from  Paris  to  Bordeaux,  characterized  alike  by  strong  infusion 
of  Teutonic  traits  and  relative  frequency  of  the  same  social  phe- 
nomenon. 

Divorce  and  suicide  will  serve  as  examples  of  the  mode  of  proof 
adopted  for  tracing  a  number  of  other  social  phenomena  to  an  ethnic 
origin.  Thus  Lapouge  attributes  the  notorious  depopulation  of  large 
areas  in  France  to  the  sterility  incident  upon  intermixture  between 
the  several  racial  types  of  which  the  population  is  constituted.  This 
he  seeks  to  prove  from  the  occurrence  of  a  decreasing  birth-rate  in 
all  the  open,  fertile  districts  where  the  Teutonic  element  has  inter- 
mingled with  the  native  population.  Because  wealth  happens  to  be 
concentrated  in  the  fertile  areas  of  Teutonic  occupation,  it  is  again 
assumed  that  this  coincidence  demonstrates  either  a  peculiar  acquisi- 
tive aptitude  in  this  race  or  else  a  superior  measure  of  frugality. 

By  this  time  our  suspicions  are  aroused.  The  argument  is  too 
simple.  Its  conclusions  are  too  far-reaching.  By  this  we  do  not 
mean  to  deny  the  facts  of  geographical  distribution  in  the  least.  It 
is  only  the  validity  of  the  ethnic  explanation  which  we  deny.  We 
can  do  better  for  our  races  than  even  its  best  friends  along  such  lines 
of  proof.  With  the  data  at  our  disposition  there  is  no  end  to  the 
racial  attributes  which  we  might  saddle  upon  our  ethnic  types.  Thus, 
it  would  appear  that  the  Alpine  type  in  its  sterile  areas  of  isolation 
was  the  land-hungry  one  described  by  Zola  in  his  powerful  novels. 
For,  roughly  speaking,  individual  land-holdings  are  larger  in  them 
on  the  average  than  among  the  Teutonic  populations.  Peasant 
proprietorship  is  more  common  also;  there  are  fewer  tenant  farmers. 
Crime  in  the  two  areas  assumes  a  different  aspect.  We  find  that 


ISOLATION  267 

among  populations  of  Alpine  type,  in  the  isolated  uplands,  offenses 
against  the  person  predominate  in  the  criminal  calendar.  In  the 
Seine  basin,  along  the  Rhone  Valley,  wherever  the  Teuton  is  in  evi- 
dence, on  the  other  hand,  there  is  less  respect  for  property;  so  that 
offenses  against  the  person,  such  as  assault,  murder,  and  rape,  give 
place  to  embezzlements,  burglary,  and  arson.  It  might  just  as  well 
be  argued  that  the  Teuton  shows  a  predilection  for  offenses  against 
property;  the  native  Celt  an  equal  propensity  for  crimes  against  the 
person. 

Appeal  to  the  social  geography  of  other  countries,  wherein  the 
ethnic  balance  of  power  is  differently  distributed,  may  be  directed 
against  almost  any  of  the  phenomena  we  have  instanced  in  France  as 
seemingly  of  racial  derivation.  In  the  case  either  of  suicide  or  divorce, 
if  we  turn  from  France  to  Italy  or  Germany,  we  instantly  perceive 
all  sorts  of  contradictions.  The  ethnic  type,  which  is  so  immune  from 
propensity  to  self-destruction  or  domestic  disruption  in  France, 
becomes  in  Italy  most  prone  to  either  mode  of  escape  from  temporary 
earthly  ills.  For  each  phenomenon  culminates  in  frequency  in  the 
northern  half  of  the  latter  country,  stronghold  of  the  Alpine  race. 
Nor  is  there  an  appreciable  infusion  of  Teutonism,  physically  speak- 
ing, herein,  to  account  for  the  change  of  heart.  Of  course,  it  might 
be  urged  that  this  merely  shows  that  the  Mediterranean  race  of 
southern  Italy  is  as  much  less  inclined  to  the  phenomenon  than  the 
Alpine  race  in  these  respects,  as  it  in  turn  lags  behind  the  Teuton. 
For  it  must  be  confessed  that  even  in  Italy  neither  divorce  nor  suicide 
is  so  frequent  anywhere  as  in  Teutonic  northern  France.  Well,  then, 
turn  to  Germany.  Compare  its  two  halves  in  these  respects  again. 
The  northern  half  of  the  empire  is  most  purely  Teutonic  by  race; 
the  southern  is  not  distinguishable  ethnically,  as  we  have  sought  to 
prove,  from  central  France.  Bavaria,  Baden,  and  Wiirtemberg  are 
scarcely  more  Teutonic  by  race  than  Auvergne.  Do  we  find  differ- 
ences in  suicide,  for  example,  following  racial  boundaries  here  ?  Far 
from  it;  for  Saxony  is  its  culminating  center;  and  Saxony,  as  we 
know,  is  really  half-Slavic  at  heart,  as  is  also  eastern  Prussia.  Suicide 
should  be  most  frequent  in  Schleswig-Holstein  and  Hanover,  if  racial 
causes  were  appreciably  operative.  The  argument,  in  fact,  falls  to 
pieces  of  its  own  weight,  as  Durkheim  has  shown.  His  conclusion 
is  thus  stated: 


268  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

"If  the  Germans  are  more  addicted  to  suicide,  it  is  not  because  of 
the  blood  in  their  veins,  but  of  the  civilization  in  which  they  have 
been  raised." 

A  summary  view  of  the  class  of  social  phenomena  seemingly 
characteristic  of  the  distinct  races  in  France,  if  we  extend  our  field  of 
vision  to  cover  all  Europe,  suggests  an  explanation  for  the  curious 
coincidences  and  parallelisms  noted  above,  which  is  the  exact  oppo- 
site of  the  racial  one. 

Our  theory,  then,  is  this:  that  most  of  the  social  phenomena  we 
have  noted  as  peculiar  to  the  areas  occupied  by  the  Alpine  type  are 
the  necessary  outcome,  not  of  racial  proclivities  but  rather  of  the 
geographical  and  social  isolation  characteristic  of  the  habitat  of  this 
race.  The  ethnic  type  is  still  pure  for  the  very  same  reason  that 
social  phenomena  are  primitive.  Wooden  ploughs  pointed  with 
stone,  blood  revenge,  an  undiminished  birth-rate,  and  relative  purity 
of  physical  type  are  all  alike  derivatives  from  a  common  cause, 
isolation,  directly  physical  and  coincidently  social.  We  discover, 
primarily,  an  influence  of  environment  where  others  perceive  phe- 
nomena of  ethnic  inheritance. 

4.     Natural  versus  Vicinal  Location  in  National  Development1 

In  contradistinction  to  continental  and  intercontinental  location, 
anthropogeography  recognizes  two  other  narrower  meanings  of  the 
term.  The  innate  mobility  of  the  human  race,  due  primarily  to  the 
eternal  food-quest  and  increase  of  numbers,  leads  a  people  to  spread 
out  over  a  territory  till  they  reach  the  barriers  which  nature  has  set 
up,  or  meet  the  frontiers  of  other  tribes  and  nations.  Their  habitat 
or  their  specific  geographic  location  is  thus  defined  by  natural  features 
of  mountain,  desert,  and  sea,  or  by  the  neighbors  whom  they  are 
unable  to  displace,  or  more  often  by  both. 

A  people  has,  therefore,  a  twofold  location,  an  immediate  one, 
based  upon  their  actual  territory,  and  a  mediate  or  vicinal  one,  grow- 
ing out  of  its  relations  to  the  countries  nearest  them.  The  first  is  a 
question  of  the  land  under  their  feet;  the  other,  of  the  neighbors 
about  them.  The  first  or  natural  location  embodies  the  complex 
of  local  geographic  conditions  which  furnish  the  basis  for  their  tribal 
or  national  existence.  This  basis  may  be  a  peninsula,  island,  archi- 

1  Adapted  from  Ellen  C.  Semple,  Influences  of  Geographic  Environment, 
pp.  132-33.  (Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  IQII.) 


ISOLATION  269 

pelago,  an  oasis,  an  arid  steppe,  a  mountain  system,  or  a  fertile 
lowland.  The  stronger  the  vicinal  location,  the  more  dependent 
is  the  people  upon  the  neighboring  states,  but  the  more  potent  the 
influence  which  it  can,  under  certain  circumstances,  exert  upon  them. 
Witness  Germany  in  relation  to  Holland,  France,  Austria,  and  Poland. 
The  stronger  the  natural  location,  on  the  other  hand,  the  more  inde- 
pendent is  the  people  and  the  more  strongly  marked  is  the  national 
character.  This  is  exemplified  in  the  people  of  mountain  lands  like 
Switzerland,  Abyssinia,  and  Nepal;  of  peninsulas  like  Korea,  Spain, 
and  Scandinavia;  and  of  islands  like  England  and  Japan.  Today 
we  stand  amazed  at  that  strong  primordial  brand  of  the  Japanese 
character  which  nothing  can  blur  or  erase. 

Clearly  defined  natural  locations,  in  which  barriers  of  mountains 
and  sea  draw  the  boundaries  and  guarantee  some  degree  of  isolation, 
tend  to  hold  their  people  in  a  calm  embrace,  to  guard  them  against 
outside  interference  and  infusion  of  foreign  blood,  and  thus  to  make 
them  develop  the  national  genius  in  such  direction  as  the  local 
geographic  conditions  permit.  In  the  unceasing  movements  which 
have  made  up  most  of  the  historic  and  prehistoric  life  of  the  human 
race,  in  their  migrations  and  counter-migrations,  their  incursions, 
retreats,  and  expansions  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  vast  unfenced 
areas,  like  the  open  lowlands  of  Russia  and  the  grasslands  of  Africa, 
present  the  picture  of  a  great  thoroughfare  swept  by  pressing  throngs. 
Other  regions,  more  secluded,  appear  as  quiet  nooks,  made  for  a 
temporary  halt  or  a  permanent  rest.  Here  some  part  of  the  passing 
human  flow  is  caught  as  in  a  vessel  and  held  till  it  crystallizes  into 
a  nation.  These  are  the  conspicuous  areas  of  race  characteriza- 
tion. The  development  of  the  various  ethnic  and  political  offspring 
of  the  Roman  Empire  in  the  naturally  defined  areas  of  Italy,  the 
Iberian  Peninsula,  and  France  illustrates  the  process  of  national 
differentiation  which  goes  on  in  such  secluded  locations. 

HI.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    Isolation  in  Anthropogeography  and  Biology 

A  systematic  treatise  upon  isolation  as  a  sociological  concept 
remains  to  be  written.  The  idea  of  isolation  as  a  tool  of  investigation 
has  been  fashioned  with  more  precision  in  geography  and  in  biology 
than  in  sociology. 


270          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Research  in  human  geography  has  as  its  object  the  study  of  man 
in  his  relations  to  the  earth.  Students  of  civilization,  like  Montes- 
quieu and  Buckle,  sought  to  explain  the  culture  and  behavior  of 
peoples  as  the  direct  result  of  the  physical  environment.  Friedrich 
Ratzel  with  his  "thorough  training  as  a  naturalist,  broad  reading, 
and  travel"  and  above  all,  his  comprehensive  knowledge  of  ethnology, 
recognized  the  importance  of  direct  effects,  such  as  cultural  isolation. 
Jean  Brunhes,  by  the  selection  of  small  natural  units,  his  so-called 
"islands,"  has  made  intensive  studies  of  isolated  groups  in  the  oases 
of  the  deserts  of  the  Sub  and  of  the  Mzab,  and  in  the  high  mountains 
of  the  central  Andes. 

Biology  indicates  isolation  as  one  of  the  factors  in  the  origin  of 
the  species.  Anthropology  derives  the  great  races  of  mankind — the 
Caucasian,  the  Ethiopian,  the  Malay,  the  Mongolian,  and  the  Indian — 
from  geographical  separation  following  an  assumed  prehistoric  dis- 
persion. A  German  scholar,  Dr.  Georg  Gerland,  has  prepared  an 
atlas  which  plots  differences  in  physical  traits,  such  as  skin  color 
and  hair  texture,  as  indicating  the  geographical  distribution  of  races. 

2.    isolation  and  Social  Groups 

Anthropogeographical  and  biological  investigations  have  pro- 
ceeded upon  the  assumption,  implicit  or  explicit,  that  the  geographic 
environment,  and  the  physical  and  mental  traits  of  races  and  indi- 
viduals, determine  individual  and  collective  behavior.  What  investi- 
gations in  human  geography  and  heredity  actually  demonstrate  is 
that  the  geographic  environment  and  the  original  nature  of  man 
condition  the  culture  and  conduct  of  groups  and  of  persons.  The 
explanations  of  isolation,  so  far  as  it  affects  social  life,  which  have 
gained  currency  in  the  writings  of  anthropologists  and  geographers, 
are  therefore  too  simple.  Sociologists  are  able  to  take  into  account 
forms  of  isolation  not  considered  by  the  students  of  the  physical 
environment  and  of  racial  inheritance.  Studies  of  folkways,  mores, 
culture,  nationality,  the  products  of  a  historical  or  cultural  process, 
disclose  types  of  social  contact  which  transcend  the  barriers  of  geo- 
graphical or  racial  separation,  and  reveal  social  forms  of  isolation 
which  prevent  communication  where  there  is  close  geographical 
contact  or  common  racial  bonds. 

The  literature  upon  isolated  peoples  ranges  from  investigations 
of  arrest  of  cultural  development  as,  for  example,  the  natives  of 


ISOLATION  271 

Australia,  the  Mountain  Whites  of  the  southern  states,  or  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Pitcairn  Island  to  studies  of  hermit  nations,  of  caste  systems 
as  in  India,  or  of  outcast  groups  such  as  feeble-minded  "tribes"  or 
hamlets,  fraternities  of  criminals,  and  the  underworld  of  commer- 
cialized prostitution.  Special  research  in  dialects,  in  folklore,  and  in 
provincialism  shows  how  spatial  isolation  fixes  differences  in  speech, 
attitudes,  folkways,  and  mores  which,  in  turn,  enforce  isolation  even 
when  geographic  separation  has  disappeared. 

The  most  significant  contribution  to  the  study  of  isolation  from 
the  sociological  standpoint  has  undoubtedly  been  made  by  Fishberg 
in  a  work  entitled  The  Jews,  a  Study  of  Race  and  Environment.  The 
author  points  out  that  the  isolation  of  the  Jew  has  been  the  result 
of  neither  physical  environment  nor  of  race,  but  of  social  barriers. 
"Judaism  has  been  preserved  throughout  the  long  years  of  Israel's 
dispersion  by  two  factors:  its  separative  ritualism,  which  prevented 
close  and  intimate  contact  with  non-Jews,  and  the  iron  laws  of  the 
Christian  theocracies  of  Europe  which  encouraged  and  enforced 
'isolation.'  "x 

3.    Isolation  and  Personality 

Philosophers,  mystics,  and  religious  enthusiasts  have  invariably 
stressed  privacy  for  meditation,  retirement  for  ecstatic  communion 
with  God,  and  withdrawal  from  the  contamination  of  the  world.  In 
1784-86  Zimmermann  wrote  an  elaborate  essay  in  which  he  dilates 
upon  "the  question  whether  it  is  easier  to  live  virtuously  in  society 
or  in  solitude,"  considering  in  Part  I  "the  influence  of  occasional 
retirement  upon  the  mind  and  the  heart"  and  in  Part  II  "the 
pernicious  influence  of  a  total  exclusion  from  society  upon  the  mind 
and  the  heart." 

Actual  research  upon  the  effect  of  isolation  upon  personal  devel- 
opment has  more  of  future  promise  than  of  present  accomplishment. 
The  literature  upon  cases  of  feral  men  is  practically  all  of  the  anecdotal 
type  with  observations  by  persons  untrained  in  the  modern  scientific 
mechod.  One  case,  however,  "the  savage  of  Aveyron"  was  studied 
intensively  by  Itard,  the  French  philosopher  and  otologist  who  cher- 
ished high  hopes  of  his  mental  and  social  development.  After  five 
years  spent  in  a  patient  and  varied  but  futile  attempt  at  education, 
he  confessed  his  bitter  disappointment.  ''Since  my  pains  are  lost 

1  Fishberg,  op.  tit.,  p.  555. 


272  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  efforts  fruitless,  take  yourself  back  to  your  forest  and  primitive 
tastes;  or  if  your  new  wants  make  you  dependent  on  society,  suffer  the 
penalty  of  being  useless,  and  go  to  Bicetre,  there  to  die  in  wretchedness." 

Only  second  in  importance  to  the  cases  of  feral  men  are  the 
investigations  which  have  been  made  of  the  results  of  solitary  con- 
finement. Morselli,  in  his  well-known  work  on  Suicide,  presented 
statistics  showing  that  self-destruction  was  many  times  as  frequent 
among  convicts  under  the  system  of  absolute  isolation  as  compared 
with  that  of  association  during  imprisonment.  Studies  of  Auburn 
prison  in  New  York,  of  Mountjoy  in  England,  and  penal  institutions 
on  the  continent  show  the  effects  of  solitary  incarceration  in  the 
increase  of  cases  of  suicides,  insanity,  invalidism,  and  death. 

Beginnings  have  been  made  in  child  study,  psychiatry,  and 
psychoanalysis  of  the  effects  of  different  types  of  isolation  upon 
personal  development.  Some  attention  has  been  given  to  the  study 
of  effects  upon  mentality  and  personality  of  physical  defects  such 
as  deaf-mutism  and  blindness.  Students  of  the  so-called  "morally 
defective  child,"  that  is  the  child  who  appears  deficient  in  emotional 
and  sympathetic  responses,  suggest  as  a  partial  explanation  the 
absence  in  infancy  and  early  childhood  of  intimate  and  sympathetic 
contacts  with  the  mother.  An  investigation  not  yet  made  but  of 
decisive  bearing  upon  this  point  will  be  a  comparative  study  of  children 
brought  up  in  families  with  those  reared  in  institutions. 

Psychiatry  and  psychoanalysis  in  probing  mental  life  and  person- 
ality have  related  certain  mental  and  social  abnormalities  to  isolation 
from  social  contact.  Studies  of  paranoia  and  of  egocentric  personali- 
ties have  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  the  only  or  favorite  child 
complex.  The  exclusion  of  the  boy  or  girl  in  the  one-child  family 
from  the  give  and  take  of  democratic  relations  with  brothers  and 
sisters  results,  according  to  the  theory  advanced,  in  a  psychopathic 
personality  of  the  self-centered  type.  A  contributing  cause  of  homo- 
sexuality, it  is  said  by  psychoanalysts,  is  the  isolation  during  child- 
hood from  usual  association  with  individuals  of  the  same  sex.  Research 
in  dementia  praecox  discloses  a  symptom  and  probably  a  cause  of 
this  mental  malady  to  be  the  withdrawal  of  the  individual  from 
normal  social  contacts  and  the  substitution  of  an  imaginary  for  a  real 
world  of  persons  and  events.  Dementia  praecox  has  been  related 
by  one  psychoanalyst  to  the  "shut-in"  type  of  personality. 


ISOLATION  273 

The  literature  on  the  subject  of  privacy  in  its  relation  to  personal 
development  is  fragmentary  but  highly  promising  for  future  research. 
The  study  of  the  introspective  type  of  personality  suggests  that  self- 
analysis  is  the  counterpart  of  the  inhibition  of  immediate  and  impul- 
sive self-expression  in  social  relations.  Materials  for  an  understanding 
of  the  relation  of  retirement  and  privacy  to  the  aesthetic,  moral,  and 
creative  life  of  the  person  may  be  found  in  the  lives  of  hermits, 
inventors,  and  religious  leaders;  in  the  studies  of  seclusion,  prayer, 
and  meditation;  and  in  research  upon  taboo,  prestige,  and  attitudes 
of  superiority  and  inferiority. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY:    MATERIALS  FOR  THE  STUDY  OF  ISOLATION 

I.      CHARACTERISTIC  SENTIMENTS  AND  ATTITUDES  OF  THE 
ISOLATED  PERSON 

(1)  Ziinmermann,  Johann  G.    Solitude.    Or  the  effects  of  occasional  retire- 
ment on  the  mind,  the  heart,  general  society.    Translated  from  the 
German.    London,  1827. 

(2)  Canat,  Rene.     Une  forme  du  mal  du  siecle.    Du  sentiment  de  la  soli- 
tude morale  chez  les  romantiques  et  les  parnassiens.     Paris,  1904. 

(3)  Goltz,  E.  von  der.    Das  Gebet  in  der  aeltesten  Christenheit.    Leipzig, 
1001. 

(4)  Strong,  Anna  L.    A  Consideration  of  Prayer  from  the  Standpoint  of 
Social  Psychology.     Chicago,  1908. 

(5)  Hoch,A.  "  On  Some  of  the  Mental  Mechanisms  in  Dementia  Praecox, " 
Journal  of  Abnormal  Psychology,  V  (1910),  255-73.    [A  study  of  the 
isolated  person.] 

(6)  Bohannon,  E.  W.     "Only  Child,"  Pedagogical  Seminary,  V  (1897-98), 
475-96. 

(7)  Brill,  A.  A.    Psychanalysis.    Its  theories  and  practical  application. 
"The  Only  or  Favorite  Child  in  Adult  Life,"  pp.  253-65.     2d  rev.  ed. 
Philadelphia  and  London,  1914. 

(8)  Neter,  Eugen.    Das  einzige  Kind  und  seine  Erziehung.    Ein  ernstes 
Mahnwort  an  Eltern  und  Erzieher.     Miinchen,  1914. 

(9)  Whiteley,  Opal  S.     The  Story  of  Opal.     Boston,  1920. 

(10)  Delbriick,  A.    Die  pathologische  Luge  und  die  psychisch  abnormen 

Schwindler.     Stuttgart,  1891. 

(n)  Healy,  Wm.    Pathological  Lying.    Boston,  1915. 
(12)  Dostoevsky,  F.     The  House  of  the  Dead;   or,  Prison  Life  in  Siberia. 

Translated  from  the  Russian  by  Constance  Garnett.    New  York,  191 5. 


274  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(13)  Griffiths,  Arthur.    Secrets  of  the  Prison  House,  or  Gaol  Studies  and 
Sketches.    I,  262-80.    London,  1894. 

(14)  Kingsley,  Charles.     The  Hermits.    London  and  New  York,  1871. 

(15)  Baring-Gould,  S.    Lives  of  Saints.     16  vols.    Rev.  ed.    Edinburgh, 
1916.     [See  references  in  index  to  hermits.] 

(16)  Solenberger,  Alice  W.    One  Thousand  Homeless  Men.    A  study  of 
original  records.    Russell  Sage  Foundation.    New  York,  1911. 

II.      TYPES   OF  ISOLATION  AND  TYPES   OF   SOCIAL   GROUPS 

(1)  Fishberg,  Maurice.     The  Jews.    A  study  of  race  and  environment. 
London  and  New  York,  1911. 

(2)  Gummere,  Amelia  M.     The  Quaker.    A  study  in  costume.    Philadel- 
phia, 1901. 

(3)  Webster,  Hutton.    Primitive  Secret  Societies.    A  study  in  early  politics 
and  religion.     New  York,  1908. 

(4)  Heckethorn,  C.  W.     The  Secret  Societies  of  all  Ages  and  Countries.     A 
comprehensive  account  of  upwards  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  secret 
organizations — religious,  political,  and  social — from  the  most  remote 
ages  down  to  the  present  time.     2  vols.    New  ed.,  rev.   and  enl. 
London,  1897. 

(5)  Fosbroke,  Thomas  D.    British  Monachism,  or  Manners  and  Customs 
of  the  Monks  and  Nuns  of  England.    London,  1817. 

(6)  Wishart,  Alfred  W.      A   Short  History  of  Monks  and  Monasteries. 
Trenton,  N.J.,  1900.     [Chap,  i,  pp.  17-70,  gives  an  account  of   the 

monk  as  a  type  of  human  nature.] 

in.      GEOGRAPHICAL  ISOLATION  AND   CULTURAL  AREAS 

(1)  Ratzel,  Friedrich.  Polilische  Geographic;    oder,   Die  Geographic  der 
Staaten,  des  Verkehres  und  des  Krieges.     2d.  ed.    Miinchen,  1903. 

(2)  Semple,  Ellen.    Influences  of  Geographic  Environment,  on  the  Basis  of 
Ratzel' s  System  of  Anthropogeography.     Chap,  xiii,  "Island  Peoples," 
pp.  400-72.    New  York,  1911.    [Bibliography.] 

(3)  Brunhes,  Jean.    Human  Geography.    An  attempt  at  a  positive  classi- 
fication,  principles,   and   examples.     2d  ed.    Translated   from    the 
French  by  T.  C.  LeCompte.     Chicago,  1920.     [See  especially  chaps, 
vi,  vii,  and  viii,  pp.  415-569.] 

(4)  Vallaux,    Camille.      La    Mer.      (Geographic   Sociale.)     Populations 
maritimes,  migrations,  pe"ches,   commerce,   domination   de  la  mer. 
Chap,  iii,  "Les  isles  et  1'insularite."     Paris,  1908. 

(5)  Gerland,  Georg.    Atlas  der  Volkerkunde.     Gotha,  1892.     [Indicates 
the  geographical  distribution  of  differences  in  skin  color,  hair  form, 
clothing,  customs,  languages,  etc.] 


ISOLATION  275 

(6)  Ripley,  William  Z.    The  Races  of.  Europe.    A  sociological  study.    New 
York,  1899. 

(7)  Campbell,  John  C.     The  Southern  Highlander  and  His  Homeland. 
New  York,  Russell  Sage  Foundation,  1921.    [Bibliography.] 

(8)  Barrow,  Sir  John.    A  Description  of  Pitcairn's  Island  and  Its  Inhabi- 
tants.   With  an  authentic  account  of  the  mutiny  of  the  ship  "Bounty" 
and  of  the  subsequent  fortunes  of  the  mutineers.    New  York,  1832. 

(9)  Routledge,  Mrs.  Scoresby.     The  Mystery  of  Easter  Island.    The  story 
of  an  expedition.     Chap,  xx,  "Pitcairn  Island."    London,  1919. 

(10)  Galpin,  Charles  J.    Rural  Life.    New  York,  1918. 

IV.      LANGUAGE  FRONTIERS  AND  NATIONALITY 

(1)  Dominian,  Leon.      The  Frontiers  of  Language  and  Nationality  in 
Europe.    New  York,  1917.     [Bibliography,  pp.  348-56.] 

(2)  Auerbach,  Bertrand.    Les  Races  et  les  nationality  en  Autriche-Hongrie. 
2d  rev.  ed.    Paris,  1917. 

(3)  Bernhard,  L.    Das  polnische  Gemeinwesen  im  preussischen  Stoat.    Die 
Polenfrage.    Leipzig,  1910. 

(4)  Bourgoing,  P.  de.    Les  guerres  d'idiome  et  de  nationality.    Tableaux, 
esquisses,  et  souvenirs  d'histoire  contemporaine.    Paris,  1849. 

(5)  Cambridge  Modern  History,  Vol.  XI,  "The  Growth  of  Nationalities." 
Cambridge,  1909. 

(6)  Meillet,  A.    "Les  Langues  et  les  Nationalites,"  Scientia,  Vol.  XVIII, 
(Sept.,  1915),  192-201. 

(7)  Pfister,  Ch.    "La  limite  de  la  langue  francaise  et  de  la  langue  alle- 
mande  en  Alsace-Lorraine,"  Considerations  historiques.    Bull.  Soc. 
Gtogr.  de  I'Est,  Vol.  XII,  1890. 

(8)  This,  G.     "Die  deutsch-franzosische  Sprachgrenze  in  Lothringen," 
Beitrdge  zur  Landes-  und  Volkskunde  von  Elsass-Lothringen,  Vol.  I, 
Strassburg,  1887. 

(9)  .     "Die  deutsch-franzosische  Sprachgrenze  in  Elsass,"  ibid., 

1888. 

V.      DIALECTS  AS  A  FACTOR  IN  ISOLATION 

(1)  Babbitt,  Eugene  H.     "College  Words  and  Phrases,"  Dialect  Notes, 
II   (1900-1904),  3-70. 

(2)  .     "The  English  of  the  Lower  Classes  in  New  York  City  and 

Vicinity,"  Dialect  Notes,  Vol.  I,  Part  ix,  1896. 

(3)  .    "The  Geography  of  the  Great  Languages,"  World's  Work, 

Feb.  15  (1907-8),  9903-7- 

(4)  Churchill,  William.    Beach-la-mar:  the  Jargon  or  Trade  Speech  of  the 
Western  Pacific.    Washington,  1911. 


276          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(5)  Dana,  Richard  H.,  Jr.    A  Dictionary  of  Sea  Terms.     London,  1841. 

(6)  Elliott,  A.  M.     "Speech-Mixture  in  French  Canada:    English  and 
French,"  American  Journal  of  Philology,  X  (1889),  133. 

(7)  Flaten,  Nils.     "Notes  on  American-Norwegian  with  a  Vocabulary," 
Dialect  Notes,  II  (i 900-1 904) ,  115-26. 

(8)  Harrison,  James  A.     "Negro-English,"  Transactions  and  Proceedings 
American  Philological  Association,  XVI  (1885),  Appendix,  pp.  xxxi- 
xxxiii. 

(9)  Hempl,  George.     "Language-Rivalry  and  Speech-Differentiation  in 
the  Case  of  Race-Mixture,"   Transactions   and   Proceedings  of  the 
American  Philological  Association,  XXIX  (1898),  31-47. 

(10)  Knortz,  Karl.  Amerikanische  Redensarten  und  Volksgebrduche.  Leip- 
zig, 1907. 

(u)  Letzner,  Karl.  Worterbuch  der  englischen  Volkssprache  Australiens  und 
der  englischen  Mischsprachen.  Halle,  1891. 

(12)  Pettman,   Charles.    Africanderisms.    A  glossary  of  South  African 
colloquial  words  and  phrases  and  of  place  and  other  names.    London 
and  New  York,  1913. 

(13)  Ralph,  Julian.     "The  Language  of  the  Tenement-Folk,"  Harper's 
Weekly,  XLI  (Jan.  23,  1897),  90. 

(14)  Skeat,  Walter  W.    English  Dialects  from  the  Eighth  Century  to  the 
Present  Day.     Cambridge,  1911. 

(15)  Yule,  Henry,  and  Burnell,  A.  C.     Hobson-Jobson.     A  glossary  of  col- 
loquial Anglo-Indian  words  and  phrases,  and  of  kindred  terms,  ety- 
mological, historical,  geographical,  and  discursive;   new  ed.  by  Wm. 
Crooke,  London,  1903. 

VI.      PHYSICAL  DEFECT  AS  A  FORM  OF  ISOLATION 

(1)  Bell,  Alexander  G.     "Memoir  upon  the  Formation  of  a  Deaf  Variety 
of  the  Human  Race."    National  Academy  of  Sciences,  Memoirs,  II, 
177-262.     Washington,  D.C.,  1884. 

(2)  Fay,  Edward  A.     Marriages  of  the  Deaf  in  America.     An  inquiry  con- 
cerning the  results  of  marriages  of  the  deaf  in  America.    Washington, 
D.C.,  1893. 

(3)  Desagher,  Maurice.     "La  timidite  chez  les  aveugles,"  Revue  philo- 
sophique,  LXXVI  (1913),  269-74. 

(4)  Best,  Harry.     The  Deaf.     Their  position  in  society  and  the  provision 
for  their  education  in  the  United  States.    New  York,  1914. 

(5)  -      — .     The  Blind.     Their  condition  and  the  work  being  done  for 
them  in  the  United  States.    New  York,  1919. 


ISOLATION  277 

VH.      FERAL  MEN 

(1)  Rauber,  August.    Homo  Sapiens  Ferus;  oder,  Die  Zustande  der  Ver- 
wilderten  und  ihre  Bedeutung  fur  Wissenschaft,  Politik,  und  Schule. 
Leipzig,  1885. 

(2)  Seguin,  Edward.     Idiocy  and  Its  Treatment  by  the  Physiological  Method. 
Pp.  14-23.     New  York,  1866. 

(3)  Bonnaterre,  J.  P.     Notice  historique  sur  le  sauvage  de  I'Aveyron,  et  sur 
quelques  autres  individus  qu'on  a  trouves  dans  les  forets  a  differentes 
epoques.     Paris,  1800. 

(4)  Itard,  Jean  E.  M.  G.     De  V education  d'un  homme  sauvage,  et  des  prem- 
iers develop pemens  physiques  et  moraux  du  jeune  sauvage  de  VAveyron. 
Pp.  45-46.     Paris,  1 80 1. 

(5)  Feuerbach,  Paul  J.  A.  von.     Caspar  Hauser.     An  account  of  an  indi- 
vidual kept  in  a  dungeon  from  early  childhood,  to  about  the  age  of 
seventeen.     Translated  from  the  German  by  H.  G.  Linberg.     London, 
1834. 

(6)  Stanhope,  Philip  Henry  [4th  Earl].     Tracts  relating  to  Caspar  Hauser. 
Translated  from  the  original  German.     London,  1836. 

(7)  Lang,  Andrew.     Historical  Mysteries.     London,  1904. 

(8)  Tredgold,  A.  F.     Mental  Deficiency.     "Isolation  Amentia,"  pp.  297- 
305.    3d  rev.  ed.    New  York,  1920. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1 .  Isolation  as  a  Condition  of  Originality 

2 .  The  Relation  of  Social  Contact  and  of  Isolation  to  Historic  Inventions 
and  Discoveries,  as  the  Law  of  Gravitation,  Mendelian  Inheritance, 
the  Electric  Light,  etc. 

3.  Isolated  Types:    the  Hermit,  the  Mystic,  the  Prophet,  the  Stranger, 
and  the  Saint 

4.  Isolation,  Segregation,  and  the  Physically  Defective:  as  the  Blind,  the 
Deaf-Mute,  the  Physically  Handicapped 

5.  Isolated  Areas  and  Cultural  Retardation:   the  Southern  Mountaineer, 
Pitcairn  Islanders,  the  Australian  Aborigines 

6.  "Moral"  Areas,  Isolation,  and  Segregation:     City  Slums,  Vice  Dis- 
tricts, "Breeding-places  of  Crime" 

7.  The  Controlled  versus   the   Natural   process   of    Segregation  of  the 
Feeble-minded 

8.  Isolation  and  Insanity 

9.  Privacy  in  the  Home 
10.  Isolation  and  Prestige 


278          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

1 1 .  Isolation  as  a  Defence  against  the  Invasion  of  Personality 

12.  Nationalism  as  a  Form  of  Isolation 

13.  Biological  and  Social  Immunity:  or  Biological  Immunity  from  Infec- 
tion, Personal  or  Group  Immunity  against  Social  Contagion 

14.  The  Only  Child 

15.  The  Pathological  Liar  Considered  from  the  Point  of  View  of  Isolation 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  Is  the  distinction  between  isolation  and  social  contact  relative  or 
absolute  ? 

2.  What  illustrations  of  the  various  forms  of  isolation,  spatial,  structural, 
habitudinal,  and  psychical,  occur  to  you  ? 

3.  By  what  process  does  isolation  cause  racial  differentiation? 

4.  What  is  the  relation  of  endogamy  and  exogamy  (a)  to  isolation,  and 
(6)  to  the  establishment  of  a  successful  stock  or  race  ? 

5.  In  what  ways  do  the  Jews  and  the  Americans  as  racial  types  illustrate 
the  effects  of  isolation  and  of  contact  ? 

6.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  Bacon's  definition  of  solitude  ? 

7.  What  is  the  point  in  the  saying  "A  great  town  is  a  great  solitude"  ? 

8.  What  is  the  sociology  of  the  creation  by  a  solitary  person  of  imaginary 
companions  ? 

9.  Under  what  conditions  does  an  individual  prefer  solitude  to  society? 
Give  illustrations. 

10.  What  are  the  devices  used  in  prayer  to  secure  isolation  ? 

11.  "Prayer  has  value  in  that  it  develops  the  essentially  social  form  of 
personal  self-realization."    Explain. 

12.  What  are  the  interrelations  of  social  contact  and  of  privacy  in  the 
development  of  the  ideal  self  ? 

13.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  relation  of  erudition  to  originality? 

14.  In  what  ways  does  isolation  (a)  promote,  (b)  impede,  originality  ? 
What  other  factors  beside  isolation  are  involved  in  originality  ? 

15.  What  is  the  value  of  privacy? 

1 6.  What  was  the  value  of  the  monasteries  ? 

17.  What  conclusions  do  you  derive  from  the  study  of  the  cases  of  feral 
men  ?    Do  these  cases  bear  out  the  theory  of  Aristotle  in  regard  to  the 
effect  of  isolation  upon  the  individual  ? 

1 8.  What  is  the  significance  of  Helen  Keller's  account  of  how  she  broke 
through  the  barriers  of  isolation  ? 

19.  What  were  the  mental  effects  of  solitude  described  by  Hudson  ?    How 
do  you  explain  the  difference  between  the  descriptions  of  the  effect  of 
solitude  in  the  accounts  given  by  Rousseau  and  by  Hudson  ? 


ISOLATION  279 

20.  How  does  Galpin  explain  the  relation  of  isolation  to  the  development  of 
the  "rural  mind"? 

21.  What  are  the  effects  of  isolation  upon  the  young  man  or  young  woman 
reared  in  the  country  ? 

22.  Was  Lincoln  the  product  of  isolation  or  of  social  contact  ? 

23.  To  what  extent  are  rural  problems  the  result  of  isolation  ? 

24.  What  do  you  understand  by  Thomas'  statement,  "The  savage,  the 
Negro,  the  peasant,  the  slum  dwellers,  and  the  white  woman  are 
notable  sufferers  by  exclusion  "  ? 

25.  What  other  of  the  subtler  forms  of  isolation  occur  to  you? 

26.  Is  isolation  to  be  regarded  as  always  a  disadvantage  ? 

27.  What  do  you  understand  by  segregation  as  a  process  ? 

28.  Give  illustrations  of  groups  other  than  those  mentioned  which  have 
become  segregated  as  a  result  of  isolation. 

29.  How  would  you  describe  the  process  by  which  isolation  leads  to  the 
segregation  of  the  feeble-minded  ? 

30.  Why  does  a  segregated  group,  like  the  feeble-minded,  become  an 
isolated  group  ? 

31.  What  are  other  illustrations  of  isolation  resulting  from  segregation? 

32.  How  would  you  compare  Europe  with  the  other  continents  with  refer- 
ence to  number  and  distribution  of  isolated  areas  ? 

33.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  nature  of  the  influence  of  the  cradle 
land  upon  "the  historical  race"? 

34.  What  illustrations  from  the  Great  War  would  you  give  of  the  effects 
(a)  of  central  location;  (b)  of  peripheral  location  ? 

35.  How  do  you  explain  the  contrast  between  the  characteristics  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Grecian  inland  and  maritime  cities  ? 

36.  To  what  extent  may  (a)  the  rise  of  the  Greek  city  state,  (b)  Grecian 
intellectual  development,  and  (c)  the  history  of  Greece,  be  interpreted 
in  terms  of  geographic  isolation  ? 

37.  To  what  extent  can  you  explain  the  cultural  retardation  of  Africa,  as 
compared  with  European  progress,  by  isolation  ? 

38.  Does  race  or  isolation  explain  more  adequately  the  following  cultural 
differences  for  the  several  areas  of  France — divorce,  intensity  of  suicide, 
distribution  of  awards,  relative  frequency  of  men  of  letters  ? 

39.  What  is  the  relation  of  village  and  city  emigration  and  immigration  to 
isolation  ? 

40.  What  is  the  difference  between  a  natural  and  a  vicinal  location  ? 

41.  In  what  ways  does  isolation  affect  national  development? 

42.  What  is  the  relation  of  geographical  position  in  area  to  literature  ? 


CHAPTER  V 

SOCIAL  CONTACTS 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.    Preliminary  Notions  of  Social  Contact 

The  fundamental  social  process  is  that  of  interaction.  This  inter- 
action is  (a)  of  persons  with  persons,  and  (b)  of  groups  with  groups. 
The  simplest  aspect  of  interaction,  or  its  primary,  phase,  is  contact. 
Contact  may  be  considered  as  the  initial  stage  of  interaction,  and 
preparatory  to  the  later  stages.  The  phenomena  of  social  contact 
require  analysis  before  proceeding  to  the  more  difficult  study  of  the 
mechanism  of  social  interaction. 

"With  whom  am  I  in  contact?"  Common  sense  has  in  stock 
ready  answers  to  this  question. 

There  is,  first  of  all,  the  immediate  circle  of  contact  through  the 
senses.  Touch  is  the  most  intimate  kind  of  contact.  Face-to-face 
relations  include,  in  addition  to  touch,  visual  and  auditory  sensations. 
Speech  and  hearing  by  their  very  nature  establish  a  bond  of  contact 
between  persons. 

Even  in  common  usage,  the  expression  "social  contact"  is 
employed  beyond  the  limits  fixed  by  the  immediate  responses  of 
touch,  sight,  and  hearing.  Its  area  has  expanded  to  include  con- 
nection through  all  the  forms  of  communication,  i.e.,  language,  letters, 
and  the  printed  page;  connection  through  the  medium  of  the  tele- 
phone, telegraph,  radio,  moving  picture,  etc.  The  evolution  of 
the  devices  for  communication  has  taken  place  in  the  fields  of  two 
senses  alone,  those  of  hearing  and  seeing.  Touch  remains  limited 
to  the  field  of  primary,  association.  But  the  newspaper  with  its 
elaborate  mechanism  of  communication  gives  publicity  to  events  in 
London,  Moscow,  and  Tokio,  and  the  motion  picture  unreels  to  our 
gaze  scenes  from  distant  lands  and  foreign  peoples  with  all  the  illusion 
of  reality. 

The  frontiers  of  social  contact  are  farther  extended  to  the  widest 
horizons,  by  commerce.  The  economists,  for  example,  include  in 

280 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  281 

their  conception  of  society  the  intricate  and  complex  maze  of  relations 
created  by  the  competition  and  co-operation  of  individuals  and 
societies  within  the  limits  of  a  world-wide  economy.  This  inclusion 
of  unconscious  as  well  as  conscious  reciprocal  influences  in  the  concept 
of  social  relations  brings  into  "contact"  the  members  of  a  village 
missionary  society  with  the  savages  of  the  equatorial  regions  of 
Africa;  or  the  pale-faced  drug  addict,  with  the  dark-skinned  Hindu 
laborers  upon  the  opium  fields  of  Benares;  or  the  man  gulping  down 
coffee  at  the  breakfast  table,  with  the  Java  planter;  the  crew  of  the 
Pacific  freighter  and  its  cargo  of  spices  with  the  American  whole- 
saler and  retailer  in  food  products.  In  short,  everyone  is  in  a  real, 
though  concealed  and  devious,  way  in  contact  with  every  other 
person  in  the  world.  Contacts  of  this  type,  remote  from  the  familiar 
experiences  of  everyday  life,  have  reality  to  the  intellectual  and  the 
mystic  and  are  appreciated  by  the  masses  only  when  co-operation 
breaks  down,  or  competition  becomes  conscious  and  passes  into 
conflict. 

These  three  popular  meanings  of  contacts  emphasize  (i)  the 
intimacy  of  jrenspry  responses,  (2)  the  extension^  of  contact  through 
devices  of  communiealionJaased  upon  sightjtnd  hearing,  and  (3)  the 
solidarity  and_mtgrdepjendence  created_and  maintained  by  thejabjic 
of  social  life,  woven_j.s  it  is  from  the  intricate  and  invisible^  trands 

of  human  interests  in  the  process  of  a  world-wide  competition  and 

co-operation. 

2.    The  Sociological  Concept  of  Contact 

The  use  of  the  term  "contact"  in  sociology  is  not  a  departure 
from,  but  a  development  of,  its  customary  significance.  In  the 
preceding  chapter  the  point  was  made  that  the  distinction  between 
isolation  and  contact  is  not  absolute  but  relative.  Members  of  a 
society  spatially  separate,  but  socially  in  contact  through  sense 
perception  and  through  communication  of  ideas,  may  be  thereby 
mobilized  to  collective  behavior.  Sociological  interest  in  this  situa- 
tion lies  in  thefact  that  the  various  kinds  of  social  contacts  between^ 


rjersons  and  groups  determine  behavior.  The  student  of  problems 
of  American  society,  for  example,  realizes  the  necessity  of  under- 
standing the  mutual  reactions  involved  in  the  contacts  of  the  foreign 
and  the  native-born,  of  the  white  and  the  negro,  and  of  employers 


282  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  employees.  In  other  words,  contact,  as  the  first  stage  of  social 
interaction,  conditions  and  controls  the  later  stages  of  the  process.^) 
It  is  convenient,  for  certain  purposes,  to  conceive  of  contact  in 
terms  of  space.  The  contacts  of  persons  and  of  groups  may  then 
be  plotted  in  units  of  sjiciaLjcLisiaMce.  This  permits  graphic  repre- 
sentation of  relations  of  sequence  and  of  coexistence  in  terms  both  of 
units  of  separation  and  of  contact.  This  sgajjalxonception  may  now 
be  applied  to  the  explanation  of  the  readings  in  social  contacts. 

3.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

In  sociological  literature  there  have  grown  up  certain  distinctions 
between  types  of  social  contacts.  Physical  contacts  are  distin- 
guished from  social  contacts;  relations  within  the  "in-group"  are 
perceived  to  be  different  from  relations  with  the  "out-group";  con- 
tacts of  historical  continuity  are  compared  with  contacts  of  mobility; 
primary  contacts  are  set  off  from  secondary  contacts.  How  far  and 
with  what  advantage  may  these  distinctions  be  stated  in  spatial 
terms  ? 

a)  Land  as  a  basis  for  social  contacts. — The  position  of  persons 
and  peoples  on  the  earth  gives  us  a  literal  picture  of  the  spatial — • 
conception  of  social  contact.  The  cluster  of  homes  in  the  Italian 
agricultural  community  suggests  the  difference  in  social  life  in  com- 
parison 7/ith  the  isolated  homesteads  of  rural  America.  A  gigantic 
spot  map  of  the  United  States  upon  which  every  family  would  be 
indicated  by  a  dot  would  represent  schematically  certain  different 
conditions  influencing  group  behavior  in  arid  areas,  the  open  country, 
hamlets,  villages,  towns,  and  cities.  The  movements  of  persons 
charted  with  detail  sufficient  to  bring  out  variations  in  the  daily, 
weekly,  monthly,  and  yearly  routine,  would  undoubtedly  reveal 
interesting  identities  and  differences  in  the  intimacy  and  intensity 
of  social  contacts.  It  would  be  possible  and  profitable  to  classify 
people  with  reference  to  the  routine  of  their  daily  lives. 

*^  ft)  Touch  as  the  physiological  basis  of  social  contact. — According 
to  the  spatial  conception  the  closest  contacts  possible  are  those  of 
touch.  The  physical  proximity  involved  in  tactile  sensations  is, 
however,  but  the  symbol  of  the  intensity  of  the  reactions  to  contact. 
Desire  and  aversion  for  contacts,  as  Crawley  shows  in  his  selection, 
arise  in  the  most  intimate  relations  of  human  life.  Love  and  hate, 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  283 

longing  and  disgust,  sympathy  and  hostility  increase  in  intensity 
with  intimacy  of  association.^  It  is  a  current  sociological  fallacy  that 
closenes5  ™f  ^"^t  results  only  in  the  growth  of  good_wilL_  The 
fact  is,  that  with  increasing  contact  either  attraction  or  repulsion 
may  be  the  outcome,  depending  upon  the  situation  and  upon  factors 
not  yet  fully  analyzed.  Peculiar  conditions  of  contact,  as  its  pro- 
longed duration,  its  frequent  repetition,  just  as  in  the  case  of  isolation 
from  normal  association,  may  lead  to  the  inversion  of  the  original 
impulses  and  sentiments  of  affection  and  antipathy.1 

c}  Contacts  with  the  u  in-group"  and  with  the  "out-group." — The 
conception  of  the  we-group  in  terms  of  distance  is  that  of  a  group 
in  which  the  solidarity  of  units  is  so  complete  that  the  movements 
and  sentiments  of  all  are  completely  regulated  with  reference  to  their 
interests  and  behavior  as  a  group.  This  control  by  the  in-group 
over  its  members  makes  for  solidity  and  impenetrability  in  its  re- 
lations with  the  out-group.  Sumner  in  his  Folkways  indicates  how 
internal  sympathetic  contacts  and  group  egotism  result  in  double 
standards  of  behavior:  good- will  and  co-operation  within  the  mem- 
bers of  the  in-group,  hostility  and  suspicion  toward  the  out-group 
and  its  members.  The  essential  point  is  perhaps  best  brought  out 
by  Shaler  in  his  distinction  between  sympathetic  and  categoric  con- 
tacts. He  describes  the  transition  from  contacts  of  the  out-group 
to  those  of  the  in-group,  or  from  remote  to  intimate  relations.  From 
a  distance,  a  person  has  the  characteristics  of  his  group,  upon  close 
acquaintance  he  reveals  his  individuality. 

d)  Historical  continuity  and  mobility. — Historical  continuity, 
which  maintains  the  identity  of  the  present  with  the  past,  implies 
the  existence  of  a  body  of  tradition  which  is  transmitted  from  the 
older  to  the  younger  generations.^  Through  the  medium  of  tradition, 
including  in  that  term  all  the  learning,  science,  literature,  and  prac- 
tical arts,  not  to  speak  of  the  great  body  of  oral  tradition  which  is 
after  all  a  larger  part  of  life  than  we  imagine,  the  historical  and 

1  Alexander  Pope,  in  smooth  lines,  and  with  apt  phrases,  has  concretely 
described  this  process  of  perversion: 

"Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 


284  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

cultural  life  is  maintained.  This  is  the  meaning  of  the  long  period 
of  childhood  in  man  during  which  the  ^ounger  generation  is  living 
under  the  care  and  protection  of  the  older.  When,  for  any  reason, 
this  contact  of  the  younger  with  the  older  generation  is  interrupted — 
as  is  true  in  the  case  of  immigrants — a  very  definite  cultural  deteriora- 
tion frequently  ensues. 

Contacts  of  mobility  are  those  of  a  changing  present,  and  measure 
the  number  and  variety  of  the  stimulations  which  the  social  life  and 
movements — the  discovery  of  the  hour,  the  book  of  the  moment,  the 
passing  fads  and  fashions — afford.  Contacts  of  mobility  give  us 
noy^jty  and  news.  It  is  through  contacts  of  this  sort  that  change 
takes  place. 

Mobility,  accordingly,  measures  not  merely  the  social  contacts 
that  one  gains  from  travel  and  exploration,  but  the  stimulation  and 
suggestions  that  come  to  us  through  the  medium  of  communication, 
by  which  sentiments  and  ideas  are  pu^in  sociaj^circulation.  Through 
the  newspaper,  the  common  man  of  today  participates  in  the  social 
movements  of  his  time.  His  illiterate  forbear  of  yesterday,  on  the 
other  hand,  lived  unmoved  by  the  current  of  world-events  outside 
his  hamlet.  The  tempo  of  modern  societies  may  be  measured  com- 
paratively by  the  relative  perfection  of  devices  of  communication 
and  the  rapidity  of  the  circulation  of  sentiments,  opinions,  and  facts. 
Indeed,  the  efficiency  of  any  society  or  of  any  group  is  to  be  measured 
not  alone  in  terms  of  numbers  or  of  material  resources,  but  also  in 
terms  of  mobility  and  access  through  communication  and  publicity 
to  the  common  fund  of  tradition  and  culture. 

e)  Primary  and  secondary  contacts. — Primary  contacts  are  those 
of  "intimate  face-to-face  association";  secondary  contacts  are  those 
of  externality  and  greater  distance.  •>  A  study  of  primary  association 
indicates  that  this  sphere  of  contact  falls  into  two  areas:  one  of 
intimacy  and  the  other  fjjf_a£qujiiritance.  In  the  diagram  which 
follows,  the  field  of  primary  contacts  has  been  subdivided  so  that  it 
includes  (x)  a  circle  of  greater  intimacy,  (;y)  a  wider  circle  of  acquaint- 
anceship. The  completed  chart  would  appear  as  shown  on  page  285. 
/"""  Primary  contacts  of  the  greatest  intimacy  are  (a)  those  represented 
Jby  the  affections  that  ordinarily  spring  up  within  the  family,  par- 
jticularly  between  parents  and  children,  husband  and  wife;  and  (6) 
^ those  of  fellowship  and  affection  outside  the  family  as  between  lovers, 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  285 

bosom  friends,  and  boon  companions^  These  .relations  are  all  mani- 
festations of  a  craving  for  response.  These  personal  relationships 
are  the  nursery  for  the  development  of  human  nature  and  personality. 
John  Watson,  who  studied  several  hundred  new-born  infants  in  the 
psychological  laboratory,  concludes  that  "  the  first  few  years  are  the 
all-important  ones,  fer_shaping  the  emotional  life  of  the  child."1 
The  primary  virtues  and  ideals  of  which  Cooley  writes  so  sympatheti- 
cally are,  for  the  most  part,  projections  from  family  lif e,.  Certainly 
in  these  most  intimate  relations  of  life  in  the  contacts  of  the  family 
circle,  in  the  closest  friendships,  personality  is  most  severely  tried, 
realizes  its  most  characteristic  expressions,  or  is  most  completely 
disorganized. 


FIG.  3 

A,  primary  contacts;  x,  greater  intimacy;  y,  acquaintanceship; 
B,  secondary  contacts 

Just  as  the  life  of  the  family  represents  the  contacts  of  touch  and 
response,  the  neighborhood  or  the  village  is  the  natural  area  of  primary 
contacts  and  the  city  the  social  environment  of  secondary  contacts. 
In  primary  association  individuals  are  in  contact  with  each  other 
at  practically  all  points  of  their  lives.  In  the  village  "everyone 
knows  everything  about  everyone  else."  Canons  of  conduct  are 
absolute,  social  control  is  omnipotent,  the  status  of  the  family  and 
the  individual  is  fixed.  In  secondary  association  individuals  are  in 
contact  with  each  other  at  only  one  or  two  points  in  their  lives.  In 
the  city,  the  individual  becomes  anonymous;  at  best  he  is  generally 
known  in  only  one  or  two  aspects  of  his  life.  Standards  of  behavior 

1  H.  S.  Jennings,  John  B.  Watson,  Adolph  Meyer,  and  W.  I.  Thomas,  "Prac- 
tical and  Theoretical  Problems  in  Instinct  and  Habit,"  Suggestions  of  Modern 
Science  Concerning  Education,  p.  174. 


286  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

are  relative;  the  old  primary  controls  have  disappeared;  the  new 
secondary  instruments  of  discipline,  necessarily  formal,  are  for  the 
most  part  crude  and  inefficient;  the  standing  of  the  family  and  of 
the  individual  is  uncertain  and  subject  to  abrupt  changes  upward  or 
downward  in  the  social  scale. 

Simmel  has  made  a  brilliant  contribution  in  his  analysis  of  the 
sociological  significance  of  "the  stranger."  "The  stranger"  in  the 
sociological  §ense  is  the  individual  who  unites  in  his  social  relations 
primary  and  secondary  contacts.  Simmel  himself  employs  the  con- 
ception of  social  distance  in  his  statement  of  the  stranger  as  the 
combination  of  the  near  and  the  far.  It  is  interesting  and  signifi- 
cant to  determine  the  different  types  of  the  union  of  intimacy  and 
externality  in  the  relations  of  teacher  and  student,  physician  and 
patient,  minister  and  layman,  lawyer  and  client,  social  worker  and 
applicant  for  relief. 

A  complete  analysis  of  the  bearing  upon  personal  and  cultural 
life  of  changes  from  a  society  based  upon  contacts  of  continuity  and 
of  primary  relations  to  a  society  of  increasing  mobility  organized 
around  secondary  contacts  cannot  be  given  here.  Certain  of  the 
most  obvious  contrasts  of  the  transition  may,  however,  be  stated. 
Increasing  mobility  of  persons  in  society  almost  inevitably  leads  to 
change  and  therefore  io  loss  qf  continuity.  In  primary  groups, 
where  social  life  moves  slowly,  there  is  a  greater  sense  of  continuity 
than  in  secondary  groups  where  it  moves  rapidly. 

There  is  a  further  contrast  if  not  conflict  between  direct  and 
intimate  contacts  and  contacts  based  upon  communication  of  ideas. 
All  sense  of  values,  as  Windelband  has  pointed  out,1  rests  upon  con- 
crete experience,  that  is  to  say  upon  sense  contacts.  Society,  to  the 
extent  that  it  is  organized  about  secondary  contacts,  is  based  upon 
abstractions,  upon  science  and  technique.  Secondary  contacts  of 
this  type  have  only  secondary  values  because  they  represent  means 
rather  than  ends.  Just  as  all  behavior  arises  in  sense  impressions  it 
must  also  terminate  in  sense  impressions  to  realize  its  ends  and  attain 
its  values.  The  effect  of  life  in  a  society  based  on  secondary  contacts 
is  to  build  up  between  the  impulse  and  its  end  a  world  of  means, 
to  project  values  into  the  future,  and  to  direct  life  toward  the  reali- 
zation of  distant  hopes. 

1  See  Introduction,  pp.  8-10. 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  287 

The  ultimate  effect  upon  the  individual  as  he  becomes  accommo- 
dated to  secondary  society  is  to  find  a  substitute  expression  for  his 
primary  response  in  the  artificial  physical  environment  of  the  city. 
The  detachment  of  the  person  from  intimate,  direct,  and  spontaneous 
contacts  with  social  reality  is  in  large  measure  responsible  for  the 
intricate  maze  of  problems  of  urban  life. 

The  change  from  concrete  and  personal  to  abstract  and  imper- 
sonal relations  in  economic  and  social  life  began  with  the  Industrial 
Revolution.  The  machine  is  the  symbol  of  the  monotonous  routine 
of  impersonal,  unskilled,  large-scale  production  just  as  the  hand  tool 
is  the  token  of  the  interesting  activity  of  personal,  skilled,  handi- 
craft work.  The  so-called  "instinct  of  workmanship  "  no  longer  finds 
expression  in  the  anonymous  standardized  production  of  modern 
industry.1 

It  is  not  in  industry  alone  that  the  natural  impulses  of  the  person 
for  response,  recognition,  and  self-expression  are  balked.  In  social 
work,  politics,  religion,  art,  and  sport  the  individual  is  represented 
now  by  proxies  where  formerly  he  participated  in  person.  All  the 
forms  of  communal  activity  in  which  all  persons  formerly  shared 
have  been  taken  over  by  professionals.  The  great  mass  of  men  in 
most  of  the  social  activities  of  modern  life  are  no  longer  actors,  but 
spectators.  The  average  man  of  the  present  time  has  been  relegated 
by  the  influence  of  the  professional  politician  to  the  role  of  taxpayer. 
In  social  work  organized  charity  has  come  between  the  giver  and 
the  needy. 

In  these  and  other  manifold  ways  the  artificial  conditions  of  city 
life  have  deprived  the  person  of  most  of  the  natural  outlets  for  the 
expression  of  his  interests  and  his  energies.  To  this  fact  is  to  be 
attributed  in  large  part  the  restlessness,  the  thirst  for  novelty  and 
excitement  so  characteristic  of  modern  life.  This  emotional  unrest 
has  been  capitalized  by  the  newspapers,  commercialized  recreations, 
fashion,  and  agitation  in  their  appeal  to  the  sensations,  the  emotions, 
and  the  instincts  loosened  from  the  satisfying  fixations  of  primary- 
group  life.  The  raison  d'etre  of  social  work,  as  well  as  the  funda- 
mental problem  of  all  social  institutions  in  city  life  must  be  understood 
in  its  relation  to  this  background. 

'Thorstein  Veblen,  The  Instinct  of  Workmanship,  and  the  State  of  the  Indus- 
trial Arts.  (New  York,  1914.) 


288          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 
II.    MATERIALS 

A.      PHYSICAL  CONTACT  AND  SOCIAL  CONTACT 
i.     The  Frontiers  of  Social  Contact1 

Sociology  deals  especially  with  the  phenomena  of  contact.  The 
reactions  which  result  from  voluntary  or  involuntary  contact  of 
human  beings  with  other  human  beings  are  the  phenomena  peculiarly 
"social,"  as  distinguished  from  the  phenomena  that  belong  properly 
to  biology  and  psychology. 

In  the  first  place,  we  want  to  indicate,  not  the  essence  of  the 
social,  but  the  location,  the  sphere,  the  extent,  of  the  social.  If  we 
can  agree  where  it  is,  we  may  then  proceed  to  discover  what  it  is. 
The  social,  then,  is  the  term  next  beyond  the  individual.  Assuming, 
for  the  sake  of  analysis,  that  our  optical  illusion,  "  the  individual,"  is 
an  isolated  and  self-sufficient  fact,  there  are  many  sorts  of  scientific 
problems  that  do  not  need  to  go  beyond  this  fact  to  satisfy  their 
particular  terms.  Whether  the  individual  can  ever  be  abstracted 
from  his  conditions  and  remain  himself  is  not  a  question  that  we 
need  here  discuss.  At  all  events,  the  individual  known  to  our  experi- 
ence is  not  isolated.  He  is  connected  in  various  ways  with  one  or 
more  individuals.  The  different  ways  in  which  individuals  are  con- 
nected with  each  other  are  indicated  by  the  inclusive  term  "contact." 
Starting,  then,  from  the  individual,  to  measure  him  in  all  his  dimen- 
sions and  to  represent  him  in  all  his  phases,  we  find  that  each  person 
is  what  he  is  by  virtue  of  the  existence  of  other  persons,  and  by 
virtue  of  an  alternating  current  of  influence  between  each  person  and 
all  the  other  persons  previously  or  at  the  same  time  in  existence.  The 
last  native  of  Central  Africa  around  whom  we  throw  the  dragnet  of 
civilization,  and  whom  we  inoculate  with  a  desire  for  whiskey,  adds 
an  increment  to  the  demand  for  our  distillery  products,  and  affects 
the  internal  revenue  of  the  United  States,  and  so  the  life-conditions 
of  every  member  of  our  population.  This  is  what  we  mean  by 
"contact."  So  long  as  that  African  tribe  is  unknown  to  the  outside 
world,  and  the  world  to  it,  so  far  as  the  European  world  is  concerned, 
the  tribe  might  as  well  not  exist.  The  moment  the  tribe  comes 
within  touch  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  aggregate  of  the  world's 
contacts  is  by  so  much  enlarged;  the  social  world  is  by  so  much 

1  From  Albion  W.  Small,  General  Sociology,  pp.  486-89.  (The  University 
of  Chicago  Press,  1905.) 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  289 

extended.  In  other  words,  the  realm  of  the  social  is  the  realm  of 
circuits  of  reciprocal  influence  between  individuals  and  the  groups 
which  individuals  compose.  The  general  term  "contact"  is  pro- 
posed to  stand  for  this  realm,  because  it  is  a  colorless  word  that  may 
mark  boundaries  without  prejudging  contents.  Wherever  there  is 
physical  or  spiritual  contact  between  persons,  there  is  inevitably  a 
circuit  of  exchange  of  influence.  The  realm  of  the  social  is  the 
realm  constituted  by  such  exchange.  It  extends  from  the  producing 
of  the  baby  by  the  mother,  and  the  simultaneous  producing  of  the 
mother  by  the  baby,  to  the  producing  of  merchant  and  soldier  by 
the  world-powers,  and  the  producing  of  the  world-powers  by  mer- 
chant and  soldier. 

The  most  general  and  inclusive  way  in  which  to  designate  all 
the  phenomena  that  sociology  proper  considers,  without  importing 
into  the  term  premature  hypotheses  by  way  of  explanation,  is  to 
assert  that  they  are  the  phenomena  of  "contact"  between  persons. 

In  accordance  with  what  was  said  about  the  division  of  labor 
between  psychology  and  sociology,  it  seems  best  to  leave  to  the 
psychologist  all  that  goes  on  inside  the  individual  and  to  say  that 
the  work  of  the  sociologist  begins  with  the  things  that  take  place 
between  individuals.  This  principle  of  division  is  not  one  that  can 
be  maintained  absolutely,  any  more  than  we  can  hold  absolutely  to 
any  other  abstract  classification  of  real  actions.  It  serves,  however, 
certain  rough  uses.  Our  work  as  students  of  society  begins  in  earnest 
when  the  individual  has  become  equipped  with  his  individuality. 
This  stage  of  human  growth  is  both  cause  and  effect  of  the  life  of 
human  beings  side  by  side  in  greater  or  lesser  numbers.  Under  those 
circumstances  individuals  are  produced;  they  act  as  individuals;  by 
their  action  as  individuals  they  produce  a  certain  type  of  society; 
that  type  reacts  on  the  individuals  and  helps  to  transform  them  into 
different  types  of  individuals,  who  in  turn  produce  a  modified  type 
of  society;  and  so  the  rhythm  goes  on  forever.  Now  the  medium 
through  which  all  this  occurs  is  the  fact  of  contacts,  either  physical 
or  spiritual.  In  either  case,  contacts  are  collisions  of  interests  in  the 

individuals. 

2.     The  Land  and  the  People1 

Every  clan,  tribe,  state,  or  nation  includes  two  ideas,  a  people 
and  its  land,  the  first  unthinkable  without  the  other.  History, 

1  From  Ellen  C.  Semple,  Influences  of  Geographic  Environment,  pp.  51-53. 
(Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1911.) 


2QO  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

sociology,  ethnology,  touch  only  the  inhabited  areas  cf  the  earth. 
These  areas  gain  their  final  significance  because  of  the  people  who 
occupy  them ;  their  local  conditions  of  climate,  soil,  natural  resources, 
physical  features,  and  geographic  situation  are  important  primarily 
as  factors  in  the  development  of  actual  or  possible  inhabitants.  A 
land  is  fully  comprehended  only  when  studied  in  the  light  of  its 
influence  upon  its  people,  and  a  people  cannot  be  understood  apart 
from  the  field  of  its  activities.  More  than  this,  human  activities 
are  fully  intelligible  only  in  relation  to  the  various  geographic  condi- 
tions which  have  stimulated  them  in  different  parts  of  the  world. 
The  principles  of  the  evolution  of  navigation,  of  agriculture,  of 
trade,  as  also  the  theory  of  population,  can  never  reach  their  correct 
and  final  statement,  unless  the  data  for  the  conclusions  are  drawn 
from  every  part  of  the  world  and  each  fact  interpreted  in  the  light  of 
the  local  conditions  whence  it  sprang.  Therefore  anthropology, 
sociology,  and  history  should  be  permeated  by  geography. 

Most  systems  of  sociology  treat  man  as  if  he  were  in  some  way 
detached  from  the  earth's  surface;  they  ignore  the  land  basis  of 
society.  The  anthropogeographer  recognizes  the  various  social 
forces,  economic  and  psychologic,  which  sociologists  regard  as  the 
cement  of  societies;  but  he  has  something  to  add.  He  sees  in  the 
land  occupied  by  a  primitive  tribe  or  a  highly  organized  state 
the  underlying  material  bond  holding  society  together,  the  ultimate 
basis  of  their  fundamental  social  activities,  which  are  therefore 
derivatives  from  the  land.  He  sees  the  common  territory  exercising 
an  integrating  force — weak  in  primitive  communities  where  the 
group  has  established  only  a  few  slight  and  temporary  relations  with 
its  soil,  so  that  this  low  social  complex  breaks  up  readily  like  its 
organic  counterpart,  the  low  animal  organism  found  in  an  amoeba; 
he  sees  it  growing  stronger  with  every  advance  in  civilization  involving 
more  complex  relations  to  the  land — with  settled  habitations,  with 
increased  density  of  population,  with  a  discriminating  and  highly 
differentiated  use  of  the  soil,  with  the  exploitation  of  mineral  resources, 
and,  finally,  with  that  far-reaching  exchange  of  commodities  and  ideas 
which  means  the  establishment  of  varied  extra-territorial  relations. 
Finally,  the  modern  society  or  state  has  grown  into  every  foot  of  its 
own  soil,  exploited  its  every  geographic  advantage,  utilized  its  geo- 
graphic location  to  enrich  itself  by  international  trade,  and,  when 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  291 

possible,  to  absorb  outlying  territories  by  means  of  colonies.  The 
broader  this  geographic  base,  the  richer,  more  varied,  its  resources, 
and  the  more  favorable  its  climate  to  their  exploitation,  the  more 
numerous  and  complex  are  the  connections  which  the  members  of  a 
social  group  can  establish  with  it,  and  through  it  with  each  other;  or, 
in  other  words,  the  greater  may  be  its  ultimate  historical  significance. 

3.    Touch  and  Social  Contact1 

General  ideas  concerning  human  relations  are  the  medium 
through  which  sexual  taboo  works,  and  these  must  now  be  examined. 
If  we  compare  the  facts  of  social  taboo  generally,  or  of  its  subdivision, 
sexual  taboo,  we  find  that  the  ultimate  test  of  human  relations,  in 
both  genus  and  species,  is  contact.  An  investigation  of  primitive 
ideas  concerning  the  relations  of  man  with  man,  when  guided  by  this 
clue,  will  lay  bare  the  principles  which  underlie  the  theory  and 
practice  of  sexual  taboo.  Arising,  as  we  have  seen,  from  sexual 
differentiation,  and  forced  into  permanence  by  difference  of  occupa- 
tion and  sexual  solidarity,  this  segregation  receives  the  continuous 
support  of  religious  conceptions  as  to  human  relations.  These  con- 
ceptions center  upon  contact,  and  ideas  of  contact  are  at  the  root  of 
all  conceptions  of  human  relations  at  any  stage  of  culture;  contact 
is  the  one  universal  test,  as  it  is  the  most  elementary  form,  of  mutual 
relations.  Psychology  bears  this  out,  and  the  point  is  psychological 
rather  than  ethnological. 

As  I  have  pointed  out  before  and  shall  have  occasion  to  do  so 
again,  a  comparative  examination,  assisted  by  psychology,  of  the 
emotions  and  ideas  of  average  modern  humanity  is  a  most  valuable 
aid  to  ethnological  inquiry.  In  this  connection,  we  find  that  desire 
or  willingness  for  physical  contact  is  an  animal  emotion,  more  or  less 
subconscious,  which  is  characteristic  of  similarity,  harmony,  friend- 
ship, or  love.  Throughout  the  world,  the  greeting  of  a  friend  is 
expressed  by  contact,  whether  it  be  nose-rubbing,  or  the  kiss,  the 
embrace,  or  the  clasp  of  hands;  so  the  ordinary  expression  of  friend- 
ship by  a  boy,  that  eternal  savage,  is  contact  of  arm  and  shoulder. 
More  interesting  still  for  our  purpose  is  the  universal  expression  by 

1  From  Ernest  Crawley,  The  Mystic  Rose,  pp.  76-79.  (Published  by  The 
Macmfllan  Co.,  1902.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


292  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

contact  of  the  emotion  of  love.  To  touch  his  mistress  is  the  ever- 
present  desire  of  the  lover,  and  in  this  impulse,  even  if  we  do  not 
trace  it  back,  as  we  may  without  being  fanciful,  to  polar  or  sexual 
attraction  inherent  in  the  atoms,  the  <f>i\ia  of  Empedocles,  yet  we 
may  place  the  beginning  and  ending  of  love.  When  analyzed,  the 
emotion  always  comes  back  to  contact. 

Further,  mere  willingness  for  contact  is  found  universally  when 
the  person  to  be  touched  is  healthy,  if  not  clean,  or  where  he  is 
of  the  same  age  or  class  or  caste,  and,  we  may  add,  for  ordinary 
humanity  the  same  sex. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  avoidance  of  contact,  whether  consciously 
or  subconsciously  presented,  is  no  less  the  universal  characteristic  of 
human  relations  where  similarity,  harmony,  friendship,  or  love  is 
absent.  This  appears  in  the  attitude  of  men  to  the  sick,  to  strangers, 
distant  acquaintances,  enemies,  and  in  cases  of  difference  of  age, 
position,  sympathies  or  aims,  and  even  of  sex.  Popular  language  is 
full  of  phrases  which  illustrate  this  feeling. 

Again,  the  pathology  of  the  emotions  supplies  many  curious 
cases  where  the  whole  being  seems  concentrated  upon  the  sense  of 
touch,  with  abnormal  desire  or  disgust  for  contact;  and  hi  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  emotions  from  physiological  pleasure  and  pain,  contact 
plays  an  important  part  in  connection  with  functional  satisfaction 
or  dissatisfaction  with  the  environment. 

In  the  next  place,  there  are  the  facts,  first,  that  an  element  of 
thought  inheres  in  all  sensation,  while  sensation  conditions  thought; 
and  secondly,  that  there  is  a  close  connection  of  all  the  senses,  both 
in  origin — each  of  them  being  a  modification  of  the  one  primary 
sense  of  touch — and  in  subsequent  development,  where  the  special- 
ized organs  are  still  co-ordinated  through  tactile  sensation,  in  the 
sensitive  surface  of  organism.  Again,  and  here  we  see  the  genesis 
of  ideas  of  contact,  it  is  by  means  of  the  tactile  sensibility  of  the 
skin  and  membranes  of  sense-organs,  forming  a  sensitized  as  well  as 
a  protecting  surface,  that  the  nervous  system  conveys  to  the  brain 
information  about  the  external  world,  and  this  information  is  in  its 
original  aspect  the  response  to  impact.  Primitive  physics,  no  less 
than  modern,  recognizes  that  contact  is  a  modified  form  of  a  blow. 
These  considerations  show  that  contact  not  only  plays  an  important 
part  in  the  life  of  the  soul  but  must  have  had  a  profound  influence 
on  the  development  of  ideas,  and  it  may  now  be  assumed  that  ideas 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  293 

of  contact  have  been  a  universal  and  original  constant  factor  in 
human  relations  and  that  they  are  so  still.  The  latter  assumption 
is  to  be  stressed,  because  we  find  that  the  ideas  which  lie  beneath 
primitive  taboo  are  still  a  vital  part  of  human  nature,  though  mostly 
emptied  of  their  religious  content;  and  also  because,  as  I  hold, 
ceremonies  and  etiquette,  such  as  still  obtain,  could  not  possess 
such  vitality  as  they  do  unless  there  were  a  living  psychological 
force  behind  them,  such  as  we  find  in  elementary  ideas  which  come 
straight  from  functional  processes. 

These  ideas  of  contact  are  primitive  in  each  sense  of  the  word,  at 
whatever  stage  of  culture  they  appear.  They  seem  to  go  back  in 
origin  and  in  character  to  that  highly  developed  sensibility  of  all 
animal  and  even  organized  life,  which  forms  at  once  a  biological 
monitor  and  a  safeguard  for  the  whole  organism  in  relation  to  its 
environment.  From  this  sensibility  there  arise  subjective  ideas 
concerning  the  safety  or  danger  of  the  environment,  and  in  man  we 
may  suppose  these  subjective  ideas  as  to  his  environment,  and 
especially  as  to  his  fellow-men,  to  be  the  origin  of  his  various  expres- 
sions of  avoidance  or  desire  for  contact. 

Lastly,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  avoidance  of  contact  is  the  most 
conspicuous  phenomenon  attaching  to  cases  of  taboo  when  its  danger- 
ous character  is  prominent.  In  taboo  the  connotation  of  "not  to  be 
touched"  is  the  salient  point  all  over  the  world,  even  in  cases  of 
permanent  taboo  such  as  belongs  to  Samoan  and  Maori  chiefs,  with 
whom  no  one  dared  come  in  contact;  and  so  we  may  infer  the  same 
aversion  to  be  potential  in  all  such  relations. 


B.      SOCIAL   CONTACT  IN   RELATION   TO    SOLIDARITY 
AND   TO   MOBILITY 

i.     The  In-Group  and  the  Out-Group1 

The  conception  of  "primitive  society"  which  we  ought  to  form 
is  that  of  small  groups  scattered  over  a  territory.  The  size  of  the 
groups  is  determined  by  the  conditions  of  the  struggle  for  existence. 
The  internal  organization  of  each  group  corresponds  to  its  size.  A 
group  of  groups  may  have  some  relation  to  each  other  (kin,  neigh- 
borhood, alliance,  connubium,  and  commercium)  which  draws  them 

1  From  W.  G.  Sumner,  Folkways,  pp.  12-13.     (Ginn  &  Co.,  1906.) 


2Q4  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

together  and  differentiates  them  from  others.  Thus  a  differentiation 
arises  between  ourselves,  the  we-group,  or  in-group,  and  everybody 
else,  or  the  others-groups,  out-groups.  The  insiders  in  a  we-group 
are  in  a  relation  of  peace,  order,  law,  government,  and  industry,  to 
each  other.  Their  relation  to  all  outsiders,  or  others-groups,  is  one 
of  war  and  plunder,  except  so  far  as  agreements  have  modified  it. 
If  a  group  is  exogamic,  the  women  in  it  were  born  abroad  somewhere. 
Other  foreigners  who  might  be  found  in  it  are  adopted  persons,  guest- 
friends,  and  slaves. 

The  relation  of  comradeship  and  peace  in  the  we-group  and  that 
of  hostility  and  war  toward  others-groups  are  correlative  to  each 
other.  The  exigencies  of  war  with  outsiders  are  what  make  peace 
inside,  lest  internal  discord  should  weaken  the  we-group  for  war. 
These  exigencies  also  make  government  and  law  in  the  in-group,  in 
order  to  prevent  quarrels  and  enforce  discipline.  Thus  war  and 
peace  have  reacted  on  each  other  and  developed  each  other,  one 
within  the  group,  the  other  in  the  intergroup  relation.  The  closer 
the  neighbors,  and  the  stronger  they  are,  the  intenser  is  the  warfare, 
and  then  the  intenser  is  the  internal  organization  and  discipline  of 
each.  Sentiments  are  produced  to  correspond.  Loyalty  to  the 
group,  sacrifice  for  it,  hatred  and  contempt  for  outsiders,  brother- 
hood within,  warlikeness  without — all  grow  together,  common  prod- 
ucts of  the  same  situation. 

Ethnocentrism  is  the  technical  name  for  this  view  of  things  in 
which  one's  own  group  is  the  center  of  everything  and  all  others  are 
scaled  and  rated  with  reference  to  it.  Folkways  correspond  to  it  to 
cover  both  the  inner  and  the  outer  relation.  Each  group  nourishes 
its  own  pride  and  vanity,  boasts  itself  superior,  exalts  its  own  divini- 
ties, and  looks  with  contempt  on  outsiders.  Each  group  thinks  its 
own  folkways  the  only  right  ones,  and  if  it  observes  that  other  groups 
have  other  folkways,  these  excite  its  scorn.  Opprobrious  epithets  are 
derived  from  these  differences.  "Pig-eater,"  "cow-eater,"  "uncir- 
cumcised,"  "jabberers,"  are  epithets  of  contempt  and  abomination. 

2.     Sympathetic  Contacts  versus  Categoric  Contacts1 

Let  us  now  consider  what  takes  place  when  two  men,  mere 
strangers  to  one  another,  come  together.  The  motive  of  classification, 

1  Adapted  from  N.  S.  Shaler,  The  Neighbor,  pp.  207-27.  (Houghton  Mifflin 
Co.,  1904.) 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  295 

which  I  have  considered  in  another  chapter,  leads  each  of  them  at 
once  to  recognize  the  approaching  object  first  as  living,  then  as 
human.  The  shape  and  dress  carry  the  categorizing  process  yet 
farther,  so  that  they  are  placed  in  groups,  as  of  this  or  that  tribe  or 
social  class,  and  as  these  determinations  are  made  they  arouse  the 
appropriate  sympathies  or  hatreds  such  as  by  experience  have  become 
associated  with  the  several  categories.  Be  it  observed  that  these 
judgments  are  spontaneous,  instinctive,  and  unnoticed.  They  are 
made  so  by  immemorial  education  in  the  art  of  contact  which  man 
has  inherited  from  the  life  of  the  ancestral  beasts  and  men;  they 
have  most  likely  been  in  some  measure  amrmed  by  selection,  for 
these  determinations  as  to  the  nature  of  the  neighbor  were  in  the 
lower  stages  of  existence  in  brute  and  man  of  critical  importance, 
the  creatures  lived  or  died  according  as  they  determined  well  or  ill, 
swiftly  or  slowly.  If  we  observe  what  takes  place  in  our  own  minds 
at  such  meetings  we  will  see  that  the  action  in  its  immediateness  is 
like  that  of  the  eyelids  when  the  eye  is  threatened.  As  we  say,  it  is 
done  before  we  know  it. 

With  this  view  as  to  the  conditions  of  human  contact,  particularly 
of  what  occurs  when  men  first  meet  one  another,  let  us  glance  at  what 
takes  place  in  near  intercourse.  We  have  seen  that  at  the  beginning 
of  any  acquaintance  the  fellow-being  is  inevitably  dealt  with  in  the 
categoric  way.  He  is  taken  as  a  member  of  a  group,  which  group  is 
denoted  to  us  by  a  few  convenient  signs;  as  our  acquaintance  with  a 
particular  person  advances,  this  category  tends  to  become  qualified. 
Its  bounds  are  pushed  this  way  and  that  until  they  break  down.  It 
is  to  be  noted  in  this  process  that  the  category  fights  for  itself,  or  we 
for  it,  so  that  the  result  of  the  battle  between  the  immediate  truth 
and  the  prejudice  is  always  doubtful.  It  is  here  that  knowledge, 
especially  that  gained  by  individual  experience,  is  most  helpful.  The 
uninformed  man,  who  begins  to  find,  on  the  nearer  view  of  an  Israelite, 
that  the  fellow  is  like  himself,  holds  by  his  category  in  the  primitive 
way.  The  creature  is  a  Jew,  therefore  the  evidence  of  kinship  must 
not  count.  He  who  is  better  informed  is,  or  should  be,  accustomed 
to  amend  his  categories.  He  may,  indeed,  remember  that  he  is 
dealing  with  a  neighbor  of  the  race  which  gave  us  not  only  Christ, 
but  all  the  accepted  prophets  who  have  shaped  our  own  course,  and 
his  understanding  helps  to  cast  down  the  barriers  of  instinctive 
prejudice. 


296  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

At  the  stage  of  advancing  acquaintance  where  friendship  is 
attained,  the  category  begins  to  disappear  from  our  minds.  We 
may,  indeed,  measure  the  advance  in  this  relation  by  the  extent  to 
which  it  has  been  broken  down.  Looking  attentively  at  our  mental 
situation  as  regards  those  whom  we  know  pretty  well,  we  see  that 
most  of  them  are  still,  though  rather  faintly,  classified  into  groups. 
While  a  few  of  the  nearer  stand  forth  by  themselves,  all  of  the  nearest 
to  our  hearts  are  absolutely  individualized,  so  that  our  judgments  of 
them  are  made  on  the  basis  of  our  own  motives  and  what  we  of  our- 
selves discern.  We  may  use  categoric  terms  concerning  our  lovers, 
spouses,  or  children,  but  they  have  no  real  meaning;  these  persons 
are  to  us  purely  individual,  all  trace  of  the  inclusive  category  has 
disappeared;  they  are,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word,  our  neighbors, 
being  so  near  that  when  we  look  upon  them  we  see  nothing  else,  not 
even  ourselves. 

Summing  up  these  considerations  concerning  human  contact,  it 
may  be  said  that  the  world  works  by  a  system  of  individualities  rising 
in  scale  as  we  advance  from  the  inorganic  through  the  organic  series 
until  we  find  the  summit  in  man.  The  condition  of  all  these  indi- 
viduals is  that  of  isolation;  each  is  necessarily  parted  from  all  the 
others  in  the  realm,  each  receiving  influences,  and,  in  turn,  sending 
forth  its  peculiar  tide  of  influences  to  those  of  its  own  and  other  kinds. 
This  isolation  in  the  case  of  man  is  singularly  great  for  the  reason 
that  he  is  the  only  creature  we  know  in  the  realm  who  is  so  far  endowed 
with  consciousness  that  he  can  appreciate  his  position  and  know  the 
measure  of  his  solitude.  In  the  case  of  all  individuals  the  discernible 
is  only  a  small  part  of  what  exists.  In  man  the  measure  of  this  presen- 
tation is,  even  to  himself,  very  small,  and  that  which  he  can  readily 
make  evident  to  his  neighbor  is  an  exceedingly  limited  part  of  the  real 
whole.  Yet  it  is  on  this  slender  basis  that  we  must  rest  our  relations 
with  the  fellow  man  if  we  are  to  found  them  upon  knowledge.  The 
imperfection  of  this  method  of  ascertaining  the  fellow-man  is  well 
shown  by  the  trifling  contents  of  the  category  discriminations  we 
apply  to  him.  While,  as  has  been  suggested,  much  can  be  done 
by  those  who  have  gained  in  knowledge  of  our  kind  by  importing 
understandings  into  our  relations  with  men,  the  only  effective  way 
to  the  betterment  of  those  relations  is  through  the  sympathies. 

What  can  be  done  by  knowledge  in  helping  us  to  a  comprehension 
of  the  fellow-man  is  at  best  merely  explanatory  of  his  place  in  the 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  297 

phenomenal  world;  of  itself  it  has  only  scientific  value.  The  advan- 
tage of  the  sympathetic  way  of  approach  is  that  in  this  method  the 
neighbor  is  accounted  for  on  the  supposition  that  he  is  ourself  in 
another  form,  so  we  feel  for  and  with  him  on  the  instinctive  hypothesis 
that  he  is  essentially  ourself.  There  can  be  no  question  that  this 
method  of  looking  upon  other  individualities  is  likely  to  lead  to  many 
errors.  We  see  examples  of  these  blunders  in  all  the  many  grades 
of  the  personifying  process,  from  the  savage's  worship  of  a  tree  or 
stone  to  the  civilized  man's  conception  of  a  human-like  god.  We 
see  them  also  in  the  attribution  to  the  lower  animals  of  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  are  necessarily  limited  to  our  own  kind,  but  in 
the  case  of  man  the  conception  of  identity  gives  a  minimum  of  error 
and  a  maximum  of  truth.  It,  indeed,  gives  a  truer  result  than  could 
possibly  be  attained  by  any  scientific  inquiries  that  we  could  make, 
or  could  conceive  of  being  effectively  made,  and  this  for  the  following 
reasons. 

When,  as  in  the  sympathetic  state,  we  feel  that  the  neighbor  of 
our  species  is  essentially  ourself,  the  tacit  assumption  is  that  his  needs 
and  feelings  are  as  like  our  own  as  our  own  states  of  mind  at  diverse 
times  are  like  one  another,  so  that  we  might  exchange  motives  with 
him  without  experiencing  any  great  sense  of  strangeness.  What  we 
have  in  mind  is  not  the  measure  of  instruction  or  education,  not  the 
class  or  station  or  other  adventitious  circumstances,  but  the  essential 
traits  of  his  being.  Now  this  supposition  is  entirely  valid.  All  we 
know  of  mankind  justifies  the  statement  that,  as  regards  all  the 
qualities  and  motives  with  which  the  primal  sympathies  deal,  men 
are  remarkably  alike.  Their  loves,  hates,  fears,  and  sorrows  are 
alike  in  their  essentials;  so  that  the  postulate  of  sympathy  that  the 
other  man  is  essentially  like  one's  self  is  no  idle  fancy  but  an  estab- 
lished truth.  It  not  only  embodies  the  judgment  of  all  men  in 
thought  and  action  but  has  its  warrant  from  all  the  science  we  can 
apply  to  it. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  by  means  of  sympathy  we  can  at  once  pass 
the  gulf  which  separates  man  from  man.  All  the  devices  of  the  ages 
in  the  way  of  dumb  or  spoken  language  fail  to  win  across  the  void, 
and  leave  the  two  beings  apart;  but  with  a  step  the  sympathetic 
spirit  passes  the  gulf.  In  this  strange  feature  we  have  the  completion 
of  the  series  of  differences  between  the  inorganic  and  the  organic 
groups  of  individualities.  In  the  lower  or  non-living  isolations  there 


298          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

is  no  reason  why  the  units  should  do  more  than  mechanically  interact. 
All  their  service  in  the  realm  can  be  best  effected  by  their  remaining 
forever  completely  apart.  But  when  we  come  to  the  organic  series, 
the  units  begin  to  have  need  of  understanding  their  neighbors,  in 
order  that  they  may  form  those  beginnings  of  the  moral  order  which 
we  find  developing  among  the  members  even  of  the  lowliest  species. 
Out  of  this  sympathetic  accord  arises  the  community,  which  we  see 
in  its  simple  beginnings  in  the  earlier  stages  of  life;  it  grows  with  the 
advance  in  the  scale  of  being,  and  has  its  supreme  success  in  man. 
Human  society,  the  largest  of  all  organic  associations,  requires  that 
its  units  be  knit  together  in  certain  common  purposes  and  under- 
standings, and  the  union  can  only  be  made  effective  by  the  ways  of 
sympathy — by  the  instinctive  conviction  of  essential  kinship. 

3.     Historical  Continuity  and  Civilization1 

In  matters  connected  with  political  and  economical  institutions 
we  notice  among  the  natural  races  very  great  differences  in  the  sum 
of  their  civilization.  Accordingly  we  have  to  look  among  them,  not 
only  for  the  beginnings  of  civilization,  but  for  a  very  great  part  of 
its  evolution,  and  it  is  equally  certain  that  these  differences  are  to  be 
referred  less  to  variations  in  endowment  than  to  great  differences  in 
the  conditions  of  their  development.  Exchange  has  also  played  its 
part,  and  unprejudiced  observers  have  often  been  more  struck  in 
the  presence  of  facts  by  agreement  than  by  difference.  "It  is  aston- 
ishing," exclaims  Chapman,  when  considering  the  customs  of  the 
Damaras,  "what  a  similarity  there  is  in  the  manners  and  practices 
of  the  human  family  throughout  the  world.  Even  here,  the  two 
different  classes  of  Damaras  practice  rites  in  common  with  the  New 
Zealanders,  such  as  that  of  chipping  out  the  front  teeth  and  cutting 
off  the  little  finger."  It  is  less  astonishing  if,  as  the  same  traveler 
remarks,  their  agreement  with  the  Bechuanas  goes  even  farther. 
Now  since  the  essence  of  civilization  lies  first  in  the  amassing  of 
experiences,  then  in  the  fixity  with  which  these  are  retained,  and 
lastly  in  the  capacity  to  carry  them  farther  or  to  increase  them,  our 
first  question  must  be,  how  is  it  possible  to  realize  the  first  funda- 

1  From  Friedrich  Ratzel,  The  History  of  Mankind,  I,  21-25.  (Published  by 
The  Macmillan  Co.,  1896.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  299 

mental  condition  of  civilization,  namely,  the  amassing  a  stock  of 
culture  in  the  form  of  handiness,  knowledge,  power,  capital  ?  It  has 
long  been  agreed  that  the  first  step  thereto  is  the  transition  from 
complete  dependence  upon  what  Nature  freely  offers  to  a  conscious 
exploitation  through  man's  own  labor,  especially  in  agriculture  or 
cattle-breeding,  of  such  of  her  fruits  as  are  most  important  to  him. 
This  transition  opens  at  one  stroke  all  the  most  remote  possibilities 
of  Nature,  but  we  must  always  remember  at  the  same  time  that  it 
is  still  a  long  way  from  the  first  step  to  the  height  which  has  now 
been  attained. 

The  intellect  of  man  and  also  the  intellect  of  whole  races  shows  a 
wide  discrepancy  in  regard  to  differences  of  endowment  as  well  as  in 
regard  to  the  different  effects  which  external  circumstances  produce 
upon  it.  Especially  are  there  variations  in  the  degree  of  inward 
coherence  and  therewith  of  the  fixity  or  duration  of  the  stock  of 
intellect.  The  want  of  coherence,  the  breaking  up  of  this  stock, 
characterizes  the  lower  stages  of  civilization  no  less  than  its  coherence, 
its  inalienability,  and  its  power  of  growth  do  the  higher.  We  find 
in  low  stages  a  poverty  of  tradition  which  allows  these  races  neither 
to  maintain  a  consciousness  of  their  earlier  fortunes  for  any  appreciable 
period  nor  to  fortify  and  increase  their  stock  of  -intelligence  either 
through  the  acquisitions  of  individual  prominent  minds  or  through 
the  adoption  and  fostering  of  any  stimulus.  Here,  if  we  are  not 
entirely  mistaken,  is  the  basis  of  the  deepest-seated  differences 
between  races.  The  opposition  of  historic  and  non-historic  races 
seems  to  border  closely  upon  it. 

There  is  a  distinction  between  the  quickly  ripening  immaturity 
of  the  child  and  the  limited  maturity  of  the  adult  who  has  come  to  a 
stop  in  many  respects.  What  we  mean  by  "natural"  races  is  some- 
thing much  more  like  the  latter  than  the  former.  We  call  them 
races  deficient  in  civilization,  because  internal  and  external  condi- 
tions have  hindered  them  from  attaining  to  such  permanent  develop- 
ments in  the  domain  of  culture  as  form  the  mark  of  the  true  civilized 
races  and  the  guaranties  of  progress.  Yet  we  should  not  venture  to 
call  any  of  them  cultureless,  so  long  as  none  of  them  is  devoid  of  the 
primitive  means  by  which  the  ascent  to  higher  stages  can  be  made — 
language,  religion,  fire,  weapons,  implements;  while  the  very  posses- 
sion of  these  means,  and  many  others,  such  as  domestic  animals  and 


300  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

cultivated  plants,  testifies  to  varied  and  numerous  dealings  with 
those  races  which  are  completely  civilized. 

The  reasons  why  they  do  not  make  use  of  these  gifts  are  of  many 
kinds.  Lower  intellectual  endowment  is  often  placed  in  the  first 
rank.  That  is  a  convenient  but  not  quite  fair  explanation.  Among 
the  savage  races  of  today  we  find  great  differences  in  endowments. 
We  need  not  dispute  that  in  the  course  of  development  races  of  even 
slightly  higher  endowments  have  got  possession  of  more  and  more 
means  of  culture,  and  gained  steadiness  and  security  for  their  prog- 
ress, while  the  less  endowed  remained  behind.  But  external  condi- 
tions, in  respect  to  their  furthering  or  hindering  effects,  can  be  more 
clearly  recognized  and  estimated;  and  it  is  juster  and  more  logical 
to  name  them  first.  We  can  conceive  why  the  habitations  of  the 
savage  races  are  principally  to  be  found  on  the  extreme  borders  of 
the  inhabited  world,  in  the  cold  and  hot  regions,  in  remote  islands,  in 
secluded  mountains,  in  deserts.  We  understand  their  backward 
condition  hi  parts  of  the  earth  which  offer  so  few  facilities  for  agri- 
culture and  cattle-breeding  as  Australia,  the  Arctic  regions,  or  the 
extreme  north  and  south  of  America.  In  the  insecurity  of  incom- 
pletely developed  resources  we  can  see  the  chain  which  hangs  heavily 
on  their  feet  and  confines  their  movements  within  a  narrow  space. 
As  a  consequence  their  numbers  are  small,  and  from  this  again  results 
the  small  total  amount  of  intellectual  and  physical  accomplishment, 
the  rarity  of  eminent  men,  the  absence  of  the  salutary  pressure 
exercised  by  surrounding  masses  on  the  activity  and  forethought  of 
the  individual,  which  operates  in  the  division  of  society  into  classes, 
and  the  promotion  of  a  wholesome  division  of  labor.  A  partial  conse- 
quence of  this  insecurity  of  resources  is  the  instability  of  natural  races. 
A  nomadic  strain  runs  through  them  all,  rendering  easier  to  them  the 
utter  incompleteness  of  their  unstable  political  and  economical 
institutions,  even  when  an  indolent  agriculture  seems  to  tie  them  to 
the  soil.  Thus  it  often  comes  about  that,  in  spite  of  abundantly 
provided  and  well-tended  means  of  culture,  their  life  is  desultory, 
wasteful  of  power,  unfruitful.  This  life  has  no  inward  consistency, 
no  secure  growth;  it  is  not  the  life  in  which  the  germs  of  civilization 
first  grew  up  to  the  grandeur  in  which  we  frequently  find  them  at 
the  beginnings  of  what  we  call  history.  It  is  full  rather  of  fallings- 
away  from  civilization  and  dim  memories  from  civilized  spheres 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  301 

which  in  many  cases  must  have  existed  long  before  the  commence- 
ment of  history  as  we  have  it. 

By  the  word  ''civilization"  or  "culture"  we  denote  usually  the 
sum  of  all  the  acquirements  at  a  given  time  of  the  human  intelligence. 
When  we  speak  of  stages,  of  higher  and  lower,  of  semi-civilization, 
of  civilized  and  "natural"  races,  we  apply  to  the  various  civilizations 
of  the  earth  a  standard  which  we  take  from  the  degree  that  we  have 
ourselves  attained.  Civilization  means  our  civilization. 

The  confinement,  in  space  as  in  time,  which  isolates  huts,  villages, 
races,  no  less  than  successive  generations,  involves  the  negation  of 
culture;  in  its  opposite,  the  intercourse  of  contemporaries  and  the 
interdependence  of  ancestors  and  successors,  lies  the  possibility  of 
development.  The  union  of  contemporaries  secures  the  retention 
of  culture,  the  linking  of  generations  its  unfolding.  The  develop- 
ment of  civilization  is  a  process  of  hoarding.  The  hoards  grow  of 
themselves  so  soon  as  a  retaining  power  watches  over  them.  In  all 
domains  of  human  creation  and  operation  we  shall  see  the  basis  of 
all  higher  development  in  intercourse.  Only  through  co-operation 
and  mutual  help,  whether  between  contemporaries,  whether  from 
one  generation  to  another,  has  mankind  succeeded  in  climbing  to  the 
stage  of  civilization  on  which  its  highest  members  now  stand.  On 
the  nature  and  extent  of  this  intercourse  the  growth  depends.  Thus 
the  numerous  small  assemblages  of  equal  importance,  formed  by  the 
family  stocks,  in  which  the  individual  had  no  freedom,  were  less 
favorable  to  it  than  the  larger  communities  and  states  of  the  modern 
world,  with  their  encouragement  to  individual  competition. 

4.     Mobility  and  the  Movement  of  Peoples1 

Every  country  whose  history  we  examine  proves  the  recipient  of 
successive  streams  of  humanity.  Even  sea-girt  England  has  received 
various  intruding  peoples,  from  the  Roman  occupation  to  the  recent 
influx  of  Russian  Jews.  In  prehistoric  times  it  combined  several 
elements  in  its  population,  as  the  discovery  of  the  "long  barrow" 
men  and  "round  barrow"  men  by  archaeologists  and  the  identifica- 
tion of  a  surviving  Iberian  or  Mediterranean  strain  by  ethnologists 
go  to  prove.  Egypt,  Mesopotamia,  and  India  tell  the  same  story, 

Adapted  from  Ellen  C.  Sample,  Influences  of  Geographic  Environment, 
pp.  75-84,  186-87.  (Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1911.) 


302  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

whether  in  their  recorded  or  unrecorded  history.  Tropical  Africa 
lacks  a  history;  but  all  that  has  been  pieced  together  by  ethnologists 
and  anthropologists,  in  an  effort  to  reconstruct  its  past,  shows  inces- 
sant movement — growth,  expansion,  and  short-lived  conquest,  fol- 
lowed by  shrinkage,  expulsion,  or  absorption  by  another  invader. 
To  this  constant  shifting  of  races  and  peoples  the  name  of  historical 
movement  has  been  given,  because  it  underlies  most  of  written 
history  and  constitutes  the  major  part  of  unwritten  history,  especially 
that  of  savage  and  nomadic  tribes. 

Among  primitive  peoples  this  movement  is  simple  and  monoto- 
nous. It  involves  all  members  of  the  tribe,  either  in  pursuit  of  game 
or  following  the  herd  over  the  tribal  territory,  or  in  migrations  seeking 
more  and  better  land.  Among  civilized  peoples  it  assumes  various 
forms  and  especially  is  differentiated  for  different  members  of  the 
social  group.  The  civilized  state  develops  specialized  frontiers — men, 
armies,  explorers,  maritime  traders,  colonists,  and  missionaries,  who 
keep  a  part  of  the  people  constantly  moving  and  directing  external 
expansion,  while  the  mass  of  the  population  converts  the  force  once 
expended  in  the  migrant  food-quest  into  internal  activity.  Here  we 
come  upon  a  paradox.  The  nation  as  a  whole,  with  the  development 
of  sedentary  life,  increases  its  population  and  therewith  its  need  for 
external  movements;  it  widens  its  national  area  and  its  circle  of 
contact  with  other  lands,  enlarges  its  geographical  horizon,  and 
improves  its  internal  communication  over  a  growing  territory;  it 
evolves  a  greater  mobility  within  and  without,  which  attaches,  how- 
ever, to  certain  classes  of  society,  not  to  the  entire  social  group.  This 
mobility  becomes  the  outward  expression  of  a  whole  complex  of 
economic  wants,  intellectual  needs,  and  political  ambitions.  It  is 
embodied  in  the  conquests  which  build  up  empires,  in  the  coloniza- 
tion which  develops  new  lands,  in  the  world-wide  exchange  of 
commodities  and  ideas  which  lifts  the  level  of  civilization  till  this 
movement  of  peoples  becomes  a  fundamental  fact  of  history. 

Otis  Mason  finds  that  the  life  of  a  social  group  involves  a  variety 
of  movements  characterized  by  different  ranges  or  scopes:  (i)  The 
daily  round  from  bed  to  bed.  (2)  The  annual  round  from  year  to 
year,  like  that  of  the  Tunguse  Orochon  of  Siberia  who,  in  pursuit  of 
various  fish  and  game,  change  their  residence  within  their  territory 
from  month  to  month,  or  the  pastoral  nomads  who  move  with  the 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  303 

seasons  from  pasture  to  pasture.  (3)  Less  systematic  outside  move- 
ments covering  the  tribal  sphere  of  influence,  such  as  journeys  or 
voyages  to  remote  hunting  or  fishing  grounds,  forays  or  piratical 
descents  upon  neighboring  lands,  eventuating  usually  in  conquest, 
expansion  into  border  regions  for  occasional  occupation,  or  coloniza- 
tion. (4)  Participation  in  streams  of  barter  or  commerce.  (5)  And, 
at  a  higher  stage,  in  the  great  currents  of  human  intercourse,  experi- 
ence, and  ideas,  which  finally  compass  the  world.  In  all  this  series 
the  narrower  movement  prepares  for  the  broader,  of  which  it  consti- 
tutes at  once  an  impulse  and  a  part. 

Civilized  man  is  at  once  more  and  less  mobile  than  his  primitive 
brother.  Every  advance  in  civilization  multiplies  and  tightens  the 
bonds  uniting  him  with  his  soil,  makes  him  a  sedentary  instead  of  a 
migratory  being.  On  the  other  hand,  every  advance  in  civilization 
is  attended  by  the  rapid  clearing  of  the  forests,  by  the  construction 
of  bridges  and  interlacing  roads,  the  invention  of  more  effective 
vehicles  for  transportation  whereby  intercourse  increases,  and  the 
improvement  of  navigation  to  the  same  end.  Civilized  man  progres- 
sively modifies  the  land  which  he  occupies,  removes  or  reduces 
obstacles  to  intercourse,  and  thereby  approximates  it  to  the  open 
plain.  Thus  far  he  facilitates  movements.  But  while  doing  this  he 
also  places  upon  the  land  a  dense  population,  closely  attached  to  the 
soil,  strong  to  resist  incursion,  and  for  economic  reasons  inhospitable 
to  any  marked  accession  of  population  from  without.  Herein  lies 
the  great  difference  between  migration  in  empty  or  sparsely  inhabited 
regions,  such  as  predominated  when  the  world  was  young,  and  in  the 
densely  populated  countries  of  our  era.  As  the  earth  grew  old  and 
humanity  multiplied,  peoples  themselves  became  the  greatest  barriers 
to  any  massive  migrations,  till  in  certain  countries  of  Europe  and 
Asia  the  historical  movement  has  been  reduced  to  a  continual  pres- 
sure, resulting  in  compression  of  population  here,  repression  there. 
Hence,  though  political  boundaries  may  shift,  ethnic  boundaries 
scarcely  budge.  The  greatest  wars  of  modern  Europe  have  hardly 
left  a  trace  upon  the  distribution  of  its  peoples.  Only  in  the 
Balkan  Peninsula,  as  the  frontiers  of  the  Turkish  Empire  have 
been  forced  back  from  the  Danube,  the  alien  Turks  have  with- 
drawn to  the  shrinking  territory  of  the  Sultan  and  especially  to 
Asia  Minor. 


304  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Where  a  population  too  great  to  be  dislodged  occupies  the  land, 
conquest  results  in  the  eventual  absorption  of  the  victors  and  their 
civilization  by  the  native  folk,  as  happened  to  the  Lombards  in  Italy, 
the  Vandals  in  Africa,  and  the  Normans  in  England.  Where  the 
invaders  are  markedly  superior  in  culture,  though  numerically  weak, 
conquest  results  in  the  gradual  permeation  of  the  conquered  with 
the  religion,  economic  methods,  language,  and  customs  of  the  new- 
comers. The  latter  process,  too,  is  always  attended  by  some  inter- 
mixture of  blood,  where  no  race  repulsion  exists,  but  this  is  small  in 
comparison  to  the  diffusion  of  civilization.  This  was  the  method  by 
which  Greek  traders  and  colonists  Hellenized  the  countries  about 
the  eastern  Mediterranean  and  spread  their  culture  far  back  from 
the  shores  which  their  settlements  had  appropriated.  In  this  way 
Saracen  armies,  soon  after  the  death  of  Mohammed,  Arabized  the 
whole  eastern  and  southern  sides  of  the  Mediterranean  from  Syria  to 
Spain,  and  Arab  merchants  set  the  stamp  of  their  language  and 
religion  on  the  coasts  of  East  Africa  as  far  as  Mozambique.  The 
handful  of  Spanish  adventurers  who  came  upon  the  relatively  dense 
populations  of  Mexico  and  Peru  left  among  them  a  civilization 
essentially  European,  but  only  a  thin  strain  of  Castilian  blood. 
Thus  the  immigration  of  small  bands  of  people  sufficed  to  influence 
the  culture  of  that  big  territory  known  as  Latin  America. 

Throughout  the  life  of  any  people,  from  its  fetal  period  in  some 
small  locality  to  its  well-rounded  adult  era  marked  by  the  occupation 
and  organization  of  a  wide  national  territory,  gradations  in  area  mark 
gradations  of  development.  And  this  is  true,  whether  we  consider 
the  compass  of  their  commercial  exchanges,  the  scope  of  their  mari- 
time ventures,  the  extent  of  their  linguistic  area,  the  measure  of  their 
territorial  ambitions,  or  the  range  of  their  intellectual  interests 
and  human  sympathies.  From  land  to  ethics,  the  rule  holds  good. 
Peoples  in  the  lower  stages  of  civilization  have  contracted  spatial 
ideas,  desire  and  need  at  a  given  time  only  a  limited  territory, 
though  they  may  change  that  territory  often;  they  think  in  small 
linear  terms,  have  a  small  horizon,  a  small  circle  of  contact  with  others, 
a  small  range  of  influence,  only  tribal  sympathies;  they  have  an 
exaggerated  conception  of  their  own  size  and  importance,  because 
their  basis  of  comparison  is  fatally  limited.  With  a  mature,  wide- 
spread people  like  the  English  or  French,  all  this  is  different;  they 
have  made  the  earth  their  own,  so  far  as  possible. 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  305 

Just  because  of  this  universal  tendency  toward  the  occupation 
of  ever  larger  areas  and  the  formation  of  vaster  political  aggregates, 
in  making  a  sociological  or  political  estimate  of  different  peoples,  we 
should  never  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  all  racial  and  national  charac- 
teristics which  operate  toward  the  absorption  of  more  land  and 
impel  to  political  expansion  are  of  fundamental  value.  A  ship  of 
state  manned  by  such  a  crew  has  its  sails  set  to  catch  the  winds  of 
the  world. 

Territorial  expansion  is  always  preceded  by  an  extension  of  the 
circle  of  influence  which  a  people  exerts  through  its  traders,  its  deep- 
sea  fishermen,  its  picturesque  marauders  and  more  respectable  mis- 
sionaries, and  earlier  still  by  a  widening  of  its  mere  geographical 
horizon  through  fortuitous  or  systematic  exploration. 


C.      PRIMARY  AND   SECONDARY   CONTACTS 
i.    Village  Life  in  America  (from  the  Diary  of  a  Young  Girl)1 

November  21,  1852. — I  am  ten  years  old  to-day,  and  I  think  I 
will  write  a  journal  and  tell  who  I  am  and  what  I  am  doing.  I  have 
lived  with  my  Grandfather  and  Grandmother  Beals  ever  since  T  was 
seven  years  old,  and  Anna,  too,  since  she  was  four.  Our  brothers, 
James  and  John,  came  too,  but  they  are  at  East  Bloomfield  at  Mr. 
Stephen  Clark's  Academy.  Miss  Laura  Clark  of  Naples  is  their 
teacher. 

Anna  and  I  go  to  school  at  District  No.  n.  Mr.  James  C.  Cross 
is  our  teacher,  and  some  of  the  scholars  say  he  is  cross  by  name  and 
cross  by  nature,  but  I  like  him.  He  gave  me  a  book  by  the  name  of 
Noble  Deeds  of  American  Women,  for  reward  of  merit,  in  my  reading 
class. 

Friday.— Grandmother  says  I  will  have  a  great  deal  to  answer 
for,  because  Anna  looks  up  to  me  so  and  tries  to  do  everything  that 
I  do  and  thinks  whatever  I  say  is  "gospel  truth."  The  other  day 
the  girls  at  school  were  disputing  with  her  about  something  and  she 
said,  "It  is  so,  if  it  ain't  so,  for  Calline  said  so."  I  shall  have  to 
"toe  the  mark,"  as  Grandfather  says,  if  she  keeps  watch  of  me  all 
the  time  and  walks  in  my  footsteps. 

1  Adapted  from  Caroline  C.  Richards,  Village  Life  in  America,  pp.  21-138. 
(Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1912.) 


306  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

April  i,  1853.' — Before  I  go  to  school  every  morning  I  read 
three  chapters  in  the  Bible.  I  read  three  every  day  and  five  on 
Sunday  and  that  takes  me  through  the  Bible  in  a  year.  Those  I 
read  this  morning  were  the  first,  second,  and  third  chapters  of  Job. 
The  first  was  about  Eliphaz  reproveth  Job;  second,  benefit  of  God's 
correction;  third,  Job  justified!  his  complaint.  I  then  learned  a 
text  to  say  at  school,  I  went  to  school  at  quarter  to  nine  and  recited 
my  text  and  we  had  prayers  and  then  proceeded  with  the  business  of 
the  day.  Just  before  school  was  out,  we  recited  in  Science  of  Things 
Familiar,  and  in  Dictionary,  and  then  we  had  calisthenics. 

July. — Hiram  Goodrich,  who  lives  at  Mr.  Myron  H.  Clark's,  and 
George  and  Wirt  Wheeler  ran  away  on  Sunday  to  seek  their  fortunes. 
When  they  did  not  come  back  everyone  was  frightened  and  started 
out  to  find  them.  They  set  out  right  after  Sunday  school,  taking 
their  pennies  which  had  been  given  them  for  the  contribution,  and 
were  gone  several  days.  They  were  finally  found  at  Palmyra.  When 
asked  why  they  had  run  away,  one  replied  that  he  thought  it  was 
about  time  they  saw  something  of  the  world.  We  heard  that  Mr. 
Clark  had  a  few  moments'  private  ccnversation  with  Hiram  in  the 
barn  and  Mr.  Wheeler  the  same  with  his  boys  and  we  do  not  think 
they  will  go  traveling  on  their  own  hook  again  right  off.  Miss 
Upham  lives  right  across  the  street  from  them  and  she  was  telling 
little  Morris  Bates  that  he  must  fight  the  good  fight  of  faith  and  he 
asked  her  if  that  was  the  fight  that  Wirt  Wheeler  fit.  She  probably 
had  to  make  her  instructions  plainer  after  that. 

1854,  Sunday. — Mr.  Daggett's  text  this  morning  was  the  twenty- 
second  chapter  of  Revelation,  sixteenth  verse,  "I  am  the  root  and 
offspring  of  David  and  the  bright  and  morning  star."  Mrs.  Judge 
Taylor  taught  our  Sunday-school  class  today  and  she  said  we  ought 
not  to  read  our  Sunday-school  books  on  Sunday.  I  always  do. 
Mine  today  was  entitled,  Cheap  Repository  Tracts  by  Hannah  More, 
and  it  did  not  seem  unreligious  at  all. 

Tuesday. — Mrs.  Judge  Taylor  sent  for  me  to  come  over  to  see 
her  today.  I  didn't  know  what  she  wanted,  but  when  I  got  there 
she  said  she  wanted  to  talk  and  pray  with  me  on  the  subject  of 
religion.  She  took  me  into  one  of  the  wings.  I  never  had  been  in 
there  before  and  was  frightened  at  first,  but  it  was  nice  after  I  got 
used  to  it.  After  she  prayed,  she  asked  me  to,  but  I  couldn't  think  of 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  307 

anything  but  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  and  I  was  afraid  she 
would  not  like  that,  so  I  didn't  say  anything.  When  I  got  home 
and  told  Anna,  she  said,  "Caroline,  I  presume  probably  Mrs.  Taylor 
wants  you  to  be  a  missionary,  but  I  shan't  let  you  go."  I  told  her 
she  needn't  worry  for  I  would  have  to  stay  at  home  and  look  after 
her.  After  school  tonight  I  went  out  into  Abbie  Clark's  garden 
with  her  and  she  taught  me  how  to  play  "mumble  te  peg."  It  is 
fun,  but  rather  dangerous.  I  am  afraid  Grandmother  won't  give  me 
a  knife  to  play  with.  Abbie  Clark  has  beautiful  pansies  in  her 
garden  and  gave  me  some  roots. 

Sunday. — I  almost  forgot  that  it  was  Sunday  this  morning  and 
talked  and  laughed  just  as  I  do  week  days.  Grandmother  told  me  to 
write  down  this  verse  before  I  went  to  church  so  I  would  remember  it: 
"Keep  thy  foot  when  thou  goest  to  the  house  of  God,  arid  be  more 
ready  to  hear  than  to  offer  the  sacrifice  of  fools."  I  will  remember  it 
now,  sure.  My  feet  are  all  right  anyway  with  my  new  patten  leather 
shoes  on,  but  I  shall  have  to  look  out  for  my  head.  Mr.  Thomas 
Howell  read  a  sermon  today  as  Mr.  Daggett  is  out  of  town.  Grand- 
mother always  comes  upstairs  to  get  the  candle  and  tuck  us  in  before 
she  goes  to  bed  herself,  and  some  nights  we  are  sound  asleep  and  do 
not  hear  her,  but  last  night  we  only  pretended  to  be  asleep.  She 
kneeled  down  by  the  bed  and  prayed  aloud  for  us,  that  we  might  be 
good  children  and  that  she  might  have  strength  given  her  from  on 
high  to  guide  us  in  the  straight  and  narrow  path  which  leads  to  life 
eternal.  Those  were  her  very  words.  After  she  had  gone  down- 
stairs we  sat  up  in  bed  and  talked  about  it  arid  promised  each  other 
to  be  good,  and  crossed  our  hearts  and  "hoped  to  die,"  if  we  broke 
our  promise.  Then  Anna  was  afraid  we  would  die,  but  I  told  her  I 
didn't  believe  we  would  be  as  good  as  that,  so  we  kissed  each  other 
and  went  to  sleep. 

Sunday. — Rev.  Mr.  Tousley  preached  today  to  the  children  and 
told  us  how  many  steps  it  took  to  be  bad.  I  think  he  said  lying  was 
first,  then  disobedience  to  parents,  breaking  the  Sabbath,  swearing, 
stealing,  drunkenness.  I  don't  remember  just  the  order  they  came. 
It-was  very  interesting,  for  he  told  lots  of  stories  and  we  sang  a  great 
many  times.  I.  should  think  Eddy  Tousley  would  be  an  awful  good 
boy  with  his  father  in  the  house  with  him  all  the  while,  but  probably 
he  has  to  be  away  part  of  the  time  preaching  to  other  children. 


308  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

December  20,  1855. — Susan  B.  Anthony  is  in  town  and  spoke  in 
Bemis  Hall  this  afternoon.  She  made  a  special  request  that  all  the 
seminary  girls  should  come  to  hear  her  as  well  as  all  the  women  and 
girls  in  town.  She  had  a  large  audience  and  she  talked  very  plainly 
about  our  rights  and  how  we  ought  to  stand  up  for  them,  and  said 
the  world  would  never  go  right  until  the  women  had  just  as  much 
right  to  vote  and  rule  as  the  men.  She  asked  us  all  to  come  up  and 
sign  our  names  who  would  promise  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  bring 
about  that  glad  day  when  equal  rights  would  be  the  law  of  the  land. 
A  whole  lot  of  us  went  up  and  signed  the  paper.  When  I  told  Grand- 
mother about  it  she  said  she  guessed  Susan  B.  Anthony  had  forgotten 
that  'St.  Paul  said  the  women  should  keep  silence.  I  told  her  no,  she 
didn't,  for  she  spoke  particularly  about  St.  Paul  and  said  if  he  had 
lived  in  these  times,  instead  of  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  he  would 
have  been  as  anxious  to  have  the  women  at  the  head  of  the  govern- 
ment as  she  was.  I  could  not  make  Grandmother  agree  with  her  at 
all  and  she  said  we  might  better  all  of  us  stayed  at  home.  We  went 
to  prayer  meeting  this  evening  and  a  woman  got  up  and  talked.  Her 
name  was  Mrs.  Sands.  We  hurried  home  and  told  Grandmother 
and  she  said  she  probably  meant  all  right  and  she  hoped  we  did  not 
laugh. 

February  21,  1856. — We  had  a  very  nice  time  at  Fannie  Gaylord's 
party  and  a  splendid  supper.  Lucilla  Field  laughed  herself  almost 
to  pieces  when  she  found  on  going  home  that  she  had  worn  her  leggins 
all  the  evening.  We  had  a  pleasant  walk  home  but  did  not  stay  till 
it  was  out.  Someone  asked  me  if  I  danced  every  set  and  I  told  them 
no,  I  set  every  dance.  I  told  Grandmother  and  she  was  very  much 
pleased.  Some  one  told  us  that  Grandfather  and  Grandmother  first 
met  at  a  ball  in  the  early  settlement  of  Canandaigua.  I  asked  her  if 
it  was  so  and  she  said  she  never  danced  since  she  became  a  professing 
Christian  and  that  was  more  than  fifty  years  ago. 

May,  1856. — We  were  invited  to  Bessie  Seymour's  party  last 
night  and  Grandmother  said  we  could  go.  The  girls  all  told  us  at 
school  that  they  were  going  to  wear  low  neck  and  short  sleeves.  We 
have  caps  on  the  sleeves  of  our  best  dresses  and  we  tried  to  get  the 
sleeves  out,  so  we  could  go  bare  arms,  but  we  couldn't  get  them  out. 
We  had  a  very  nice  time,  though,  at  the  party.  Some  of  the  Academy 
boys  were  there  and  they  asked  us  to  dance  but  of  course  we  couldn't 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  309 

do  that.  We  promenaded  around  the  rooms  and  went  out  to  supper 
with  them.  Eugene  Stone  and  Tom  Eddy  asked  to  go  home  with 
us  but  Grandmother  sent  our  two  girls  for  us,  Bridget  Flynn  and 
Hannah  White,  so  they  couldn't.  We  were  quite  disappointed,  but 
perhaps  she  won't  send  for  us  next  time. 

Thursday,  1857. — We  have  four  sperm  candles  in  four  silver 
candlesticks  and  when  we  have  company  we  light  them.  Johnnie 
Thompson,  son  of  the  minister,  Rev.  M.  L.  R.  P.,  has  come  to  the 
academy  to  school  and  he  is  very  full  of  fun  and  got  acquainted  with 
all  the  girls  very  quick.  He  told  us  this  afternoon  to  have  "the 
other  candle  lit"  for  he  was  coming  down  to  see  us  this  evening.  Will 
Schley  heard  him  say  it  and  he  said  he  was  coming  too.  Later.— The 
boys  came  and  we  had  a  very  pleasant  evening  but  when  the  9  o'clock 
bell  rang  we  heard  Grandfather  winding  up  the  clock  and  scraping 
up  the  ashes  on  the  hearth  to  cover  the  fire  so  it  would  last  till  morn- 
ing and  we  all  understood  the  signal  and  they  bade  us  good  night. 
"We  won't  go  home  till  morning"  is  a  song  that  will  never  be  sung 
in  this  house. 

September,  1^57. — Grandmother  let  Anna  have  six  little  girls 
here  to  supper  to-night:  Louisa  Field,  Hattie  Paddock,  Helen  Coy, 
Martha  Densmore,  Emma  Wheeler,  and  Alice  Jewett.  We  had  a 
splendid  supper  and  then  we  played  cards.  I  do  not  mean  regular 
cards,  mercy  no!  Grandfather  thinks  those  kinds  are  contageous  or 
outrageous  or  something  dreadful  and  never  keeps  them  in  the  house. 
Grandmother  said  they  found  a  pack  once,  when  the  hired  man's 
room  was  cleaned,  and  they  went  into  the  fire  pretty  quick.  The 
kind  we  played  was  just  "Dr.  Busby,"  and  another  "The  Old  Soldier 
and  His  Dog."  There  are  counters  with  them,  and  if  you  don't 
have  the  card  called  for  you  have  to  pay  one  into  the  pool.  It  is 
real  fun.  They  all  said  they  had  a  very  nice  time,  indeed,  when 
they  bade  Grandmother  good  night,  and  said:  "  Mrs.  Beals,  you  must 
let  Carrie  and  Anna  come  and  see  us  some  time,"  and  she  said  she 
would.  I  think  it  is  nice  to  have  company. 

August  30,  1858. — Some  one  told  us  that  when  Bob  and  Henry 
Antes  were  small  boys  they  thought  they  would  like  to  try,  just  for 
once,  to  see  how  it  would  seem  to  be  bad,  so  in  spite  of  all  of  Mr.  Tous- 
ley's  sermons  they  went  out  behind  the  barn  one  day  and  in  a  whisper 
Bob  said,  "I  swear,"  and  Henry  said,  "So  do  I."  Then  they  came 


310  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

into  the  house  looking  guilty  and  quite  surprised,  I  suppose,  that  they 
were  not  struck  dead  just  as  Ananias  and  Sapphira  were  for  lying. 

February,  1859. — Mary  Wheeler  came  over  and  pierced  my  ears 
today,  so  I  can  wear  my  new  earrings  that  Uncle  Edward  sent  me. 
She  pinched  my  ear  until  it  was  numb  and  then  pulled  a  needle 
through,  threaded  with  silk.  Anna  would  not  stay  in  the  room. 
She  wants  hers  done  but  does  not  dare.  It  is  all  the  fashion  for  girls 
to  cut  off  their  hair  and  friz  it.  Anna  and  I  have  cut  off  ours  and 
Bessie  Seymour  got  me  to  cut  off  her  lovely  long  hair  today.  It 
won't  be  very  comfortable  for  us  to  sleep  with  curl  papers  all  over  our 
heads,  but  we  must  do  it  now.  I  wanted  my  new  dress  waist  which 
Miss  Rosewarne  is  making  to  hook  up  in  front,  but  Grandmother 
said  I  would  have  to  wear  it  that  way  all  the  rest  of  my  life  so  I  had 
better  be  content  to  hook  it  in  the  back  a  little  longer.  She  said 
when  Aunt  Glorianna  was  married,  in  1848,  it  was  the  fashion  for 
grown-up  women  to  have  their  waists  fastened  in  the  back,  so  the 
bride  had  hers  made  that  way  but  she  thought  it  was  a  very  foolish 
and  inconvenient  fashion.  It  is  nice,  though,  to  dress  in  style  and 
look  like  other  people.  I  have  a  Garibaldi  waist  and  a  Zouave 
jacket  and  a  balmoral  skirt. 

1860,  Sunday. — Frankie  Richardson  asked  me  to  go  with  her  to 
teach  a  class  in  the  colored  Sunday  School  on  Chapel  Street  this 
afternoon.  I  asked  Grandmother  if  I  could  go  and  she  said  she 
never  noticed  that  I  was  particularly  interested  in  the  colored  race 
and  she  said  she  thought  I  only  wanted  an  excuse  to  get  out  for  a 
walk  Sunday  afternoon.  However,  she  said  I  could  go  just  this  once. 
When  we  got  up  as  far  as  the  Academy,  Mr.  Noah  T.  Clarke's  brother, 
who  is  one  of  the  teachers,  came  out  and  Frank  said  he  led  the  singing 
at  the  Sunday  school  and  she  said  she  would  give  me  an  intro- 
duction to  him,  so  he  walked  up  with  us  and  home  again.  Grand- 
mother said  that  when  she  saw  him  opening  the  gate  for  me,  she 
understood  my  zeal  in  missionary  work.  "The  dear  little  lady,"  as 
we  often  call  her,  has  always  been  noted  for  her  keen  discernment 
and  wonderful  sagacity  and  loses  none  of  it  as  she  advances  in  years. 
Some  one  asked  Anna  the  other  day  if  her  Grandmother  retained  all 
her  faculties  and  Anna  said,  "Yes,  indeed,  to  an  alarming  degree." 
Grandmother  knows  that  we  think  she  is  a  perfect  angel  even  if  she 
does  seem  rather  strict  sometimes.  Whether  we  are  seven  or  seven- 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  311 

teen  we  are  children  to  her  just  the  same,  and  the  Bible  says,  "  Children 
obey  your  parents  in  the  Lord  for  this  is  right."  We  -are  glad  that 
we  never  will  seem  old  to  her.  I  had  the  same  company  home  from 
church  in  the  evening.  His  home  is  in  Naples. 

Christmas,  1860. — I  asked  Grandmother  if  Mr.  Clarke  could  take 
Sunday  night  supper  with  us  and  she  said  she  was  afraid  he  did  not 
know  the  catechism.  I  asked  him  Friday  night  and  he  said  he 
would  learn  it  on  Saturday  so  that  he  could  answer  every  third 
question  anyway.  So  he  did  and  got  along  very  well.  I  think  he 
deserves  a  pretty  good  supper. 

2.     Secondary  Contacts  and  City  Life1 

Modern  methods  of  urban  transportation  and  communication — 
the  electric  railway,  the  automobile,  and  the  telephone — have  silently 
and  rapidly  changed  in  recent  years  the  social  and  industrial  organi- 
zation of  the  modern  city.  They  have  been  the  means  of  concen- 
trating traffic  in  the  business  districts;  have  changed  the  whole 
character  of  retail  trade,  multiplying  the  residence  suburbs  and  mak- 
ing the  department  store  possible.  These  changes  in  the  industrial 
organization  and  in  the  distribution  of  population  have  been  accom- 
panied by  corresponding  changes  in  the  habits,  sentiments,  and 
character  of  the  urban  population. 

The  general  nature  of  these  changes  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that 
the  growth  of  cities  has  been  accompanied  by  the  substitution  of 
indirect,  "secondary,"  for  direct,  face-to-face,  "primary"  relations  in 
the  associations  of  individuals  in  the  community. 

By  primary  groups  I  mean  those  characterized  by  intimate  face-to-face 
association  and  co-operation.  They  are  primary  in  several  senses,  but 
chiefly  in  that  they  are  fundamental  in  forming  the  social  nature  and  ideals 
of  the  individual.  The  result  of  intimate  association,  psychologically,  is  a 
certain  fusion  of  individualities  in  a  common  whole,  so  that  one's  very  self, 
for  many  purposes  at  least,  is  the  common  life  and  purpose  of  the  group. 
Perhaps  the  simplest  way  of  describing  this  wholeness  is  by  saying  that  it 
is  a  "we";  it  involves  the  sort  of  sympathy  and  mutual  identification  for 
which  "we"  is  the  natural  expression.  One  lives  in  the  feeling  of  the 
whole  and  finds  the  chief  aims  of  his  will  in  that  feeling. 

'From  Robert  E.  Park,  "The  City,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
XX  (1914-15),  593-609. 


312  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Touch  and  sight,  physical  contact,  are  the  basis  for  the  first  and 
most  elementary  human  relationships.  Mother  and  child,  husband 
and  wife,  father  and  son,  master  and  servant,  kinsman  and  neighbor, 
minister,  physician,  and  teacher — these  are  the  most  intimate  and 
real  relationships  of  life  and  in  the  small  community  they  are  practi- 
cally inclusive. 

The  interactions  which  take  place  among  the  members  of  a  com- 
munity so  constituted  are  immediate  and  unreflecting.  Intercourse 
is  carried  on  largely  within  the  region  of  instinct  and  feeling.  Social 
control  arises,  for  the  most  part  spontaneously,  in  direct  response  to 
personal  influences  and  public  sentiment.  It  is  the  result  of  a  per- 
sonal accommodation  rather  than  the  formulation  of  a  rational 
and  abstract  principle. 

In  a  great  city,  where  the  population  is  unstable,  where  parents 
and  children  are  employed  out  of  the  house  and  often  in  distant 
parts  of  the  city,  where  thousands  of  people  live  side  by  side  for  years 
without  so  much  as  a  bowing  acquaintance,  these  intimate  relation- 
ships of  the  primary  group  are  weakened  and  the  moral  order  which 
rested  upon  them  is  gradually  dissolved. 

Under  the  disintegrating  influences  of  city  life  most  of  our  tra- 
ditional institutions,  the  church,  the  school,  and  the  family,  have 
been  greatly  modified.  The  school,  for  example,  has  taken  over 
some  of  the  functions  of  the  family.  It  is  around  the  public  school 
and  its  solicitude  for  the  moral  and  physical  welfare  of  the  children 
that  something  like  a  new  neighborhood  and  community  spirit  tends 
to  get  itself  organized. 

The  church,  on  the  other  hand,  which  has  lost  much  of  its  influence 
since  the  printed  page  has  so  largely  taken  the  place  of  the  pulpit  in 
the  interpretation  of  life,  seems  at  present  to  be  hi  process  of  read- 
justment to  the  new  conditions. 

It  is  probably  the  breaking  down  of  local  attachments  and  the 
weakening  of  the  restraints  and  inhibitions  of  the  primary  group, 
under  the  influence  of  the  urban  environment,  which  are  largely 
responsible  for  the  increase  of  vice  and  crime  in  great  cities.  It 
would  be  interesting  in  this  connection  to  determine  by  investigation 
how  far  the  increase  in  crime  keeps  pace  with  the  increasing  mobility 
of  the  population.  It  is  from  this  point  of  view  that  we  should  seek 
to  interpret  all  those  statistics  which  register  the  disintegration  of  the 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  313 

moral  order,  for  example,  the  statistics  of  divorce,  of  truancy,  and  of 
crime. 

Great  cities  have  always  been  the  melting-pots  of  races  and  of 
cultures.  Out  of  the  vivid  and  subtle  interactions  of  which  they  have 
been  the  centers,  there  have  come  the  newer  breeds  and  the  newer 
social  types.  The  great  cities  of  the  United  States,  for  example,  have 
drawn  from  the  isolation  of  their  native  villages  great  masses  of  the 
rural  populations  of  Europe  and  America.  Under  the  shock  of  the 
new  contacts  the  latent  energies  of  these  primitive  peoples  have  been 
released,  and  the  subtler  processes  of  interaction  have  brought  into 
existence  not  merely  vocational  but  temperamental  types. 

Transportation  and  communication  have  effected,  among  many 
other  silent  but  far-reaching  changes,  what  I  have  called  the  "  mobili- 
zation of  the  individual  man."  They  have  multiplied  the  oppor- 
tunities of  the  individual  man  for  contact  and  for  association  with  his 
fellows,  but  they  have  made  these  contacts  and  associations  more 
transitory  and  less  stable.  A  very  large  part  of  the  populations  of 
great  cities,  including  those  who  make  their  homes  in  tenements  and 
apartment  houses,  live  much  as  people  do  in  some  great  hotel,  meet- 
ing but  not  knowing  one  another.  The  effect  of  this  is  to  substitute 
fortuitous  and  casual  relationshio  for  the  more  intimate  and  perma- 
nent associations  of  the  smaller  community. 

Under  these  circumstances  the  individual's  status  is  determined 
to  a  considerable  degree  by  conventional  signs — by  fashion  and 
"front" — and  the  art  of  life  is  largely  reduced  to  skating  on  thin 
surfaces  and  a  scrupulous  study  of  style  and  manners. 

Not  only  transportation  and  communication,  but  the  segregation 
of  the  urban  population,  tends  to  facilitate  the  mobility  of  the  indi- 
vidual man.  The  processes  of  segregation  establish  moral  distances 
which  make  the  city  a  mosaic  of  little  worlds  which  touch  but  do 
not  interpenetrate.  This  makes  it  possible  for  individuals  to  pass 
quickly  and  easily  from  one  moral  milieu  to  another  and  encourages 
the  fascinating  but  dangerous  experiment  of  living  at  the  same  tune 
in  several  different  contiguous,  perhaps,  but  widely  separated  worlds. 
All  this  tends  to  give  to  city  life  a  superficial  and  adventitious  charac- 
ter; it  tends  to  complicate  social  relationships  and  to  produce  new 
and  divergent  individual  types.  It  introduces,  at  the  same  time,  an 
element  of  chance  and  adventure,  which  adds  to  the  stimulus  of  city 


314  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

life  and  gives  it  for  young  and  fresh  nerves  a  peculiar  attractiveness. 
The  lure  of  great  cities  is  perhaps  a  consequence  of  stimulations  which 
act  directly  upon  the  reflexes.  As  a  type  of  human  behavior  it  may 
be  explained,  like  the  attraction  of  the  flame  for  the  moth,  as  a  sort 
of  tropism. 

The  attraction  of  the  metropolis  is  due  in  part,  however,  to  the 
fact  that  in  the  long  run -every  individual  finds  somewhere  among 
the  varied  manifestations  of  city  life  the  sort  of  environment  in 
which  he  expands  and  feels  at  ease;  finds,  in  short,  the  moral  climate 
in  which  his  peculiar  nature  obtains  the  stimulations  that  bring  his 
innate  qualities  to  full  and  free  expression.  It  is,  I  suspect,  motives 
of  this  kind  which  have  their  basis,  not  in  interest  nor  even  in  senti- 
ment, but  in  something  more  fundamental  and  primitive  which  draw 
many,  if  not  most,  of  the  young  men  and  young  women  from  the 
security  of  their  homes  in  the  country  into  the  big,  booming  confusion 
and  excitement  of  city  life:  In  a  small  community  it  is  the  normal 
man,  the  man  without  eccentricity  or  genius,  who  seems  most  likely 
to  succeed.  The  small  community  often  tolerates  eccentricity.  The 
city,  on  the  contrary,  rewards  it.  Neither  the  criminal,  the  defective, 
nor  the  genius  has  the  same  opportunity  to  develop  his  innate  dis- 
position in  a  small  town  that  he  invariably  finds  in  a  great  city. 

Fifty  years  ago  every  viUage  had  one  or  two  eccentric  characters 
who  were  treated  ordinarily  with  a  benevolent  toleration,  but  who 
were  regarded  meanwhile  as  impracticable  and  queer.  These  excep- 
tional individuals  lived  an  isolated  existence,  cut  off  by  their  very 
eccentricities,  whether  of  genius  or  of  defect,  from  genuinely  intimate 
intercourse  with  their  fellows.  If  they  had  the  making  of  criminals, 
the  restraints  and  inhibitions  of  the  small  community  rendered  them 
harmless.  If  they  had  the  stuff  of  genius  in  them,  they  remained 
sterile  for  lack  of  appreciation  or  opportunity.  Mark  Twain's  story 
of  Pudd'n  Head  Wilson  is  a  description  of  one  such  obscure  and 
unappreciated  genius.  It  is  not  so  true  as  it  was  that — 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen 
And  waste  its  fragrance  on  the  desert  air. 

Gray  wrote  the  "  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard  "  before  the  existence 
of  the  modern  city. 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  315 

In  the  city  many  of  these  divergent  types  now  find  a  milieu  in 
which  for  good  or  for  ill  their  dispositions  and  talents  parturiate  and 
bear  fruit. 

3.    Publicity  as  a  Form  of  Secondary  Contact1 

In  contrast  with  the  political  machine,  which  has  founded  its 
organized  action  on  the  local,  personal,  and  immediate  interests 
represented  by  the  different  neighborhoods  and  localities,  the  good- 
government  organizations,  the  bureaus  of  municipal  research,  and 
the  like  have  sought  to  represent  the  interests  of  the  city  as  a  whole 
and  have  appealed  to  a  sentiment  and  opinion  neither  local  nor 
personal.  These  agencies  have  sought  to  secure  efficiency  and  good 
government  by  the  education  of  the  voter,  that  is  to  say,  by  investi- 
gating and  publishing  the  facts  regarding  the  government. 

In  this  way  publicity  has  come  to  be  a  recognized  form  of  social 
control,  and  advertising — "social  advertising" — has  become  a  pro- 
fession with  an  elaborate  technique  supported  by  a  body  of  special 
knowledge. 

It  is  one  of  the  characteristic  phenomena  of  city  life  and  of  society 
founded  on  secondary  relationships  that  advertising  should  have  come 
to  occupy  so  important  a  place  in  its  economy. 

In  recent  years  every  individual  and  organization  which  has  had 
to  deal  with  the  public,  that  is  to  say,  the  public  outside  the  smaller 
and  more  intimate  communities  of  the  village  and  small  town,  has 
come  to  have  its  press  agent,  who  is  often  less  an  advertising  man 
than  a  diplomatic  man  accredited  to  the  newspapers,  and  through 
them  to  the  world  at  large.  Institutions  like  the  Russell  Sage  Foun- 
dation, and  to  a  less  extent  the  General  Education  Board,  have 
sought  to  influence  public  opinion  directly  through  the  medium  of 
publicity.  The  Carnegie  Report  upon  Medical  Education,  the  Pitts- 
burgh Survey,  the  Russell  Sage  Foundation  Report  on  Comparative 
Costs  of  Public-School  Education  in  the  Several  States,  are  something 
more  than  scientific  reports.  They  are  rather  a  high  form  of  journal- 
ism, dealing  with  existing  conditions  critically,  and  seeking  through 
the  agency  of  publicity  to  bring  about  radical  reforms.  The  work  of 
the  Bureau  of  Municipal  Research  in  New  York  has  had  a  similar 

'From  Robert  E.  Park,  "The  City,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
XX  (1914-15),  604-7. 


3i6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

practical  purpose.  To  these  must  be  added  the  work  accomplished 
by  the  child-welfare  exhibits,  by  the  social  surveys  undertaken  in 
different  parts  of  the  country,  and  by  similar  propaganda  in  favor  of 
public  health. 

As  a  source  of  social  control  public  opinion  becomes  important  in 
societies  founded  on  secondary  relationships  of  which  great  cities  are 
a  type.  In  the  city  every  social  group  tends  to  create  its  own  milieu, 
and,  as  these  conditions  become  fixed,  the  mores  tend  to  accommodate 
themselves  to  the  conditions  thus  created.  In  secondary  groups  and 
in  the  city,  fashion  tends  to  take  the  place  of  custom,  and  public 
opinion  rather  than  the  mores  becomes  the  dominant  force  in  social 
control. 

In  any  attempt  to  understand  the  nature  of  public  opinion  and  its 
relation  to  social  control,  it  is  important  to  investigate,  first  of  all, 
the  agencies  and  devices  which  have  come  into  practical  use  in  the 
effort  to  control,  enlighten,  and  exploit  it. 

The  first  and  the  most  important  of  these  is  the  press,  that  is, 
the  daily  newspaper  and  other  forms  of  current  literature,  including 
books  classed  as  current. 

After  the  newspaper,  the  bureaus  of  research  which  are  now 
springing  up  in  all  the  large  cities  are  the  most  interesting  and  the 
most  promising  devices  for  using  publicity  as  a  means  of  control. 

The  fruits  of  these  investigations  do  not  reach  the  public  directly, 
but  are  disseminated  through  the  medium  of  the  press,  the  pulpit 
and  other  sources  of  popular  enlightenment. 

In  addition  to  these,  there  are  the  educational  campaigns  in  the 
interest  of  better  health  conditions,  the  child-welfare  exhibits,  and 
the  numerous  "social  advertising"  devices  which  are  now  employed, 
sometimes  upon  the  initiative  of  private  societies,  sometimes  upon 
that  of  popular  magazines  or  newspapers,  in  order  to  educate  the 
public  and  enlist  the  masses  of  the  people  in  the  movement  for  the 
improvement  of  conditions  of  community  life. 

The  newspaper  is  the  great  medium  of  communication  within 
the  city,  and  it  is  on  the  basis  of  the  information  which  it  supplies 
that  public  opinion  rests.  The  first  function  which  a  newspaper 
supplies  is  that  which  was  formerly  performed  by  the  village  gossip. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  industry  with  which  newspapers  pursue 
facts  of  personal  intelligence  and  human  interest,  they  cannot  com- 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  317 

pete  with  the  village  gossips  as  a  means  of  social  control.  For  one 
thing,  the  newspaper  maintains  some  reservations  not  recognized  by 
gossip,  in  the  matters  of  personal  intelligence.  For  example,  until 
they  run  for  office  or  commit  some  other  overt  act  that  brings  them 
before  the  public  conspicuously,  the  private  life  of  individual  men  or 
women  is  a  subject  that  is  for  the  newspaper  taboo.  It  is  not  so 
with  gossip,  partly  because  in  a  small  community  no  individual  is  so 
obscure  that  his  private  affairs  escape  observation  and  discussion; 
partly  because  the  field  is  smaller.  In  small  communities  there  is  a 
perfectly  amazing  amount  of  personal  information  afloat  among  the 
individuals  who  compose  them. 

The  absence  of  this  in  the  city  is  what,  in  large  part,  makes  the 
city  what  it  is. 

4.     From  Sentimental  to  Rational  Attitudes1 

I  can  imagine  it  to  be  of  exceeding  great  interest  to  write  the  his- 
tory of  mankind  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  stranger  and  his  influ- 
ence on  the  trend  of  events.  From  the  earliest  dawn  of  history  we 
may  observe  how  communities  developed  in  special  directions,  no 
less  in  important  than  in  insignificant  things,  because  of  influences 
from  without.  Be  it  religion  or  technical  inventions,  good  form  in 
conduct  or  fashions  in  dress,  political  revolutions  or  stock-exchange 
machinery,  the  impetus  always — or,  at  least,  hi  many  cases — came 
from  strangers.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  in  the  history  of 
the  intellectual  and  religious  growth  of  the  bourgeois  the  stranger 
should  play  no  small  part.  Throughout  the  whole  of  the  Middle 
Ages  in  Europe,  and  to  a  large  extent  in  the  centuries  that  followed^ 
families  left  their  homes  to  set  up  their  hearths  anew  hi  other  lands. 
The  wanderers  were  in  the  majority  of  cases  economic  agents  with  a 
strongly  marked  tendency  toward  capitalism,  and  they  originated 
capitalist  methods  and  cultivated  them.  Accordingly,  it  will  be 
helpful  to  trace  the  interaction  of  migrations  and  the  history  of  the 
capitalist  spirit. 

First,  as  to  the  facts  themselves.  Two  sorts  of  migrations  may 
be  distinguished — those  of  single  individuals  and  those  of  groups.  In 
the  first  category  must  be  placed  the  removal,  of  their  own  free  will, 

1  Adapted  from  Werner  Sombart,  The  Quintessence  of  Capitalism,  pp.  292-307. 
(T.  F.  Unwin,  Ltd.,  1915.) 


3i8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  a  family,  or  it  may  even  be  of  a  few  families,  from  one  district  or 
country  to  another.  Such  cases  were  universal.  But  we  are  chiefly 
concerned  with  those  instances  in  which  the  capitalist  spirit  mani- 
fested itself,  as  we  must  assume  it  did  where  the  immigrants  were 
acquainted  with  a  more  complex  economic  system  or  were  the  found- 
ers of  new  industries.  Take  as  an  instance  the  Lombards  and  other 
Italian  merchants,  who  in  the  early  Middle  Ages  carried  on  business 
in  England,  France,  and  elsewhere.  Or  recall  how  in  the  Middle 
Ages  many  an  industry,  more  especially  silk  weaving,  that  was 
established  in  any  district  was  introduced  by  foreigners,  and  very 
often  on  a  capitalist  basis.  "A  new  phase  in  the  development  of 
the  Venetian  silk  industry  began  with  the  arrival  of  traders  and  silk- 
workers  from  Lucca,  whereby  the  industry  reached  its  zenith.  The 
commercial  element  came  more  and  more  to  the  fore;  the  merchants 
became  the  organizers  of  production,  providing  the  master  craftsman 
with  raw  materials  which  he  worked  up."  So  we  read  in  Broglio 
d'Ajano.  We  are  told  a  similar  tale  about  the  silk  industry  in  Genoa, 
which  received  an  enormous  impetus  when  the  Berolerii  began  to 
employ  craftsmen  from  Lucca.  In  1341  what  was  probably  the  first 
factory  for  silk  manufacture  was  erected  by  one  Bolognino  di  Bar- 
ghesano,  of  Lucca.  Even  in  Lyons  tradition  asserts  that  Italians 
introduced  the  making  of  silk,  and,  when  in  the  sixteenth  century  the 
industry  was  placed  on  a  capitalist  basis,  the  initiative  thereto  came 
once  more  from  aliens.  It  was  the  same  in  Switzerland,  where  the 
silk  industry  was  introduced  by  the  Pelligari  in  1685.  In  Austria 
likewise  we  hear  the  same  tale. 

Silk-making  in  these  instances  is  but  one  example;  there  were 
very  many  others.  Here  one  industry  was  introduced,  there  another; 
here  it  was  by  Frenchmen  or  Germans,  there  by  Italians  or  Dutch- 
men. And  always  the  new  establishments  came  at  the  moment  when 
the  industries  in  question  were  about  to  become  capitalistic  in  their 
organization. 

Individual  migrations,  then,  were  not  without  influence  on  the 
economic  development  of  society.  But  much  more  powerful  was  the 
effect  of  the  wanderings  of  large  groups  from  one  land  to  another. 
From  the  sixteenth  century  onward  migrations  of  this  sort  may  be 
distinguished  under  three  heads:  (i)  Jewish  migrations;  (2)  the 
migration  of  persecuted  Christians,  more  especially  of  Protestants; 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  319 

and  (3)  the  colonizing  movement,  particularly  the  settlement  in 
America. 

We  come,  then,  to  the  general  question,  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  the 
"stranger,"  the  immigrant,  was  possessed  of  a  specially  developed 
capitalist  spirit,  and  this  quite  apart  from  his  environment,  and,  to  a 
lesser  degree,  his  religion  or  his  nationality?  We  see  it  in  the  old 
states  of  Europe  no  less  than  in  the  new  settlements  beyond ;  in  Jews 
and  Gentiles  alike;  in  Protestants  and  Catholics  (the  French  in 
Louisiana  were,  by  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  not  a  whit 
behind  the  Anglo-Saxons  of  the  New  England  states  in  this  respect). 
The  assumption  therefore  forces  itself  upon  us  that  this  particular 
social  condition — migration  or  change  of  habitat — was  responsible 
for  the  unfolding  of  the  capitalist  spirit.  Let  us  attempt  to  show  how. 

If  we  are  content  to  find  it  in  a  single  cause,  it  would  be  the  breach 
with  all  old  ways  of  life  and  all  old  social  relationships.  Indeed,  the 
psychology  of  the  stranger  in  a  new  land  may  easily  be  explained  by 
reference  to  this  one  supreme  fact.  His  clan,  his  country,  his  people, 
his  state,  no  matter  how  deeply  he  was  rooted  in  them,  have  now 
ceased  to  be  realities  for  him.  His  first  aim  is  to  make  profit.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise  ?  There  is  nothing  else  open  to  him.  In  the 
old  country  he  was  excluded  from  playing  his  part  in  public  life;  in 
the  colony  of  his  choice  there  is  no  public  life  to  speak  of.  Neither 
can  he  devote  himself  to  a  life  of  comfortable,  slothful  ease;  the  new 
lands  have  little  comfort.  Nor  is  the  newcomer  moved  by  sentiment. 
His  environment  means  nothing  to  him.  At  best  he  regards  it  as  a 
means  to  an  end — to  make  a  living.  All  this  must  surely  be  of  great 
consequence  for  the  rise  of  a  mental  outlook  that  cares  only  for  gain; 
and  who  will  deny  that  colonial  activity  generates  it  ?  "Our  rivulets 
and  streams  turn  mill  wheels  and  bring  rafts  into  the  valleys,  as  they 
do  in  Scotland.  But  not  one  ballad,  not  a  single  song,  reminds  us 
that  on  their  banks  men  and  women  live  who  experience  the  happi- 
ness of  love  and  the  pangs  of  separation;  that  under  each  roof  in  the 
valleys  life's  joys  and  sorrows  come  and  go."  This  plaint  of  an 
American  of  the  old  days  expresses  my  meaning;  it  has  been  noted 
again  and  again,  particularly  by  those  who  visited  America  at  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  only  relationship  between 
the  Yankee  and  his  environment  is  one  of  practical  usefulness.  The 
soil,  as  one  of  them  says,  is  not  regarded  as  "the  mother  of  men,  the 


320  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

hearth  of  the  gods,  the  abiding  resting-place  of  the  past  generations, 
but  only  as  a  means  to  get  rich."  There  is  nothing  of  "  the  poetry  of 
the  place"  anywhere  to  check  commercial  devastations.  The  spire  of 
his  village  is  for  the  American  like  any  other  spire;  in  his  eyes  the 
newest  and  most  gaudily  painted  is  the  most  beautiful.  A  waterfall 
for  him  merely  represents  so  much  motive  power.  "What  a  mighty 
volume  of  water!"  is,  as  we  are  assured,  the  usual  cry  of  an  American 
on  seeing  Niagara  for  the  first  time,  and  his  highest  praise  of  it  is 
that  it  surpasses  all  other  waterfalls  in  the  world  in  its  horsepower. 

Nor  has  the  immigrant  or  colonial  settler  a  sense  of  the  present 
or  the  past.  He  has  only  a  future.  Before  long  the  possession  of 
money  becomes  his  one  aim  and  ambition,  for  it  is  clear  to  him  that 
by  its  means  alone  will  he  be  able  to  shape  that  future.  But  how  can 
he  amass  money  ?  Surely  by  enterprise.  His  being  where  he  is  proves 
that  he  has  capacities,  that  he  can  take  risks;  is  it  remarkable,  then, 
that  sooner  or  later  his  unbridled  acquisitiveness  will  turn  him 
into  a  restless  capitalist  undertaker?  Here  again  we  have  cause 
and  effect.  He  undervalues  the  present;  he  overvalues  the  future. 
Hence  his  activities  are  such  as  they  are.  Is  it  too  much  to  say  that 
even  today  American  civilization  has  something  of  the  unfinished 
about  it,  something  that  seems  as  yet  to  be  in  the  making,  something 
that  turns  from  the  present  to  the  future  ? 

Another  characteristic  of  the  newcomer  everywhere  is  that  there 
are  no  bounds  to  his  enterprise.  He  is  not  held  in  check  by  personal 
considerations;  in  all  his  dealings  he  comes  into  contact  only  with 
strangers  like  himself.  As  we  have  already  had  occasion  to  point  out, 
the  first  profitable  trade  was  carried  on  with  strangers;  your  own  kith 
and  kin  received  assistance  from  you.  You  lent  out  money  at  inter- 
est only  to  the  stranger,  as  Antonio  remarked  to  Shylock,  for  from 
the  stranger  you  could  demand  more  than  you  lent. 

Nor  is  the  stranger  held  in  check  by  considerations  other  than 
personal  ones.  He  has  no  traditions  to  respect;  he  is  not  bound  by 
the  policy  of  an  old  business.  He  begins  with  a  clean  slate;  he  has 
no  local  connections  that  bind  him  to  any  one  spot.  Is  not  every 
locality  in  a  new  country  as  good  as  every  other?  You  therefore 
decide  upon  the  one  that  promises  most  profit.  As  Poscher  says,  a 
man  who  has  risked  his  all  and  left  his  home  to  cross  the  ocean  in 
search  of  his  fortune  will  not  be  likely  to  shrink  from  a  small  specula- 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  321 

tion  if  this  means  a  change  of  abode.  A  little  traveling  more  or  less 
can  make  no  difference. 

So  it  comes  about  that  the  feverish  searching  after  novelties 
manifested  itself  in  the  American  character  quite  early.  "If  to  live 
means  constant  movement  and  the  coming  and  going  of  thoughts  and 
feelings  in  quick  succession,  then  the  people  here  live  a  hundred  lives. 
All  is  circulation,  movement,  and  vibrating  life.  If  one  attempt  fails, 
another  follows  on  its  heels,  and  before  every  one  undertaking  has 
been  completed,  the  next  has  already  been  entered  upon"  (Chevalier). 
The  enterprising  impulse  leads  to  speculation;  and  here  again  early 
observers  have  noticed  the  national  trait.  "Everybody  speculates 
and  no  commodity  escapes  from  the  speculating  rage.  It  is  not  tulip 
speculation  this  time,  but  speculations  in  cottons,  real  estate,  banks, 
and  railways." 

One  characteristic  of  the  stranger's  activity,  be  he  a  settler  in  a 
new  or  an  old  land,  follows  of  necessity.  I  refer  to  the  determination 
to  apply  the  utmost  rational  effort  in  the  field  of  economic  and 
technical  activity.  The  stranger  must  carry  through  plans  with 
success  because  of  necessity  or  because  he  cannot  withstand  the 
desire  to  secure  his  future.  On  the  other  hand,  he  is  able  to  do  it 
more  easily  than  other  folk  because  he  is  not  hampered  by  tradition. 
This  explains  clearly  enough  why  alien  immigrants,  as  we  have  seen, 
furthered  commercial  and  industrial  progress  wherever  they  came. 
Similarly  we  may  thus  account  for  the  well-known  fact  that  nowhere 
are  technical  inventions  so  plentiful  as  in  America,  that  railway  con- 
struction and  the  making  of  machinery  proceed  much  more  rapidly 
there  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  It  all  comes  from  the  peculiar 
conditions  of  the  problem,  conditions  that  have  been  termed  colonial — 
great  distances,  dear  labor,  and  the  will  to  progress.  The  state  of 
mind  that  will  have,  nay,  must  have,  progress  is  that  of  the  stranger, 
untrammeled  by  the  past  and  gazing  toward  the  future. 

Yet  results  such  as  these  are  not  achieved  by  strangers  merely 
because  they  happen  to  be  strangers.  Place  a  negro  in  a  new  environ- 
ment; will  he  build  railways  and  invent  labor-saving  machines? 
Hardly.  There  must  be  a  certain  fitness;  it  must  be  in  the  blood. 
In  short,  other  forces  beside  that  of  being  merely  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land  are  bound  to  co-operate  before  the  total  result  can  be 
fully  accounted  for.  There  must  be  a  process  of  selection,  making  the 


322  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

best  types  available,  and  the  ethical  and  moral  factor,  too,  counts  for 
much.  Nevertheless,  the  migrations  themselves  were  a  very  power- 
ful element  in  the  growth  of  capitalism. 

5.     The  Sociological  Significance  of  the  "Stranger"1 

If  wandering,  considered  as  the  liberation  from  every  given  point 
in  space,  is  the  conceptual  opposite  to  fixation  at  such  a  point,  then 
surely  the  sociological  form  of  "the  stranger"  presents  the  union  of 
both  of  these  specifications.  It  discloses,  indeed,  the  fact  that 
relations  to  space  are  only,  on  the  one  hand,  the  condition,  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  symbol,  of  relations  to  men.  The  stranger  is 
not  taken  here,  therefore,  in  the  sense  frequently  employed,  of  the 
wanderer  who  conies  today  and  goes  tomorrow,  but  rather  of  the 
man  who  comes  today  and  stays  tomorrow,  the  potential  wanderer, 
so  to  speak,  who,  although  he  has  gone  no  further,  has  not  quite  got 
over  the  freedom  of  coming  and  going.  He  is  fixed  within  a  certain 
spatial  circle,  but  his  position  within  it  is  peculiarly  determined  by 
the  fact  that  he  does  not  belong  in  it  from  the  first,  that  he  brings 
qualities  into  it  that  are  not,  and  cannot  be,  native  to  it. 

The  union  of  nearness  and  remoteness,  which  every  relation 
between  men  comprehends,  has  here  produced  a  system  of  relations 
or  a  constellation  which  may,  in  the  fewest  words,  be  thus  formulated: 
The  distance  within  the  relation  signifies  that  the  Near  is  far;  the 
very  fact  of  being  alien,  however,  that  the  Far  is  near.  For  the  state 
of  being  a  stranger  is  naturally  a  quite  positive  relation,  a  particular 
form  of  interaction.  The  inhabitants  of  Sirius  are  not  exactly 
strangers  to  us,  at  least  not  in  the  sociological  sense  of  the  word  as 
we  are  considering  it.  In  that  sense  they  do  not  exist  for  us  at  all. 
They  are  beyond  being  far  and  near.  The  stranger  is  an  element  of 
the  group  itself,  not  otherwise  than  the  Poor  and  the  various  "inner 
enemies,"  an  element  whose  inherent  position  and  membership 
involve  both  an  exterior  and  an  opposite.  The  manner,  now,  in  which 
mutually  repulsive  and  opposing  elements  here  compose  a  form  of  a 
joint  and  interacting  unity  may  now  be  briefly  analyzed. 

In  the  whole  history  of  economics  the  stranger  makes  his  appear- 
ance everywhere  as  the  trader,  the  trader  his  as  the  stranger.  As 

'Translated  from  Georg  Simmel,  Soziologie,  pp.  685-91.  (Leipzig:  Duncker 
und  Humblot,  1908.) 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  323 

long  as  production  for  one's  own  needs  is  the  general  rule,  or  products 
are  exchanged  within  a  relatively  narrow  circle,  there  is  no  need  of  any 
middleman  within  the  group.  A  trader  is  only  required  with  those 
products  which  are  produced  entirely  outside  of  the  group.  Unless 
there  are  people  who  wander  out  into  foreign  lands  to  buy  these 
necessities,  in  which  case  they  are  themselves  "strange"  merchants 
in  this  other  region,  the  trader  must  be  a  stranger.  No  other  has  a 
chance  for  existence. 

This  position  of  the  stranger  is  intensified  in  our  consciousness  if, 
instead  of  leaving  the  place  of  his  activity,  he  fixes  himself  in  it. 
This  will  be  possible  for  him  only  if  he  can  live  by  trade  in  the  role 
of  a  middleman.  Any  closed  economic  group  in  which  the  division 
of  the  land  and  of  the  crafts  which  satisfy  the  local  demands  has  been 
achieved  will  still  grant  an  existence  to  the  trader.  For  trade  alone 
makes  possible  unlimited  combinations,  in  which  intelligence  finds 
ever  wider  extensions  and  ever  newer  accessions,  a  thing  rarely 
possible  in  the  case  of  the  primitive  producer  with  his  lesser  mobility 
and  his  restriction  to  a  circle  of  customers  which  could  only  very 
gradually  be  increased.  Trade  can  always  absorb  more  men  than 
primary  production,  and  it  is  therefore  the  most  favorable  province 
for  the  stranger,  who  thrusts  himself,  so  to  speak,  as  a  supernumerary 
into  a  group  in  which  all  the  economic  positions  are  already  possessed. 
History  offers  as  the  classic  illustration  the  European  Jew.  The 
stranger  is  by  his  very  nature  no  landowner — in  saying  which,  land 
is  taken  not  merely  in  a  physical  sense  but  also  in  a  metaphorical 
one  of  a  permanent  and  a  substantial  existence,  which  is  fixed,  if  not 
in  space,  then  at  least  in  an  ideal  position  within  the  social  order. 
The  special  sociological  characteristics  of  the  stranger  may  now  be 
presented. 

a)  Mobility. — In  the  more  intimate  relations  of  man  to  man,  the 
stranger  may  disclose  all  possible  attractions  and  significant  charac- 
ters, but  just  as  long  as  he  is  regarded  as  a  stranger,  he  is  in  so  far 
no  landowner.  Now  restriction  to  trade,  and  frequently  to  pure 
finance,  as  if  by  a  sublimation  from  the  former,  gives  the  stranger 
the  specific  character  of  mobility.  With  this  mobility,  when  it 
occurs  within  a  limited  group,  there  occurs  that  synthesis  of  nearness 
and  remoteness  which  constitutes  the  formal  position  of  the  stranger; 
for  the  merely  mobile  comes  incidentally  into  contact  with  every 


324  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

single  element  but  is  not  bound  up  organically,  through  the  estab- 
lished ties  of  kinship,  locality,  or  profession,  with  any  single  one. 

b)  Objectivity. — Another  expression  for  this  relation  lies  in  the 
objectivity  of  the  stranger.  Because  he  is  not  rooted  in  the  peculiar 
attitudes  and  biased  tendencies  of  the  group,  he  stands  apart  from 
all  these  with  the  peculiar  attitude  of  the  "objective,"  which  does 
not  indicate  simply  a  separation  and  disinterestedness  but  is  a 
peculiar  composition  of  nearness  and  remoteness,  concern  and  indif- 
ference. I  call  attention  to  the  domineering  positions  of  the  stranger 
to  the  group,  as  whose  archtype  appeared  that  practice  of  Italian 
cities  of  calling  their  judges  from  without,  because  no  native  was 
free  from  the  prejudices  of  family  interests  and  factions. 

c}  Confidant,- — With  the  objectivity  of  the  stranger  is  connected 
the  phenomenon  which  indeed  belongs  chiefly,  but  not  indeed  exclu- 
sively, to  the  mobile  man:  namely,  that  often  the  most  surprising 
disclosures  and  confessions,  even  to  the  character  of  the  confessional 
disclosure,  are  brought  to  him,  secrets  such  as  one  carefully  conceals 
from  every  intimate.  Objectivity  is  by  no  means  lack  of  sympathy, 
for  that  is  something  quite  outside  and  beyond  either  subjective  or 
objective  relations.  It  is  rather  a  positive  and  particular  manner  of 
sympathy.  So  the  objectivity  of  a  theoretical  observation  certainly 
does  not  mean  that  the  spirit  is  a  tabula  rasa  On  which  things  inscribe 
their  qualities,  but  it  means  the  full  activity  of  a  spirit  working 
according  to  its  own  laws,  under  conditions  in  which  accidental  dis- 
locations and  accentuations  have  been  excluded,  the  individual  and 
subjective  peculiarities  of  which  would  give  quite  different  pictures 
of  the  same  object. 

d)  Freedom  from  convention. — One  can  define  objectivity  also  as 
freedom.  The  objective  man  is  bound  by  no  sort  of  proprieties  which 
can  prejudice  for  him  his  apprehension,  his  understanding,  his  judg- 
ment of  the  given.  This  freedom  which  permits  the  stranger  to 
experience  and  deal  with  the  relation  of  nearness  as  though  from  a 
bird's-eye  view,  contains  indeed  all  sorts  of  dangerous  possibilities. 
From  the  beginnings  of  things,  in  revolutions  of  all  sorts,  the  attacked 
party  has  claimed  that  there  has  been  incitement  from  without, 
through  foreign  emissaries  and  agitators.  As  far  as  that  is  con- 
cerned, it  is  simply  an  exaggeration  of  the  specific  rdle  of  the  stranger; 
he  is  the  freer  man,  practically  and  theoretically;  he  examines  the 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  325 

relations  with  less  prejudice;  he  submits  them  to  more  general,  more 
objective,  standards,  and  is  not  confined  in  his  action  by  custom, 
piety,  or  precedents. 

e)  Abstract  relations. — Finally,  the  proportion  of  nearness  and 
remoteness  which  gives  the  stranger  the  character  of  objectivity  gets 
another  practical  expression  in  the  more  abstract  nature  of  the  rela- 
tion to  him.  This  is  seen  in  the  fact  that  one  has  certain  more 
general  qualities  only  in  common  with  the  stranger,  whereas  the 
relation  with  those  organically  allied  is  based  on  the  similarity  of  just 
those  specific  differences  by  which  the  members  of  an  intimate 
group  are  distinguished  from  those  who  do  not  share  that  intimacy. 
All  personal  relations  whatsoever  are  determined  according  to  this 
scheme,  however  varied  the  form  which  they  assume.  What  is 
decisive  is  not  the  fact  that  certain  common  characteristics  exist 
side  by  side  with  individual  differences  which  may  or  may  not  affect 
them  but  rather  that  the  influence  of  this  common  possession  itself 
upon  the  personal  relation  of  the  individuals  involved  is  determined 
by  certain  conditions:  Does  it  exist  in  and  for  these  individuals  and 
for  these  only  ?  Does  it  represent  qualities  that  are  general  in  the 
group,  to  be  sure,  but  peculiar  to  it?  Or  is  it  merely  felt  by  the 
members  of  the  group  as  something  peculiar  to  individuals  themselves 
whereas,  in  fact,  it  is  a  common  possession  of  a  group,  or  a  type,  or 
mankind  ?  In  the  last  case  an  attenuation  of  the  effect  of  the  com- 
mon possession  enters  in,  proportional  to  the  size  of  the  group. 
Common  characteristics  function,  it  is  true,  as  a  basis  for  union 
among  the  elements,  but  it  does  not  specifically  refer  these  elements 
to  each  other.  A  similarity  so  widely  shared  might  serve  as  a  com- 
mon basis  of  each  with  every  possible  other.  This  too  is  evidently 
one  way  in  which  a  relation  may  at  the  same  moment  comprehend 
both  nearness  and  remoteness.  To  the  extent  to  which  the  similari- 
ties become  general,  the  warmth  of  the  connection  which  they  effect 
will  have  an  element  of  coolness,  a  feeling  in  it  of  the  adventitious- 
ness  of  this  very  connection.  The  powers  which  united  have  lost 
their  specific,  centripetal  character. 

This  constellation  (in  which  similarities  are  shared  by  large  num- 
bers) acquires,  it  seems  to  me,  an  extraordinary  and  fundamental  pre- 
ponderance— as  against  the  individual  and  personal  elements  we 
have  been  discussing — in  defining  our  relation  to  the  stranger.  The 


326  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

stranger  is  near  to  us  in  so  far  as  we  feel  between  him  and  ourselves 
similarities  of  nationality  or  social  position,  of  profession  or  of  general 
human  nature.  He  is  far  from  us  in  so  far  as  these  similarities  reach 
out  over  him  and  us,  and  only  ally  us  both  because  in  fact  they  ally  a 
great  many. 

In  this  sense  a  trait  of  this  strangeness  easily  comes  into  even  the 
most  intimate  relations.  Erotic  relations  show  a  very  decided  aver- 
sion, in  the  stage  of  first  passion,  to  any  disposition  to  think  of  them 
in  general  terms.  A  love  such  as  this  (so  the  lover  feels)  has  never 
existed  before,  nor  is  there  anything  to  be  compared  with  our  passion 
for  the  beloved  person.  An  estrangement  is  wont,  whether  as  cause 
or  as  result  it  is  difficult  to  decide,  to  set  in  at  that  moment  in  which 
the  sentiment  of  uniqueness  disappears  from  the  connection.  A 
scepticism  of  its  value  in  itself  and  for  us  fastens  itself  to  the  very 
thought  that  after  all  one  has  only  drawn  the  lot  of  general  humanity, 
one  has  experienced  a  thousand  times  re-enacted  adventure,  and 
that,  if  one  had  not  accidentally  encountered  this  precise  person, 
any  other  one  would  have  acquired  the  same  meaning  for  us.  And 
something  of  this  cannot  fail  to  be  present  in  any  relation,  be  it  ever 
so  intimate,  because  that  which  is  common  to  the  two  is  perhaps 
never  common  only  to  them  but  belongs  to  a  general  conception, 
which  includes  much  else,  many  possibilities  of  similarities.  As  little 
actuality  as  they  may  have,  often  as  we  may  forget  them,  yet  here 
and  there  they  crowd  in  like  shadows  between  men,  like  a  mist  gliding 
before  every  word's  meaning,  which  must  actually  congeal  into  solid 
corporeality  in  order  to  be  called  rivalry.  Perhaps  this  is  in  many 
cases  a  more  general,  at  least  more  insurmountable,  strangeness  than 
that  afforded  by  differences  and  incomprehensibilities.  There  is  a 
feeling,  indeed,  that  these  are  actually  not  the  peculiar  property  of 
just  that  relation  but  of  a  more  general  one  that  potentially  refers 
to  us  and  to  an  uncertain  number  of  others,  and  therefore  the  relation 
experienced  has  no  inner  and  final  necessity. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  sort  of  strangeness,  in  which  this 
very  connection  on  the  basis  of  a  general  quality  embracing  the 
parties  is  precluded.  The  relation  of  the  Greeks  to  the  Barbarians 
is  a  typical  example;  so  are  all  the  cases  in  which  the  general  charac- 
teristics which  one  takes  as  peculiarly  and  merely  human  are  dis- 
allowed to  the  other.  But  here  the  expression  "the  stranger"  has 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  327 

no  longer  any  positive  meaning.  The  relation  with  him  is  a  non- 
relation.  He  is  not  a  member  of  the  group  itself.  As  such  he  is 
much  more  to  be  considered  as  near  and  far  at  the  same  moment, 
seeing  that  the  foundation  of  the  relation  is  now  laid  simply  on  a 
general  human  similarity.  Between  these  two  elements  there  occurs, 
however,  a  peculiar  tension,  since  the  consciousness  of  having  only 
the  absolutely  general  in  common  has  exactly  the  effect  of  bringing 
into  particular  emphasis  that  which  is  not  common.  In  the  case  of 
strangers  according  to  country,  city,  or  race,  the  individual  charac- 
teristics of  the  person  are  not  perceived;  but  attention  is  directed  to  his 
alien  extraction  which  he  has  in  common  with  all  the  members  of 
his  group.  Therefore  the  strangers  are  perceived,  not  indeed  as 
individuals,  but  chiefly  as  strangers  of  a  certain  type.  Their  remote- 
ness is  no  less  general  than  their  nearness. 

With  all  his  inorganic  adjacency,  the  stranger  is  yet  an  organic 
member  of  the  group,  whose  uniform  life  is  limited  by  the  peculiar 
dependence  upon  this  element.  Only  we  do  not  know  how  to  desig- 
nate the  characteristic  unity  of  this  position  otherwise  than  by  saying 
that  it  is  put  together  of  certain  amounts  of  nearness  and  of  remote- 
ness, which,  characterizing  in  some  measure  any  sort  of  relation, 
determine  in  a  certain  proportion  and  with  characteristic  mutual 
tension  the  specific,  formal  relation  of  "the  stranger." 

HI.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    Physical  Contacts 

The  literature  of  the  research  upon  social  contacts  falls  naturally 
under  four  heads:  physical  contacts,  sensory  contacts,  primary  con- 
tacts, and  secondary  contacts. 

The  reaction  of  the  person  to  contacts  with  things  as  contrasted 
with  his  contacts  with  persons  is  an  interesting  chapter  in  social 
psychology.  Observation  upon  children  shows  that  the  individual 
tends  to  respond  to  inanimate  objects,  particularly  if  they  are  unfa- 
miliar, as  if  they  were  living  and  social.  The  study  of  animism 
among  primitive  peoples  indicates  that  their  attitude  toward  certain 
animals  whom  they  regarded  as  superior  social  beings  is  a  specialization 
of  this  response.  A  survey  of  the  poetry  of  all  times  and  races  dis- 
closes that  nature  to  the  poet  as  well  as  to  the  mystic  is  personal. 


328         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Homesickness  and  nostalgia  are  an  indication  of  the  personal  and 
intimate  nature  of  the  relation  of  man  to  the  physical  world. 

It  seems  to  be  part  of  man's  original  nature  to  take  the  world 
socially  and  personally.  It  is  only  as  things  become  familiar  and 
controllable  that  he  gains  the  concept  of  mechanism.  It  is  natural 
science  and  machinery  that  has  made  so  large  a  part  of  the  world 
impersonal  for  most  of  us. 

The  scientific  study  of  the  actual  reaction  of  persons  and  groups 
to  their  physical  environment  is  still  in  the  pioneer  stage.  The 
anthropogeographers  have  made  many  brilliant  suggestions  and  a 
few  careful  and  critical  studies  of  the  direct  and  indirect  effects  of  the 
physical  environment  not  merely  upon  man's  social  and  political  organi- 
zation but  upon  his  temperament  and  conduct.  Huntington's  sug- 
gestive observations  upon  the  effect  of  climate  upon  manners  and 
efficiency  have  opened  a  wide  field  for  investigation.1 

Interest  is  growing  in  the  psychology  and  sociology  of  the  responses 
of  individuals  and  groups  to  the  physical  conditions  of  their  environ- 
ment. Communities,  large  and  small  in  this  country,  as  they  become 
civic  conscious,  have  devised  city  plans.  New  York  has  made  an 
elaborate  report  on  the  zoning  of  the  city  into  business,  industrial, 
and  residential  areas.  A  host  of  housing  surveys  present  realistic 
pictures  of  actual  conditions  of  physical  existence  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  hygienic  and  social  effects  of  low  standards  of  dwelling, 
overcrowding,  the  problem  of  the  roomer.  Even  historic  accounts 
and  impressionistic  observations  of  art  and  ornament,  decoration 
and  dress,  indicate  the  relation  of  these  material  trappings  to  the 
self-consciousness  of  the  individual  in  his  social  milieu. 

The  reservation  must  be  made  that  studies  of  zoning,  city  plan- 
ning, and  housing  have  taken  account  of  economic,  aesthetic,  and 
hygienic  factors  rather  than  those  of  contacts.  Implicit,  however, 
in  certain  aspects  of  these  studies,  certainly  present  often  as  an 
unconscious  motive,  has  been  an  appreciation  of  the  effects  of  the 
urban,  artificial  physical  environment  upon  the  responses  and  the 
very  nature  of  plastic  human  beings,  creatures  more  than  creators 
of  the  modern  leviathan,  the  Great  City. 

Glimpses  into  the  nature  and  process  of  these  subtle  effects  appear 
only  infrequently  in  formal  research.  Occasionally  such  a  book  as  The 
IEllsworth  Huntington,  Climate  and  Civilization,  (New  Haven,  1915.) 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  329 

Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets  by  Jane  Addams  throws  a  flood  of 
light  upon  the  contrasts  between  the  warmth,  the  sincerity,  and  the 
wholesomeness  of  primary  human  responses  and  the  sophistication, 
the  coldness,  and  the  moral  dangers  of  the  secondary  organization  of 
urban  life. 

A  sociological  study  of  the  effect  of  the  artificial  physical  and 
social  environment  of  the  city  upon  the  person  will  take  conscious 
account  of  these  social  factors.  The  lack  of  attachment  to  home  in 
the  city  tenant  as  compared  with  the  sentiments  and  status  of  home- 
ownership  in  the  village,  the  mobility  of  the  urban  dweller  in  his 
necessary  routine  of  work  and  his  restless  quest  for  pleasure,  the 
sophistication,  the  front,  the  self-seeking  of  the  individual  emanci- 
pated from  the  controls  of  the  primary  group — all  these  present 
problems  for  research. 

There  are  occasional  references  in  literature  to  what  may  be 
called  the  inversion  of  the  natural  attitudes  of  the  city  child.  His 
attention,  his  responses,  even  his  images  become  fixed  by  the  stimuli 
of  the  city  streets.1  To  those  interested  in  child  welfare  and  human 
values  this  is  the  supreme  tragedy  of  the  city. 

2.    Touch  and  the  Primary  Contacts  of  Intimacy 

The  study  of  the  senses  in  their  relations  to  personal  and  social 
behavior  had  its  origins  in  psychology,  in  psychoanalysis,  in  ethnology, 
and  in  the  study  of  races  and  nationalities  with  reference  to  the  con- 
flict and  fusion  of  cultures.  Darwin's  theory  of  the  origin  of  the 
species  increased  interest  in  the  instincts  and  it  was  the  study  of  the 
instincts  that  led  psychologists  finally  to  define  all  forms  of  behavior 
in  terms  of  stimulus  and  response.  A  "contact"  is  simply  a  stimu- 
lation that  has  significance  for  the  understanding  of  group  behavior. 

In  psychoanalysis,  a  rapidly  growing  literature  is  accessible  to 
sociologists  upon  the  nature  and  the  effects  of  the  intimate  contacts 
of  sex  and  family  life.  Indeed,  the  Freudian  concept  of  the  libido 
may  be  translated  for  sociological  purposes  into  the  desire  for  response. 

1  The  following  is  one  of  the  typical  illustrations  of  this  point.  An  art  teacher 
conducted  a  group  of  children  from  a  settlement,  in  a  squalid  city  area,  to  the 
country.  She  asked  the  children  to  draw  any  object  they  wished.  On  examination 
of  the  drawings  she  was  astonished  to  find  not  rural  scenes  but  pictures  of  the  city 
streets,  as  lamp-posts  and  smokestacks. 


330          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  intensity  of  the  sentiments  of  love  and  hate  that  cement  and 
disrupt  the  family  is  indicated  in  the  analyses  of  the  so-called  "family 
romance."  Life  histories  reveal  the  natural  tendencies  toward  recip- 
rocal affection  of  mother  and  son  or  father  and  daughter,  and  the 
mutual  antagonism  of  father  and  son  or  mother  and  daughter. 

In  ethnology,  attention  was  early  directed  to  the  phenomena  of 
taboo  with  its  injunction  against  contamination  by  contacts.  The 
literature  of  primitive  communities  is  replete  with  the  facts  of  avoid- 
ance of  contact,  as  between  the  sexes,  between  mother-in-law  and 
son-in-law,  with  persons  "with  the  evil  eye,"  etc.  Frazer's  volume 
on  "Taboo  and  the  Perils  of  the  Soul"  in  his  series  entitled  The 
Golden  Bough,  and  Crawley,  hi  his  book,  The  Mystic  Rose,  to  mention 
two  outstanding  examples,  have  assembled,  classified,  and  interpreted 
many  types  of  taboo.  In  the  literature  of  taboo  is  found  also  the 
ritualistic  distinction  between  "the  clean"  and  "the  unclean"  and 
the  development  of  reverence  and  awe  toward  "the  sacred"  and 
"the  holy." 

Recent  studies  of  the  conflict  of  races  and  nationalities,  generally 
considered  as  exclusively  economic  or  political  hi  nature,  bring  out 
the  significance  of  disgusts  and  fears  based  fundamentally  upon 
characteristic  racial  odors,  marked  variations  in  skin  color  and  in 
physiognomy  as  well  as  upon  differences  hi  food  habits,  personal 
conduct,  folkways,  mores,  and  culture. 

3.    Primary  Contacts  of  Acquaintanceship 

Two  of  the  best  sociological  statements  of  primary  contacts  are  to 
be  found  in  Professor  Cooley's  analysis  of  primary  groups  in  his  book 
Social  Organization  and  in  Shaler's  exposition  of  the  sympathetic 
way  of  approach  in  his  volume  The  Neighbor.  A  mass  of  descriptive 
material  for  the  further  study  of  the  primary  contacts  is  available 
from  many  sources.  Studies  of  primitive  peoples  indicate  that 
early  social  organizations  were  based  upon  ties  of  kinship  and  primary 
group  contacts.  Village  life  in  all  ages  and  with  all  races  exhibits 
absolute  standards  and  stringent  primary  controls  of  behavior.  The 
Blue  Laws  of  Connecticut  are  little  else  than  primary-group  attitudes 
written  into  law.  Common  law,  the  traditional  code  of  legal  conduct 
sanctioned  by  the  experience  of  primary  groups,  may  be  compared 
with  statute  law,  which  is  an  abstract  prescription  for  social  life  in 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  331 

secondary  societies.  Here  also  should  be  included  the  consideration 
of  programs  and  projects  for  community  organization  upon  the  basis 
of  primary  contacts,  as  for  example,  Ward's  The  Social  Center. 

4.    Secondary  Contacts 

The  transition  from  feudal  societies  of  villages  and  towns  to  our 
modern  world-society  of  great  cosmopolitan  cities  has  received  more 
attention  from  economics  and  politics  than  from  sociology.  Studies 
of  the  industrial  basis  of  city  life  have  given  us  the  external  pattern 
of  the  city:  its  topographical  conditions,  the  concentration  of  popu- 
lation as  an  outcome  of  large-scale  production,  division  of  labor, 
and  specialization  of  effort.  Research  in  municipal  government  has 
proceeded  from  the  muck-raking  period,  indicated  by  Lincoln  Steffens' 
The  Shame  of  the  Cities,  to  surveys  of  public  utilities  and  city  admin- 
istration of  the  type  of  those  made  by  the  New  York  Bureau  of 
Municipal  Research. 

Social  interest  in  the  city  was  first  stimulated  by  the  polemics 
against  the  political  and  social  disorders  of  urban  life.  There  were 
those  who  would  destroy  the  city  in  order  to  remedy  its  evils  and 
restore  the  simple  life  of  the  country.  Sociology  sought  a  surer  basis 
for  the  solution  of  the  problems  from  a  study  of  the  facts  of  city  life. 
Statistics  of  population  by  governmental  departments  provide  figures 
upon  conditions  and  tendencies.  Community  surveys  have  trans- 
lated into  understandable  form  a  mass  of  information  about  the 
formal  aspects  of  city  life. 

Naturally  enough,  sympathetic  and  arresting  pictures  of  city  life 
have  come  from  residents  of  settlements  as  in  Jane  Addam's  Twenty 
Years  at  Hull  House,  Robert  Woods's  The  City  Wilderness,  Lillian 
Wald's  The  House  on  Henry  Street  and  Mrs.  Simkhovitch's  The  City 
Worker's  World.  Georg  Simmel  has  made  the  one  outstanding 
contribution  to  a  sociology  or,  perhaps  better,  a  social  philosophy  of 
the  city  in  his  paper  "The  Great  City  and  Cultural  Life." 


332  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

BIBLIOGRAPHY:  MATERIALS  FOR  THE  STUDY  OF  SOCIAL  CONTACTS 

I.   THE  NATURE  AND  IMPORTANCE  OF  SOCIAL  CONTACTS 

(1)  Small,  Albion  W.    General  Sociology.    An  exposition  of  the  main 
development  in  sociological  theory  from  Spencer  to  Ratzenhofer, 
pp.  486-91.     Chicago,  1905. 

(2)  Tarde,  Gabriel.     The  Laws  of  Imitation.    Translated  from  the  French 
by  Elsie  Clews  Parsons.    Chap,  iii,  "What  Is  a  Society?"    New 
York,  1003. 

(3)  Thomas,  W.  I.     "Race  Psychology:   Standpoint  and  Questionnaire, 
with  Particular  Reference  to  the  Immigrant  and  the  Negro."  A merican 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XVII  (May,  1912),   725-75. 

(4)  Boas,  Franz.     The  Mind  of  Primitive  Man.    New  York,  1911. 

n.      INTIMATE   SOCIAL  CONTACTS   AND   THE   SOCIOLOGY   OF  THE   SENSES 

(1)  Simmel,  Georg.    Soziologie.    Untersuchungen  iiber  die  Foornen  der 
Vergesellschaftung.    Exkurs  iiber  die  Soziologie  der  Sinne,  pp.  646-65. 
Leipzig,  1908. 

(2)  Crawley,   E.     The  Mystic  Rose.    A  study   of  primitive  marriage. 
London  and  New  York,  1902. 

(3)  Sully,  James.    Sensation  and  Intuition.     Studies  in  psychology  and 
aesthetics.     Chap,  iv,  "Belief:    Its  Varieties  and  Its  Conditions." 
London,  1874. 

(4)  Moll,  Albert.    Der  Rapport  in  der  Hypnose.    Leipzig,  1892. 

(5)  Elworthy,  F.  T.     The  Evil  Eye.    An  account  of  this  ancient  and 
widespread  superstition.    London,  1895. 

(6)  Le'vy-Bruhl,  L.    Les  fonctions  mentales  dans  les  societes  inferieures. 
Paris,  1910. 

(7)  Starbuck,  Edwin  D.     "The  Intimate  Senses  as  Sources  of  Wisdom," 
The  Journal  of  Religion,  I  (March,  1921),  129-45. 

(8)  Paulhan,  Fr.    Les  transformations  sociales  des  sentiments.     Paris,  1920. 

(9)  Stoll,   O.      Suggestion   und   Hypnotismus   in   der    Volker  psychologic. 
Chap,  ix,  pp.  225-29.    Leipzig,  1904. 

(10)  Hooper,  Charles  E.  Common  Sense.  An  analysis  and  interpretation. 
Being  a  discussion  of  its  general  character,  its  distinction  from  dis- 
cursive reasoning,  its  origin  in  mental  imagery,  its  speculative  outlook, 
its  value  for  practical  life  and  social  well-being,  its  relation  to  scientific 
knowledge,  and  its  bearings  on  the  problems  of  natural  and  rational 
causation.  London,  1913. 

(n)  Weigall,  A.  "The  Influence  of  the  Kinematograph  upon  National 
Life,"  Nineteenth  Century  and  After,  LXXXIX  (April,  1921),  661-72. 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  333 

m.      MATERIALS   FOR  THE   STUDY  OF  MOBILITY 

(1)  Vallaux,  Camille.     "Le  sol  et  1'etat,"  Geographic  sociale.    Paris,  1911. 

(2)  Demolins,  Edmond.     Comment  la  route  cree  le  type  social.    Les  grandes 
routes  des  peuples;  essai  de  geographic  social.     2  vols.    Paris,  1901. 

(3)  Vandervelde,  E.    L'exode  rural  el  le  retour  aux  champs.     Chap,  iv, 
"Les  consequences  de  1'exode  rural."     (Sec.  3  discusses  the  political 
and  intellectual,  the  physical  and  moral  consequences  of  the  rural 
exodus,  pp.  202-13.)     Paris,  1903. 

(4)  Bury,  J.  B.    A  History  of  Freedom  of  Thought.    London  and  New 
York,  1913. 

(5)  Bloch,   Iwan.    Die  Prostitution.    Handbuch  der  gesamten  Sexual- 
wissenschaft  in  Einzeldarstellungen.    Berlin,  1912. 

(6)  Pagnier,  Armand.    Du  vagabondage  et  des  vagabonds.    Etude  psy- 
chologique,  sociologique  et  medico-legale.    Lyon,  1906. 

(7)  Laubach,  Frank  C.     Why  There  Are  Vagrants.    A  study  based  upon 
an  examination  of  one  hundred  men.    New  York,  1916. 

(8)  Ribton-Turner,  Charles  J.    A  History  of  Vagrants  and  Vagrancy  and 
Beggars  and  Begging.    London,  1887. 

(9)  Florian,  Eugenio.    I  vagabondi.     Studio  sociologicoguiridico.     Parte 
prima,    "L'Evoluzione    del    vagabondaggio."     Pp.    1-124.    Torino, 
1897-1900. 

(10)  Devine,  Edward  T.  "The  Shiftless  and  Floating  City  Population," 
Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  X 
(September,  1897),  149-164. 

IV.      SOCIAL  CONTACTS  IN  PRIMARY   GROUPS 

(1)  Sumner,  Wm.  G.    Folkways.    A  study  of  the  sociological  importance 
of  usages,  manners,  customs,  mores,  and  morals.     "The  In-Group 
and  the  Out-Group,"  pp.  12-16.    Boston,  1906. 

(2)  Vierkandt,  Alfred.    Naturvo'lker  und  Kulturvolker.    Ein  Beitrag  zur 
Socialpsychologie.    Leipzig,  1896. 

(3)  Pandian,   T.   B.    Indian    Village  Folk.    Their   Works   and   Ways. 
London,  1897. 

(4)  Dobschiitz,   E.   v.    Die   urchristlichen   Gemeinden.     Sittengeschicht- 
liche  Bilder.    Leipzig,  1902. 

(5)  Kautsky,  Karl.     Communism  in  Central  Europe  in  the  Time  of  the 
Reformation.    Translated  by  J.  L.  and  E.  G.  Mulliken.    London,  1897. 

(6)  Hupka,  S.  von.    Entwicklung  der  westgalizischen  Dorfzustande  in  der 
2.  Haifa  des  ig.  Jahrhunderts,  verfolgt  in  einem  Dorferkomplex.    Ziirich, 
1910. 

(7)  Wallace,  Donald  M.    Russia.     Chaps,  vi,  vii,  viii,  and  ix.    New 
York,  1905. 


334  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(8)  Ditchfield,  P.  H.    Old  Village  Life,  or,  Glimpses  of  Village  Life  through 
All  Ages.    New  York,  1920. 

(9)  Hammond,  John  L.,  and  Hammond,  Barbara.     The  Village  Labourer, 
1760-1832.    A  study  in  the  government  of  England  before  the  reform 
bill.    London,  1911. 

(10)  The  Blue  Laws  of  Connecticut.  A  collection  of  the  earliest  statutes 
and  judicial  proceedings  of  that  colony,  being  an  exhibition  of  the 
rigorous  morals  and  legislation  of  the  Puritans.  Edited  with  an  intro- 
duction by  Samuel  M.  Schmucker.  Philadelphia,  1861. 

(n)  Nordhoff,  C.  The  Communistic  Societies  of  the  United  States.  From 
personal  visit  and  observation.  Including  detailed  accounts  of  the 
Economists,  Zoarites,  Shakers,  the  Amana,  Oneida,  Bethel,  Aurora, 
Icarian,  and  other  existing  societies,  their  religious  creeds,  social 
practices,  numbers,  industries,  and  present  condition.  New  York, 

1875- 

(12)  Hinds,  William  A.    American  Communities  and  Co-operative  Colonies. 
2d  rev.  ed.  Chicago,  1008.     [Contains  notices  of  144  communities  in 
the  United  States.] 

(13)  L'Houet,  A.    Zur  Psychologic  des  Bauerntums.    Ein  Beitrag.    Tu- 
bingen, 1905. 

(14)  Pennington,  Patience.    A   Woman  Rice-Planter.    New  York,  1913. 

(15)  Smedes,  Susan  D.    A  Southern  Planter.    London,  1889. 

(16)  Sims,  Newell  L.     The  Rural  Community,  Ancient  and  Modern.     Chap, 
iv,  "The  Disintegration  of  the  Village  Community."    New  York,  1920. 

(17)  Anderson,  Wilbert  L.     The  Country  Town.    A  study  of  rural  evolu- 
tion.   New  York,  1906. 

(18)  Zola,  Emile.    La  Terre.     Paris,  1907.     [Romance.] 

V.      SOCIAL  CONTACTS  IN  SECONDARY  GROUPS 

(1)  Weber,  Adna  Ferrin.     The  Growth  of  Cities  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 
A  study  in  statistics.    New  York,  1899. 

(2)  Preuss,  Hugo.    Die  Entwicklung  des  deutschen  Stadtewesens.    I  Band. 
Leipzig,  1006. 

(3)  Green,  Alice  S.  A.  (Mrs.  J.  R.)     Town  Life  in  the  Fifteenth  Century. 
London  and  New  York,  1894. 

(4)  Toynbee,  Arnold.    Lectures  on  the  Industrial  Revolution  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century  in  England.    London,  1890. 

(5)  Hammond,  J.  L.,  and  Hammond,  Barbara.     The  Town  Labourer, 
1760-1832.    The  new  civilization.    London,  1917. 

(6)  .     The  Skilled  Labourer,  1760-1832.    London,  1919.     [Presents 

the  detailed  history  of  particular  bodies  of  skilled  workers  during  the 
great  change  of  the  Industrial  Revolution.] 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  335 

(7)  Jastrow,   J.    "Die   Stadtgemeinschaft   in  ihren  kulturellen  Bezieh- 
ungen."     (Indicates  the  institutions  which  have  come  into  existence 
under  conditions  of  urban  community  life.)    Zeitschrift  fttr  Social- 
wissenschaft,  X  (1007),  42-51,  92-101.     [Bibliography.] 

(8)  Sombart,  Werner.     The  Jews  and  Modern  Capitalism.    Translated 
from  the  German  by  M.  Epstein.    London,  1913. 

(9)  .     The  Quintessence  of  Capitalism.    A  study  of  the  history  and 

psychology  of  the  modern  business  man.    Translated  from  the  Ger- 
man by  M.  Epstein.    New  York,  1915. 

(10)  Wallas,  Graham.     The  Great  Society.    A  psychological  analysis.    New 

York,  1914. 
(n)  Booth,  Charles.    Life  and  Labour  of  the  People  in  London.    V,  East 

London,  chap,  ii,  "The  Docks."    Ill,  chap,  iv,  "Influx  of  Population." 

London,  1892. 

(12)  Marpillero,  G.     "Saggio  dipsicologia  dell'urbanismo,"  Rimsta italiana 
di  sociologia,  XII  (1908),  599-626. 

(13)  Besant,  Walter.    East  London.    London  and  New  York,  1901. 

(14)  The  Pittsburgh  Survey — the  Pittsburgh  District.     Robert  A.  Woods, 
"Pittsburgh,   an   Interpretation."    Allen  T.   Burns,   "Coalition  of 
Pittsburgh  Coal  Fields."    New  York,  1914. 

(15)  Hull  House  Maps  and  Papers.    A  presentation  of  nationalities  and 
wages  in  a  congested  district  of  Chicago,  together  with  comments  and 
essays  on  problems  growing  out  of  the  social  conditious.    New  York, 
1895. 

(16)  Addams,  Jane.     Twenty  Years  at  Hull  House.     With  autobiographical 
notes.    New  York,  1910. 

(17)  .     The  Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets.    New  York,  1909. 

(18)  Simkhovitch,  Mary  K.     The  City  Worker's  World  in  America.    New 
York,  1917. 

(19)  Park,  R.  E.,  and  Miller,  H.  A.    Old  World  Traits  Transplanted.    New 
York,  1921. 

(20)  Park,  Robert  E.     The  Immigrant  Press  and  Its  Control.     (In  press.) 

(21)  Steiner,  J.  F.     The  Japanese  Invasion.    A  study  in  the  psychology  of 
inter-racial  contacts.     Chicago,  1917. 

(22)  Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F.     The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and 
America.    Monograph  of  an  immigrant  group.    Vol.  IV.      Boston, 
1918. 

(23)  Cahan,  Abraham.     The  Rise  of  David  Levinsky.    A  novel.    New 
York  and  London,  1917. 

(24)  Hasanovitz,  Elizabeth.    One  of  Them.     Chapters  from  a  passionate 
autobiography.    Boston,  1918. 


336          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(25)  Ravage,  M.  E.    An  American  in  the  Making.    The  life  story  of  an 
immigrant.    New  York  and  London,  1917. 

(26)  Rihbany,  Abraham  Mitrie.    A  Far  Journey.    Boston,  1914. 

(27)  Riis,  Jacob  A.     The  Making  of  an  American.    New  York  and  London, 
1901. 

(28)  Cohen,  Rose.    Out  of  the  Shadow.    New  York,  1918. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  The  Land  as  the  Basis  for  Social  Contacts 

2.  Density  of  Population,  Social  Contacts  and  Social  Organization 

3.  Mobility  and  Social  Types,  as  the  Gypsy,  the  Nomad,  the  Hobo,  the 
Pioneer,  the  Commercial  Traveler,  the  Missionary,  the  Globe-Trotter, 
the  Wandering  Jew 

4.  Stability  and  Social  Types,  as  the  Farmer,  the  Home-Owner,  the 
Business  Man 

5.  Sensory  Experience  and  Human  Behavior.    Nostalgia  (Homesickness) 

6.  Race  Prejudice  and  Primary  Contacts 

7.  Taboo  and  Social  Contact 

8.  Social  Contacts  in  a  Primary  Group,  as  the  Family,  the  Play  Group, 
the  Neighborhood,  the  Village 

9.  Social  Control  in  Primary  Groups 

10.  The  Substitution  of  Secondary  for  Primary  Contacts  as  the  Cause  of 
Social  Problems,  as  Poverty,  Crime,  Prostitution,  etc. 

11.  Control  of  Problems  through  Secondary  Contacts,  as  Charity  Organi- 
zation Society,  Social  Service  Registration  Bureau,  Police  Department, 
Morals  Court,  Publicity  through  the  Press,  etc. 

12.  The  Industrial  Revolution  and  the  Great  Society 

13.  Attempts  to  Revive  Primary  Groups  in  the  City,  as  the  Social  Center, 
the  Settlement,  the  Social  Unit  Experiment,  etc. 

14.  Attempts    to    Restore    Primary    Contacts    between    Employer    and 
Employee 

15.  The  Anonymity  of  the  Newspaper 

16.  Standardization  and  Impersonality  of  the  Great  Society 

17.  The  Sociology  of  the  Stranger;  a  Study  of  the  Revivalist,  the  Expert, 
the  Genius,  the  Trader 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  contact  ? 

2.  What  are  the  ways  in  which  geographic  conditions  influence  social 
contacts  ? 

3.  What  are  the  differences  in  contact  with  the  land  between  primitive 
and  modern  peoples  ? 


SOCIAL  CONTACTS  337 

4.  In  what  ways  do  increasing  social  contacts  affect  contacts  with  the 
soil  ?    Give  concrete  illustrations. 

5.  What  is  the  social  significance  of  touch  as  compared  with  that  of  the 
other  senses  ? 

6.  In  what  sense  is  touch  a  social  contact  ? 

7.  By  what  principle  do  you  explain  desire  or  aversion  for  contact  ? 

8.  Give  illustrations  indicating  the  significance  of  touch  in  various  fields 
of  social  life. 

9.  How  do  you  explain  the  impulse  to  touch  objects  which  attract  attention? 

10.  What  are  the  differences  in  contacts  within  and  without  the  group  in 
primitive  society  ? 

11.  In  what  way  do  external  relations  affect  the  contacts  within  the  group  ? 

12.  Give  illustrations  of  group  egotism  or  ethnocentrism. 

13.  To  what  extent  does  the  dependence  of  the  solidarity  of  the  in-group 
upon  its  relations  with  the  out-groups  have  a  bearing  upon  present 
international  relations  ? 

14.  To  what  extent  is  the  social  control  of  the  immigrant  dependent  upon 
the  maintenance  of  the  solidarity  of  the  immigrant  group  ? 

15.  What  are  our  reactions  upon  meeting  a  person?  a  friend?  a  stranger? 

16.  What  do  you  understand  Shaler  to  mean  by  the  statement  that  "at 
the  beginning  of  any  acquaintance  the  fellow-being  is  evidently  dealt 
with  in  the  categoric  way"  ? 

17.  How  far  is  "the  sympathetic  way  of  approach"  practical  in  human 
relations  ? 

1 8.  What  is  the  difference  in  the  basis  of  continuity  between  animal  and 
human  society  ? 

19.  What  types  of  social  contacts  make  for  historical  continuity  ? 

20.  What  are  the  differences  of  social  contacts  in  the  movements  of  primi- 
tive and  civilized  peoples  ? 

21.  To  what  extent  is  civilization  dependent  upon  increasing  contacts  and 
intimacy  of  contacts  ? 

22.  Does  mobility  always  mean  increasing  contacts? 

23.  Under  what  conditions  does  mobility  contribute  to  the  increase  of 
experience  ? 

24.  Does  the  hobo  get  more  experience  than  the  schoolboy  ? 

25.  Contrast  the  advantages  and  limitations  of  historical  continuity  and  of 
mobility. 

26.  What  do  you  understand  by  a  primary  group? 

27.  Are  primary  contacts  limited  to  members  of  face-to-face  groups  ? 

28.  What  attitudes  and  relations  characterize  village  life  ? 

29.  Interpret  sociologically  the  control  by  the  group  of  the  behavior  of  the 
individual  in  a  rural  community. 


338  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

30.  Why  has  the  growth  of  the  city  resulted  in  the  substitution  of  secondary 
for  primary  social  contacts  ? 

3 1 .  What  problems  grow  out  of  the  breakdown  of  primary  relations  ?    What 
problems  are  solved  by  the  breakdown  of  primary  relations  ? 

32.  Do  the  contacts  of  city  life  make  for  the  development  of  individuality  ? 
personality  ?  social  types  ? 

33.  In  what  ways  does  publicity  function  as  a  form  of  secondary  contact 
in  American  life  ? 

34.  Why  does  the  European  peasant  first  become  a  reader  of  newspapers 
after  his  immigration  to  the  United  States  ? 

35.  Why  does  the  shift  from  country  to  city  involve  a  change  (a)  from 
concrete  to  abstract  relations;   (V)  from  absolute  to  relative  standards 
of  life;   (c)  from  personal  to  impersonal  relations;  and  (d)  from  senti- 
mental to  rational  attitudes  ? 

36.  How  far  is  social  solidarity  based  upon  concrete  and  sentimental  rather 
than  upon  abstract  and  rational  relations  ? 

37.  Why  does  immigration  make  for  change  from  sentimental  to  rational 
attitudes  toward  life  ? 

38.  In  what  way  is  capitalism  associated  with  the  growth  of  secondary 
contacts  ? 

39.  How  does  "the  stranger"  include  externality  and  intimacy? 

40.  In  what  ways  would  you  illustrate  the  relation  described  by  Simmel 
that  combines  "the  near"  and  "the  far"  ? 

41 .  Why  is  it  that  "the  stranger  "  is  associated  with  revolutions  and  destruc- 
tive forces  in  the  group  ? 

42.  Why  does  "the  stranger"  have  prestige? 

43.  In  what  sense  is  the  attitude  of  the  academic  man  that  of  "the  stranger  " 
as  compared  with  the  attitude  of  the  practical  man  ? 

44.  To  what  extent  does  the  professional  man  have  the  characteristics  of 
"the  stranger"? 

45.  Why  does  the  feeling  of  a  relation  as  unique  give  it  value  that  it  loses 
when  thought  of  as  shared  by  others  ? 

46.  What  would  be  the  effect  upon  the  problem  of  the  relation  of  the  whites 
and  negroes  in  the  United  States  of  the  recognition  that  this  relation  is 
of  the  same  kind  as  that  which  exists  between  other  races  in  similar 
situations  ? 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOCIAL  INTERACTION 

I.    INTRODUCTION 

\  i 

i.    The  Concept  of  Interaction 

The  idea  of  interaction  is  not  a  notion  of  common  sense.  It 
represents  the  culmination  of  long-continued  reflection  by  human 
beings  in  their  ceaseless  effort  to  resolve  the  ancient  paradox  of 
unity  in  diversity,  the  "one"  and  the  "many,"  to  find  law  and  order 
in~the" apparent  chaos  of  physical  changes  and  social  events;  and 
thus  to  find  explanations  for  the  behavior  of  the  universe,  of  society, 
and  of  man. 

The  disposition  to  be  curious  and  reflective  about  the  physical 
and  social  universe  is  human  enough.  For  men,  in  distinction  from 
animals,  live  in  a  world  of  ideas  as  well  as  in  a  realm  of  immediate 
reality.  This  world  of  ideas  is  something  more  than  the  mirror 
that  sense-perception  offers  us;  something  less  than  that  ultimate 
reality  to  which  it  seems  to  be  a  prologue  and  invitation.  Man,  in 
his  ambition  to  be  master  of  himself  and  of  nature,  looks  behind  the 
mirror,  to  analyze  phenomena  and  seek  causes,  in  order  to  gain 
control.  Science,  natural  science,  is  a  research  for  causes,  that  is  to 
say,  for  mechanisms,  which  in  turn  find  application  in  technical 
devices,  organization,  and  machinery,  in  which  mankind  asserts  its 
control  over  physical  nature  and  eventually  over  man  himself.  Edu- 
cation, in  its  technical  aspects  at  least,  is  a  device  of  social  control, 
just  as  the  printing  press  is  an  instrument  that  may  be  used  for  the 
same  purpose. 

Sociology,  like  other  natural  sciences,  aims  at  prediction  and 
control  based  on  an  investigation  of  the  nature  of  man  and  society, 
and  nature  means  here,  as  elsewhere  in  science,  just  those  aspects  of 
life  that  are  determined  and  predictable.  In  order  to  describe  man 
and  society  in  terms  which  will  reveal  their  nature,  sociology  is 
compelled  to  reduce  the  complexity  and  richness  of  life  to  the  simplest 

339 


340  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

terms,  i.e.,  elements  and  forces.  Once  the  concepts  "elements"  or 
"forces "have been  accepted,  the  notion  of  interaction  is  an  inevit- 
able, logical  development.  In  astronomy,  for  example,  these  elements 
are  (a)  the  masses  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  (6)  their  position,  (c)  the 
direction  of  their  movement,  and  (<f)  their  velocity.  In  sociology, 
these  forces  are  institutions,  tendencies,  human  beings,  ideas,  any- 
thing that  embodies  and  expresses  motives  and  wishes.  In  principle, 
and  with  reference  to  their  logical  character,  the  "forces"  and  "ele- 
ments" in  sociology  may  be  compared  with  the  forces  and  elements 
in  any  other  natural  science. 

Ormond,  in  his  Foundations  of  Knowledge,1  gives  an  illuminating 
analysis  of  interaction  as  a  concept  which  may  be  applied  equally 
to  the  behavior  of  physical  objects  and  persons. 

The  notion  of  interaction  is  not  simple  but  very  complex.  The  notion 
involves  not  simply  the  idea  of  bare  collision  and  rebound,  but  something 
much  more  profound,  namely,  the  internal  modifiability  of  the  colliding 
agents.  Take  for  example  the  simplest  possible  case,  that  of  one  billiard 
ball  striking  against  another.  We  say  that  the  impact  of  one  ball  against 
another  communicates  motion,  so  that  the  stricken  ball  passes  from  a  state 
of  rest  to  one  of  motion,  while  the  striking  ball  has  experienced  a  change  of 
an  opposite  character.  But  nothing  is  explained  by  this  account,  for  if 
nothing  happens  but  the  communication  of  motion,  why  does  it  not  pass 
through  the  stricken  ball  and  leave  its  state  unchanged  ?  The  phenomenon 
cannot  be  of  this  simple  character,  but  there  must  be  a  point  somewhere 
at  which  the  recipient  of  the  impulse  gathers  itself  up,  so  to  speak,  into  a 
knot  and  becomes  the  subject  of  the  impulse  which  is  thus  translated  into 
movement.  We  have  thus  movement,  impact,  impulse,  which  is  translated 
again  into  activity,  and  outwardly  the  billiard  ball  changing  from  a  state 
of  rest  to  one  of  motion;  or  in  the  case  of  the  impelling  ball,  from  a  state 
of  motion  to  one  of  rest.  Now  the  case  of  the  billiard  balls  is  one  of  the 
simpler  examples  of  interaction.  We  have  seen  that  the  problem  it  supplies 
is  not  simple  but  very  complex.  The  situation  is  not  thinkable  at  all  if  we 
do  not  suppose  the  internal  modifiability  of  the  agents,  and  this  means  that 
these  agents  are  able  somehow  to  receive  internally  and  to  re-act  upon 
impulses  which  are  communicated  externally  in  the  form  of  motion  or 
activity.  The  simplest  form  of  interaction  involves  the  supposition, 
therefore,  of  internal  subject-points  or  their  analogues  from  which  impulsions 
are  received  and  responded  to. 

'Pp.  70  and  72. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  341 

Simmel,  among  sociological  writers,  although  he  nowhere 
expressly  defines  the  term,  has  employed  the  conception  of  inter- 
action with  a  clear  sense  of  its  logical  significance.  Gumplowicz, 
on  the  other  hand,  has  sought  to  define  social  interaction  as  a  principle 
fundamental  to  all  natural  sciences,  that  is  to  say,  sciences  that  seek 
to  describe  change  in  terms  of  a  process,  i.e.,  physics,  chemistry, 
biology,  psychology.  The  logical  principle  is  the  same  in  all  these 
sciences;  the  processes  and  the  elements  are  different. 

2.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  material  in  this  chapter  will  be  considered  here  under  three 
main  heads:    (a)  society  as  interaction,  (ft)  communication  as  the  ~1 
medium  of  interaction,  and  (c)  imitation  and  suggestion  as  mechan-   j 
isms  of  interaction. 

a)  Society  as  interaction. — Society  stated  in  mechanistic  terms 
reduces  to  interaction.    A  person  is  a  member  of  society  so  long  as  he 
responds  to  social  forces;   when  interaction  ends,  he  is  isolated  and 
detached;   he  ceases  to  be  a  person  and  becomes  a  "lost  soul."    This 
is  the  reason  that  the  limits  of  society  are  coterminous  with  the 
limits  of  interaction,  that  is,  of  the  participation  of  persons  in  the 
life  of  society.    One  way  of  measuring  the  wholesome  or  the  normal 
life  of  a  person  is  by  the  sheer  external  fact  of  his  membership  in  the 
social  groups  of  the  community  in  which  his  lot  is  cast. 

Simmel  has  illustrated  in  a  wide  survey  of  concrete  detail  how 
interaction  defines  the  group  in  time  and  space.  Through  contacts 
of  historical  continuity,  the  life  of  Society  extends  backward  to 
prehistoric  eras.  More  potent  over  group  behavior  than  contem- 
porary discovery  and  invention  is  the  control  exerted  by  the  "dead 
hand  of  the  past"  through  the  inertia  of  folkways  and  mores,  through 
the  revival  of  memories  and  sentiments  and  through  the  persistence 
of  tradition  and  culture.  Contacts  of  mobility,  on  the  other  hand, 
define  the  area  of  the  interaction  of  the  members  of  the  group  in  space. 
The  degree  of  departure  from  accepted  ideas  and  modes  of  behavior 
and  the  extent  of  sympathetic  approach  to  the  strange  and  the  novel 
largely  depend  upon  the  rate,  the  number,  and  the  intensity  of  the 
contacts  of  mobility. 

b)  Communication   as  the  medium  of  social   interaction. — Each 
science  postulates  its  own  medium  of  interaction.    Astronomy  and 


342  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

physics  assume  a  hypothetical  substance,  the  ether.  Physics  has  its 
principles  of  molar  action  and  reaction;  chemistry  studies  molecular 
interaction.  Biology  and  medicine  direct  their  research  to  the 
physiological  interaction  of  organisms.  Psychology  is  concerned 
with  the  behavior  of  the  individual  organism  in  terms  of  the  inter- 
f  action  of  stimuli  and  responses.  Sociology,  as  collective  psychology, 
deals  with  communication.  Sociologists  have  referred  to  this  process 
as  intermental  stimulation  and  response. 

The  readings  on  communication  are  so  arranged  as  to  make 
clear  the  three  natural  levels  of  interaction:  (x)  that  of  the  senses; 
(y)  that  of  the  emotions;  and  (z)  that  of  sentiments  and  ideas. 

Interaction  through  sense-perceptions  and  emotional  responses 
may  be  termed  the  natural  forms  of  communication  since  they  are 
common  to  man  and  to  animals.  Simmers  interpretation  of  inter- 
action  through  the  senses  is  suggestive  of  the  subtle,  unconscious,  yet 
profound,  way  in  which  personal  attitudes  are  formed.  Not  alone 
vision,  but  hearing,  smell  and  touch  exhibit  in  varying  degrees 
the  emotional  responses  of  the  type  of  appreciation.  This  means 
understanding  other  persons  or  objects  on  the  perceptual  basis. 

The  selections  from  Darwin  and  from  Morgan  upon  emotional 
expression  in  animals  indicate  how  natural  expressive  signs  become  a 
vehicle  for  communication.  A  prepossession  for  speech  and  ideas 
blinds  man  to  the  important  role  in  human  conduct  still  exerted  by 
emotional  communication,  facial  expression,  and  gesture.  Blushing 
and  laughter  are  peculiarly  significant,  because  these  forms  of  emo- 
tional response  are  distinctively  human.  To  say  that  a  person 
blushes  when  he  is  self-conscious,  that  he  laughs  when  he  is  detached 
from,  and  superior  to,  and  yet  interested  in,  an  occurrence  means  that 
blushing  and  laughter  represent  contrasted  attitudes  to  a  social 
situation.  The  relation  of  blushing  and  laughter  to  social  control, 
as  an  evidence  of  the  emotional  dependence  of  the  person  upon  the 
group,  is  at  its  apogee  in  adolescence. 

Interaction  through  sensory  impressions  and  emotional  expr^s- 
v|  sion  is  restricted  to  the  communication  of  attitudes  and  feelings. 
N("  The  selections  under  the  heading  "  Language  and  the  Communication 
of  Ideas"  bring  out  the  uniquely  human  character  of  speech.  Con- 
cepts, as  Max  Miiller  insists,  are  the  common  symbols  wrought  out 
in  social  experience.  They  are  more  or  less  conventionalized,  objective, 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  343 

and  intelligible  symbols  that  have  been  denned  in  terms  of  a  common 
experience  or,  as  the  logicians  say,  of  a  universe  of  discourse.  Every 
group  has  its  own  universe  of  discourse.  In  short,  to  use  Durkheim's 
phrase,  concepts  are  "collective  representations." 

History  has  been  variously  conceived  in  terms  of  great  events, 
epoch-making  personalities,  social  movements,  and  cultural  changes. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  sociology  social  evolution  might  profitably 
be  studied  in  its  relation  to  the  development  and  perfection  of  the 
means  and  technique  of  communication.  How  revolutionary  was  the 
transition  from  word  of  mouth  and  memory  to  written  records!  The 
beginnings  of  ancient  civilization  with  its  five  independent  centers  in 
Egypt,  the  Euphrates  River  Valley,  China,  Mexico,  and  Peru  appear 
to  be  inextricably  bound  up  with  the  change  from  pictographs  to ,  ^ 
writing,  that  is  to  say  from  symbols  representing  words  to  symbols 
representing  sounds.  The  modern  period  began  with  the  invention 
of  printing  and  the  printing  press.  As  books  became  the  possession 
of  the  common  man  the  foundation  was  laid  for  experiments  in 
democracy.  From  the  sociological  standpoint  the  book  is  an  organ- 
ized objective  mind  whose  thoughts  are  accessible  to  all.  The  rdle 
of  the  book  in  social  life  has  long  been  recognized  but  not  fully  appre- 
ciated. The  Christian  church,  to  be  sure,  regards  the  Bible  as  the 
word  of  God.  The  army  does  not  question  the  infallibility  of  the 
Manual  of  Arms.  Our  written  Constitution  has*been  termed  "the 
ark  of  the  covenant."  The  orthodox  Socialist  appeals  in  unquestion- 
ing faith  to  the  ponderous  tomes  of  Marx. 

World-society  of  today,  which  depends  upon  the  almost  instan- 
taneous communication  of  events  and  opinion  around  the  world, 
rests  upon  the  invention  of  telegraphy  and  the  laying  of  the  great 
ocean  cables.  Wireless  telegraphy  and  radio  have  only  perfected 
these  earlier  means  and  render  impossible  a  monopoly  or  a  censorship 
of  inter-communication  between  peoples.  The  traditional  cultures, 
the  social  inheritances  of  ages  of  isolation,  are  now  in  a  world-process 
of  interaction  and  modification  as  a  result  of  the  rapidity  and  the 
impact  of  these  modern  means  of  the  circulation  of  ideas  and  senti- 
ments. At  the  present  time  it  is  so  popular  to  malign  the  newspaper 
that  few  recognize  the  extent  to  which  news  has  freed  mankind  from 
the  control  of  political  parties,  social  institutions,  and,  it  may  be 
added,  from  the  "  tyranny  "  of  books. 


344  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

c)  Imitation  and  suggestion  the  mechanistic  forms  of  i"teraction. — 
In  all  forms  of  communication  behavior  changes  occur,  but  in  two 
cases  the  processes  have  been  analyzed,  defined,  and  reduced  to 
simple  terms,  viz.,  in  imitation  and  in  suggestion. 

Imitation,  as  the  etymology  of  the  term  implies,  is  a  process  of 
copying  or  learning.  But  imitation  is  learning  only^sgjfar^as_it_has 
the  character  of  an  experiment,  or  trial  and  error.  It  is  also  obvious 
that  so-called  "instinctive"  imitation  is  not  learning  at  all.  Since 
the  results  of  experimental  psychology  have  limited  the  field  of 
instinctive  imitation  to  a  few  simple  activities,  as  the  tendencies  to 
run  when  others  run,  to  laugh  when  others  laugh,  its  place  in  human 
life  becomes  of  slight  importance  as  compared  with  imitation  which 
involves  persistent  effort  at  reproducing  standard  patterns  of  behavior. 

This  human  tendency,  under  social  influences,  to  reproduce  the 
copy  Stout  has  explained  in  psychological  terms  of  attention  and 
interest.  The  interests  determine  the  run  of  attention,  and  the 
direction  of  attention  fixes  the  copies  to  be  imitated.  Without  in 
any  way  discounting  the  psychological  validity  of  this  explanation, 
or  its  practical  value  in  educational  application,  social  factors  con- 
trolling interest  and  attention  should  not  be  disregarded.  In  a 
primary  group,  social  control  narrowly  restricts  the  selection  of 
patterns  and  behavior.  In  an  isolated  group  the  individual  may 
have  no  choice  whatsoever.  Then,  again,  attention  may  be  deter- 
mined, not  by  interests  arising  from  individual  capacity  or  aptitude, 
but  rather  from  rapport,  that  is,  from  interest  in  the  prestige  or  in 
the  personal  traits  of  the  individual  presenting  the  copy. 

The  relation  of  the  somewhat  complex  process  of  imitation  to  the 
simple  method  of  trial  and  error  is  of  significance.  Learning  by 
imitation  implies  at  once  both  identification  of  the  person  with  the 
individual  presenting  the  copy  and  yet  differentiation  from  him. 
Through  imitation  we  appreciate  the  other  person.  We  are  in 
sympathy  or  en  rapport  with  him,  while  at  the  same  time  we  appro- 
priate his  sentiment  and  his  technique.  Ribot  and  Adam  Smith 
analyze  this  relation  of  imitation  to  sympathy  and  Hirn  points  out 
that  in  art  this  process  or  internal  imitation  is  indispensable  for 
aesthetic  appreciation. 

In  this  process  of  appreciation  and  learning  the  primitive  method 
of  trial  and  error  comes  into  the  service  of  imitation.  In  a  real  sense 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  345 

imitation  is  mechanical  and  conservative;  it  provides  a  basis  for 
originality,  but  its  function  is  to  transmit,  not  to  originate  the  new. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  simple  process  of  trial  and  error,  a  common 
possession  of  man  and  the  animals,  results  in  discovery  and  invention. 

The  most  scientifically  controlled  situation  for  the  play  of  sug- 
gestion is  in  hypnosis.  An  analysis  of  the  observed  facts  of  hypnotism 
will  be  helpful  in  arriving  at  an  understanding  of  the  mechanism  of 
suggestion  in  everyday  life.  The  essential  facts  of  hypnotism  may 
be  briefly  summarized  as  follows:  (a)  The  establishment  of  a  relation 
of  rapport  between  the  experimenter  and  the  subject  of  such  a  nature 
that  the  latter  carries  out  suggestions  presented  by  the  former. 
(6)  The  successful  response  by  the  subject  to  the  suggestion  is  con- 
ditional upon  its  relation  to  his  past  experience,  (c)  The  subject 
responds  to  his  own  idea  of  the  suggestion,  and  not  to  the  idea  as 
conceived  by  the  experimenter.  A  consideration  of  cases  is  sufficient 
to  convince  the  student  of  a  complete  parallel  between  suggestion  in 
social  life  with  suggestion  in  hypnosis,  so  far,  at  least,  as  concerns  the 
last  two  points.  Wherever  rapport  develops  between  persons,  as  in 
the  love  of  mother  and  son,  the  affection  of  lovers,  the  comradeship 
of  intimate  friends,  there  also  arises  the  mechanism  of  the  reciprocal 
influence  of  suggestion.  But  in  normal  social  situations,  unlike 
hypnotism,  there  may  be  the  effect  of  suggestion  where  no  rapport 
exists. 

Herein  lies  the  significance  of  the  differentiation  made  by  Bech- 
terew  between  active  perception  and  passive  perception.  In  passive 
perception  ideas  and  sentiments  evading  the  "ego"  enter  the  "sub- 
conscious mind"  and,  uncontrolled  by  the  active  perception,  form 
organizations  or  complexes  of  "lost"  memories.  It  thus  comes  about 
that  in  social  situations,  where  no  rapport  exists  between  two  persons, 
a  suggestion  may  be  made  which,  by  striking  the  right  chord  of  mem- 
ory or  by  resurrecting  a  forgotten  sentiment,  may  transform  the  life 
of  the  other,  as  in  conversion.  The  area  of  suggestion  in  social  life  is 
indicated  in  a  second  paper  selected  from  Bechterew.  In  later 
chapters  upon  "Social  Control"  and  "Collective  Behavior"  the 
mechanism  of  suggestion  hi  the  determination  of  group  behavior  will 
be  further  considered. 

Imitation  and  suggestion  are  both  mechanisms  of  social  inter- 
action in  which  an  individual  or  group  is  controlled  by  another 


346  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

individual  or  group.  The  distinction  between  the  two  processes  is  now 
clear.  The  characteristic  mark  of  imitation  is  the  tendency,  under 
the  influence  of  copies  socially  presented,  to  build  up  mechanisms  of 
habits,  sentiments,  ideals,  and  patterns  of  We.  The  process  of 
suggestion,  as  differentiated  from  imitation  in  social  interaction,  is 
to  release  under  the  appropriate  social  stimuli  mechanisms  already 
organized,  whether  instincts,  habits,  or  sentiments.  The  other  differ- 
ences between  imitation  and  suggestion  grow  out  of  this  fundamental 
distinction.  In  imitation  attention  is  alert,  now  on  the  copy  and 
now  on  the  response.  In  suggestion  the  attention  is  either  absorbed 
in,  or  distracted  from,  the  stimulus.  In  imitation  the  individual  is 
self  conscious;  the  subject  in  suggestion  is  unconscious  of  his  behavior. 
In  imitation  the  activity  tends  to  reproduce  the  copy;  in  suggestion 
the  response  may  be  like  or  unlike  the  copy. 

II.     MATERIALS 

A.      SOCIETY  AS  INTERACTION 
i.    The  Mechanistic  Interpretation  of  Society1 

In  every  natural  process  we  may  observe  the  two  essential  factors 
which  constitute  it,  namely,  heterogeneous  elements  and  their  recip- 
rocal interaction  which  we  ascribe  to  certain  natural  forces.  We 
observe  these  factors  in  the  natural  process  of  the  stars,  by  which  the 
different  heavenly  bodies  exert  certain  influences  over  each  other,  which 
we  ascribe  either  to  the  force  of  attraction  or  to  gravity. 

"No  material  bond  unites  the  planets  to  the  sun.  The  direct 
activity  of  an  elementary  force,  the  general  force  of  attraction,  holds 
both  in  an  invisible  connection  by  the  elasticity  of  its  influence." 

In  the  chemical  natural  process  we  observe  the  most  varied  elements 
related  to  each  other  in  the  most  various  ways.  They  attract  or 
repulse  each  other.  They  enter  into  combinations  or  they  withdraw 
from  them.  These  are  nothing  but  actions  and  interactions  which  we 
ascribe  to  certain  forces  inherent  in  these  elements. 

The  vegetable  and  animal  natural  process  begins,  at  any  rate,  with 
the  contact  of  heterogeneous  elements  which  we  characterize  as  sexual 
cells  (gametes).  They  exert  upon  each  other  a  reciprocal  influence 
which  sets  into  activity  the  vegetable  and  animal  process. 

1  Translated  and  adapted  from  Ludwig  Gumplowicz,  Der  Rassenkampf, 
pp.  158-61.  (Innsbruck:  Wagnerische  Univ.  Buchhandlung,  1883.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  347 

The  extent  to  which  science  is  permeated  by  the  hypothesis  that 
heterogeneous  elements  reacting  upon  each  other  are  necessary  to  a 
natural  process  is  best  indicated  by  the  atomic  theory. 

Obviously,  it  is  conceded  that  the  origins  of  all  natural  processes 
cannot  better  be  explained  than  by  the  assumption  of  the  existence  in 
bodies  of  invisible  particles,  each  of  which  has  some  sort  of  separate 
existence  and  reacts  upon  the  others. 

The  entire  hypothesis  is  only  the  consequence  of  the  concept  of  a 
natural  process  which  the  observation  of  nature  has  produced  in  the 
human  mind. 

Even  though  we  conceive  the  social  process  as  characteristic  and 
different  from  the  four  types  of  natural  processes  mentioned  above, 
still  there  must  be  identified  in  it  the  two  essential  factors  which  con- 
stitute the  generic  conception  of  the  natural  process.  And  this  is,  in 
fact,  what  we  find.  The  numberless  human  groups,  which  we  assume  as 
the  earliest  beginnings  of  human  existence,  constitute  the  great  variety 
of  heterogeneous  ethnic  elements.  These  have  decreased  with  the 
decrease  in  the  number  of  hordes  and  tribes.  From  the  foregoing 
explanation  we  are  bound  to  assume  as  certain  that  in  this  field  we  are 
concerned  with  ethnically  different  and  heterogeneous  elements. 

The  question  now  remains  as  to  the  second  constitutive  element 
of  a  natural  process,  namely,  the  definite  interaction  of  these  elements, 
and  especially  as  to  those  interactions  which  are  characterized  by  regu- 
larity and  permanency.  Of  course,  we  must  avoid  analogy  with  the 
reciprocal  interaction  of  heterogeneous  elements  in  the  domain  of  other 
natural  processes.  In  strict  conformity  with  the  scientific  method  we 
take  into  consideration  merely  such  interactions  as  the  facts  of  common 
knowledge  and  actual  experience  offer  us.  Thus  will  we  be  able, 
happily,  to  formulate  a  principle  of  the  reciprocal  interaction  of  hetero- 
geneous ethnic,  or,  if  you  will,  social  elements,  the  mathematical  cer- 
tainty and  universality  of  which  cannot  be  denied  irrefutably,  since 
it  manifests  itself  ever  and  everywhere  in  the  field  of  history  and  the 
living  present. 

This  principle  may  be  very  simply  stated:   Every  stronger  ethnic  ! 
or  social  group  strives  to  subjugate  and  make  serviceable  to  its  purposes 
every  weaker  element  which  exists  or  may  come  within  the  field  of  its 
influence.    This  thesis  of  the  relation  of  heterogeneous  ethnic  and 
social  elements  to  each  other,  with  all  the  consequences  proceeding 


348          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

from  it,  contains  within  it  the  key  to  the  solution  of  the  entire  riddle  of 
the  natural  process  of  human  history.  We  shall  see  this  thesis  illus- 
trated ever  and  everywhere  in  the  past  and  the  present  in  the  inter- 
relations of  heterogeneous  ethnic  and  social  elements  and  become 
convinced  of  its  universal  validity.  In  this  latter  relation  it  does  not 
correspond  at  all  to  such  natural  laws,  as,  for  example,  attraction  and 
gravitation  or  chemical  affinity,  or  to  the  laws  of  vegetable  and  animal 
life.  In  order  better  to  conceive  of  this  social  natural  law  in  its  general 
validity,  we  must  study  it  in  its  different  consequences  and  in  the 
various  forms  which  it  assumes  according  to  circumstances  and 
conditions. 

2.    Social  Interaction  as  the  Definition  of  the  Group 
in  Time  and  Space1 

Society  exists  wherever  several  individuals  are  in  reciprocal  relation- 
ship. This  reciprocity  arises  always  from  specific  impulses  or  by  virtue 
of  specific  purposes.  Erotic,  religious,  or  merely  associative  impulses, 
purposes  of  defense  or  of  attack,  of  play  as  well  as  of  gain,  of  aid  and 
instruction,  and  countless  others  bring  it  to  pass  that  men  enter  into 
group  relationships  of  acting  for,  with,  against,  one  another;  that  is, 
men  exercise  an  influence  upon  these  conditions  of  association  and  are 
influenced  by  them.  ^These  reactions  signify  that  out  of  the  individual 
bearers  of  those  occasioning  impulses  and  purposes  a  unity,  that  is, 
a  "society,"  comes  into  being. 

An  organic  body  is  a  unity  because  its  organs  are  in  a  relationship 
of  more  intimate  interchange  of  their  energies  than  with  any  external 
being.  A  state  is  one  because  between  its  citizens  the  corresponding 
relationship  of  reciprocal  influences  exists.  We  could,  indeed,  not  call 
the~world  one  if  each  of  Its  pafts~did  not  somehow  influence  every  other, 
if  anywhere  the  reciprocity  of  the  influences,  however  mediated,  were 
cut  off.  That  unity,  or  socialization,  may,  according  to  the  kind  and 
degree  of  reciprocity,  have  very  different  gradations,  from  the  ephemeral 
combination  for  a  promenade  to  the  family;  from  ah1  relationships  "at 
will"  to  membership  in  a  state;  from  the  temporary  aggregation  of 
the  guests  in  a  hotel  to  the  intimate  bond  of  a  medieval  guild. 

1  Translated  from  Georg  Simmel,  Soziologie,  by  Albion  W.  Small,  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XV  (1909),  296-98;  III  (1898),  667-83. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  349 

Everything  now  which  is  present  in  the  individuals — the  immediate 
concrete  locations  of  all  historical  actuality — in  the  nature  of  impulse, 
interest,  purpose,  inclination,  psychical  adaptability,  and  movement 
of  such  sort  that  thereupon  or  therefrom  occurs  influence  upon  others, 
or  the  reception  of  influence  from  them — all  this  I  designate  as  the  con- 
tent or  the  material  of  socialization.  In  and  of  themselves,  these 
materials  with  which  life  is  filled,  these  motivations  which  impel  it,  are 
not  social  in  their  nature.  Neither  hunger  nor  love,  neither  labor  nor 
religiosity,  neither  the  technique  nor  the  functions  and  results  of  intel- 
ligence, as  they  are  given  immediately  and  in  their  strict  sense,  signify 
socialization.  On  the  contrary,  they  constitute  it  only  when  they  shape 
the  isolated  side-by-sideness  of  the  individuals  into  definite  forms  of 
with-and-for-one-another,  which  belong  under  the  general  concept  of 
reciprocity.  Socialization  is  thus  the  form,  actualizing  itself  in  count- 
less various  types,  in  which  the  individuals — on  the  basis  of  those 
interests,  sensuous  or  ideal,  momentary  or  permanent,  conscious  or 
unconscious,  casually  driving  or  purposefully  leading — grow  together 
into  a  unity,  and  within  which  these  interests  come  to  realization. 

That  which  constitutes  "society"  is  evidently  types  of  reciprocal 
influencing.  Any  collection  of  human  beings  whatsoever  becomes 
"society,"  not  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  in  each  of  the  number  there  is 
a  life-content  which  actuates  the  individual  as  such,  but  only  when  the 
vitality  of  these  contents  attains  the  form  of  reciprocal  influencing. 
Only  when  an  influence  is  exerted,  whether  immediately  or  through  a 
third  party,  from  one  upon  another  has  society  come  into  existence  in 
place  of  a  mere  spatial  juxtaposition  or  temporal  contemporaneousness 
or  succession  of  individuals.  If,  therefore,  there  is  to  be  a  science,  the 
object  of  which  is  to  be  "society"  and  nothing  else,  it  can  investigate 
only  these  reciprocal  influences,  these  kinds  and  forms  of  socialization. 
For  everything  else  found  within  "society"  and  realized  by  means  of  it 
is  not  "society"  itself,  but  merely  a  content  which  builds  or  is  built  by 
this  form  of  coexistence,  and  which  indeed  only  together  with  "society" 
brings  into  existence  the  real  structure,  "  society, "  in  the  wider  and 
usual  sense. 

The  persistence  of  the  group  presents  itself  in  the  fact  that,  in  spite 
of  the  departure  and  the  change  of  members,  the  group  remains  identical. 
We  say  that  it  is  the  same  state,  the  same  association,  the  same  army, 
which  now  exists  that  existed  so  and  so  many  decades  or  centuries  ago; 


350          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

this,  although  no  single  member  of  the  original  organization  remains. 
Here  is  one  of  the  cases  in  which  the  temporal  order  of  events  presents 
a  marked  analogy  with  the  spatial  order.  Out  of  individuals  existing 
side  by  side,  that  is,  apart  from  each  other,  a  social  unity  is  formed. 
The  inevitable  sepaiation  which  space  places  between  men  is  neverthe- 
less overcome  by  the  spiritual  bond  between  them,  so  that  there  arises 
an  appearance  of  unified  interexistence.  In  like  manner  the  temporal 
separation  of  individuals  and  of  generations  presents  their  union  in  our 
conceptions  as  a  coherent,  uninterrupted  whole.  In  the  case  of  persons 
spatially  separated,  this  unity  is  effected  by  the  reciprocity  maintained 
between  them  across  the  dividing  distance.  The  unity  of  complex 
being  means  nothing  else  than  the  cohesion  of  elements  which  is  pro- 
duced by  the  reciprocal  exercise  of  forces.  In  the  case  of  temporally 
separated  persons,  however,  unity  cannot  be  effected  in  this  manner, 
because  reciprocity  is  lacking.  The  earlier  may  influence  the  later, 
but  the  later  cannot  influence  the  earlier.  Hence  the  persistence  of  the 
social  unity  in  spite  of  shifting  membership  presents  a  peculiar  problem 
which  is  not  solved  by  explaining  how  the  group  came  to  exist  at  a  given 
moment. 

a)  Continuity  by  continuance  of  locality. — The  first  and  most  obvious 
element  of  the  continuity  of  group  unity  is  the  continuance  of  the 
locality,  of  the  place  and  soil  on  which  the  group  lives.  The  state, 
still  more  the  city,  and  also  countless  other  associations,  owe  their  unity 
first  of  all  to  the  territory  which  constitutes  the  abiding  substratum  for 
all  change  of  their  contents.  To  be  sure,  the  continuance  of  the  locality 
does  not  of  itself  alone  mean  the  continuance  of  the  social  unity,  since, 
for  instance,  if  the  whole  population  of  a  state  is  driven  out  or  enslaved 
by  a  conquering  group,  we  speak  of  a  changed  civic  group  in  spite  of  the 
continuance  of  the  territory.  Moreover,  the  unity  of  whose  character 
we  are  speaking  is  psychical,  and  it  is  this  psychical  factor  itself  which 
makes  the  territorial  substratum  a  unity.  After  this  has  once  taken 
place,  however,  the  locality  constitutes  an  essential  point  of  attachment 
for  the  further  persistence  of  the  group.  But  it  is  only  one  such  element, 
for  there  are  groups  that  get  along  without  a  local  substratum.  On  the 
one  hand,  there  are  the  very  small  groups,  like  the  family,  which  con- 
tinue precisely  the  same  after  the  residence  is  changed.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  are  the  very  large  groups,  like  that  ideal  community  of  the 
"republic  of  letters,"  or  the  other  international  associations  in  the 
interest  of  culture,  or  the  groups  conducting  international  commerce. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  351 

Their  peculiar  character  comes  from  entire  independence  of  all  attach- 
ment to  a  definite  locality. 

b)  Continuity  through  blood  relationship. — In  contrast  with  this 
more  formal  condition  for  the  maintenance  of  the  group  is  the  physio- 
logical connection  of  the  generations.  Community  of  stock  is  not 
always  enough  to  insure  unity  of  coherence  for  a  long  time.  In  many 
cases  the  local  unity  must  be  added.  The  social  unity  of  the  Jews  has 
been  weakened  to  a  marked  degree  since  the  dispersion,  in  spite  of  their 
physiological  and  confessional  unity.  It  has  become  more  compact 
in  cases  where  a  group  of  Jews  have  lived  for  a  time  in  the  same  territory, 
and  the  efforts  of  the  modern  "Zionism"  to  restore  Jewish  unity  on  a 
larger  scale  calculate  upon  concentration  in  one  locality.  On  the  other  j 
hand,  when  other  bonds  of  union  fail,  the  physiological  is  the  last  recourse 
to  which  the  self-maintenance  of  the  group  resorts.  The  more  the 
German  guilds  declined,  the  weaker  their  inherent  power  of  cohesion 
became,  the  more  energetically  did  each  guild  attempt  to  make  itself 
exclusive,  that  is,  it  insisted  that  no  persons  should  be  admitted  as 
guildmasters  except  sons  or  sons-in-law  of  masters  or  the  husbands  of 
masters'  widows. 

The  physiological  coherence  of  successive  generations  is  of  in- 
comparable significance  for  the  maintenance  of  the  unitary  self  of 
the  group,  for  the  special  reason  that  the  displacement  of  one  genera- 
tion by  the  following  does  not  take  place  all  at  once.  By  virtue  of  this 
fact  it  comes  about  that  a  continuity  is  maintained  which  conducts 
the  vast  majority  of  the  individuals  who  live  in  a  given  moment 
into  the  life  of  the  next  moment.  The  change,  the  disappearance 
and  entrance  of  persons,  affects  in  two  contiguous  moments  a  number 
relatively  small  compared  with  the  number  of  those  who  remain 
constant.  Another  element  of  influence  in  this  connection  is  the 
fact  that  human  beings  are  not  bound  to  a  definite  mating  season, 
but  that  children  are  begotten  at  any  tune.  It  can  never  properly 
be  asserted  of  a  group,  therefore,  that  at  any  given  moment  a  new 
generation  begins.  The  departure  of  the  older  and  the  entrance  of 
the  younger  elements  proceed  so  gradually  and  continuously  that  the 
group  seems  as  much  like  a  unified  self  as  an  organic  body  in  spite  of 
the  change  of  its  atoms. 

If  the  change  were  instantaneous,  it  is  doubtful  if  we  should  be  - 
justified  in  calling  the  group  "the  same"  after  the  critical  moment 
as  before.    The  circumstance  alone  that  the  transition  affected  in  a 


352  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

given  moment  only  a  minimum  of  the  total  life  of  the  group  makes 
it  possible  for  the  group  to  retain  its  selfhood  through  the  change. 
We  may  express  this  schematically  as  follows:  If  the  totality  of 
individuals  or  other  conditions  of  the  life  of  the  group  be  represented 
by  a,  b,  c,  d,  e;  in  a  later  moment  by  m,  n,  o,  p,  q;  we  may  neverthe- 
less speak  of  the  persistence  of  identical  selfhood  if  the  development 
takes  the  following  course:  a,  b,  c,  d,  e — m,  b,  c,  d,  e — m,  n,  c,  d,  e — 
m,  n,  o,  d,  e — m,  n,  o,  p,  e — m,  n,  o,  p,  q.  In  this  case  each  stage  is 
differentiated  from  the  contiguous  stage  by  only  one  member,  and  at 
each  moment  it  shares  the  same  chief  elements  with  its  neighboring 
moments. 

c)  Continuity  through  membership  in  the  group. — This  continuity 
in  change  of  the  individuals  who  are  the  vehicles  of  the  group  unity 
is  most  immediately  and  thoroughly  visible  when  it  rests  upon  pro- 
creation. The  same  form  is  found,  however,  in  cases  where  this 
physical  agency  is  excluded,  as,  for  example,  within  the  Catholic 
clerus.  Here  the  continuity  is  secured  by  provision  that  enough 
persons  always  remain  in  office  to  initiate  the  neophytes.  This  is  an 
extremely  important  sociological  fact.  It  makes  bureaucracies 
tenacious,  and  causes  their  character  and  spirit  to  endure  in  spite  of 
all  shifting  of  individuals.  The  physiological  basis  of  self-maintenance 
here  gives  place  to  a  psychological  one.  To  speak  exactly,  the 
preservation  of  group  identity  in  this  case  depends,  of  course,  upon 
the  amount  of  invariability  in  the  vehicles  of  this  unity,  but,  at  all 
events,  the  whole  body  of  members  belonging  in  the  group  at  any 
given  moment  only  separate  from  the  group  after  they  have  been 
associated  with  their  successors  long  enough  to  assimilate  the  latter 
fully  to  themselves,  i.e.,  to  the  spirit,  the  form,  the  tendency  of  the 
group.  The  immortality  of  the  group  depends  upon  the  fact  that 
the  change  is  sufficiently  slow  and  gradual. 

The  fact  referred  to  by  the  phrase  "immortality  of  the  group" 
is  of  the  greatest  importance.  The  preservation  of  the  identical  self- 
hood of  the  group  through  a  practically  unlimited  period  gives  to  the 
group  a  significance  which,  ceteris  paribus,  is  far  superior  to  that  of 
the  individual.  The  life  of  the  individual,  with  its  purposes,  its 
valuations,  its  force,  is  destined  to  terminate  within  a  limited  time, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  each  individual  must  start  at  the  beginning. 
Since  the  life  of  the  group  has  no  such  a  priori  fixed  time  limit,  and  its 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  353 

forms  are  really  arranged  as  though  they  were  to  last  forever,  the 
group  accomplishes  a  summation  of  the  achievements,  powers,  experi- 
ences, through  which  it  makes  itself  far  superior  to  the  fragmentary 
individual  lives.  Since  the  early  Middle  Ages  this  has  been  the 
source  of  the  power  of  municipal  corporations  in  England.  Each 
had  from  the  beginning  the  right,  as  Stubbs  expresses  it,  "of  per- 
petuating its  existence  by  filling  up  vacancies  as  they  occur."  The 
ancient  privileges  were  given  expressly  only  to  the  burghers  and  their 
heirs.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  exercised  as  a  right  to  add  new 
members  so  that,  whatever  fate  befell  the  members  and  their  physical 
descendants,  the  corporation,  as  such,  was  held  intact.  This  had 
to  be  paid  for,  to  be  sure,  by  the  disappearance  of  the  individual 
importance  of  the  units  behind  their  r61e  as  vehicles  of  the  main- 
tenance of  the  group,  for  the  group  security  must  suffer,  the  closer 
it  is  bound  up  with  the  perishable  individuality  of  the  units.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  more  anonymous  and  impersonal  the  unit  is,  the 
more  fit  is  he  to  step  into  the  place  of  another,  and  so  to  insure  to 
the  group  uninterrupted  self-maintenance.  This  was  the  enormous 
advantage  through  which  during  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  the  Commons 
repulsed  the  previously  superior  power  of  the  upper  house.  A  battle 
that  destroyed  half  the  nobility  of  the  country  took  also  from  the 
House  of  Lords  one-half  its  force,  because  this  is  attached  to  the 
personalities.  The  House  of  Commons  is  in  principle  assured 
against  such  weakening.  That  estate  at  last  got  predominance 
which,  through  the  equalizing  of  its  members,  demonstrated  the  most 
persistent  power  of  group  existence.  This  circumstance  gives  every 
group  an  advantage  in  competition  with  an  individual. 

d)  Continuity  through  leadership, — On  this  account  special 
arrangements  are  necessary  so  soon  as  the  life  of  the  group  is  inti- 
mately bound  up  with  that  of  a  leading,  commanding  individual. 
What  dangers  to  the  integrity  of  the  group  are  concealed  in  this 
sociological  form  may  be  learned  from  the  history  of  all  interreg- 
nums— dangers  which,  of  course,  increase  in  the  same  ratio  in  which 
the  ruler  actually  forms  the  central  point  of  the  functions  through 
which  the  group  preserves  its  unity,  or,  more  correctly,  at  each  moment 
creates  its  unity  anew.  Consequently  a  break  between  rulers  may  be 
a  matter  of  indifference  where  the  prince  only  exercises  a  nominal 
sway — "reigns,  but  does  not  govern" — while,  on  the  other  hand,  we 


354  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

observe  even  in  the  swarm  of  bees  that  anarchy  results  so  soon  as  the 
queen  is  removed.  Although  it  is  entirely  false  to  explain  this 
latter  phenomenon  by  analogy  of  a  human  ruler,  since  the  queen 
bee  gives  no  orders,  yet  the  queen  occupies  the  middle  point  of  the 
activity  of  the  hive.  By  means  of  her  antennae  she  is  in  constant 
communication  with  the  workers,  and  so  all  the  signals  coursing 
through  the  hive  pass  through  her.  By  virtue  of  this  very  fact  the 
hive  feels  itself  a  unity,  and  this  unity  dissolves  with  the  disappearance 
of  the  functional  center. 

e)  Continuity  through  the  hereditary  principle. — In  political  groups 
the  attempt  is  made  to  guard  against  all  the  dangers  of  personality, 
particularly  those  of  possible  intervals  between  the  important  persons, 
by  the  principle:  "The  king  never  dies."  While  in  the  early  Middle 
Ages  the  tradition  prevailed  that  when  the  king  dies  his  peace  dies  with 
him,  this  newer  principle  contains  provision  for  the  self-preservation 
of  the  group.  It  involves  an  extraordinarily  significant  sociologi- 
cal conception,  viz.,  the  king  is  no  longer  king  as  a  person,  but  the 
reverse  is  the  case,  that  is,  his  person  is  only  the  in  itself  irrelevant 
vehicle  of  the  abstract  kingship,  which  is  as  unalterable  as  the  group 
itself,  of  which  the  kingship  is  the  apex.  The  group  reflects  its  im- 
mortality upon  the  kingship,  and  the  sovereign  in  return  brings  that 
immortality  to  visible  expression  in  his  own  person,  and  by  so  doing 
reciprocally  strengthens  the  vitality  of  the  group.  That  mighty 
factor  of  social  coherence  which  consists  of  loyalty  of  sentiment 
toward  the  reigning  power  might  appear  in  very  small  groups  in  the 
relation  of  fidelity  toward  the  person  of  the  ruler.  For  large  groups 
the  definition  that  Stubbs  once  gave  must  certainly  apply,  viz.: 
"Loyalty  is  a  habit  of  strong  and  faithful  attachment  to  a  person, 
not  so  much  by  reason  of  his  personal  character  as  of  his  official  posi- 
tion." By  becoming  objectified  in  the  deathless  office,  the  princely 
principle  gains  a  new  psychological  power  for  concentration  and 
cohesion  within  the  group,  while  the  old  princely  principle  that 
rested  on  the  mere  personality  of  the  prince  necessarily  lost  power 
as  the  size  of  the  group  increased. 

/)  Continuity  through  a  material  symbol. — The  objectification  of 
the  coherence  of  the  group  may  also  do  away  with  the  personal  form 
to  such  an  extent  that  it  attaches  itself  to  a  material  symbol.  Thus 
in  the  German  lands  in  the  Middle  Ages  the  imperial  jewels  were 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  355 

looked  upon  as  the  visible  realization  of  the  idea  of  the  realm  and  of 
its  continuity,  so  that  the  possession  of  them  gave  to  a  pretender  a 
decided  advantage  over  all  other  aspirants,  and  this  was  one  of  the 
influences  which  evidently  assisted  the  heir  of  the  body  of  the  de- 
ceased emperor  in  securing  the  succession. 

In  view  of  the  destructibility  of  a  material  object,  since  too  this 
disadvantage  cannot  be  offset,  as  in  the  case  of  a  person,  by  the 
continuity  of  heredity,  it  is  very  dangerous  for  the  group  to  seek 
such  a  support  for  its  self-preservation.  Many  a  regiment  has  lost 
its  coherence  with  the  loss  of  its  standard.  Many  kinds  of  associa- 
tions have  dissolved  after  their  palladium,  their  storehouse,  their 
grail,  was  destroyed.  When,  however,  the  social  coherence  is  lost  in 
this  way,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  it  must  have  suffered  serious  internal 
disorder  before,  and  that  in  this  case  the  loss  of  the  external  symbol 
representing  the  unity  of  the  group  is  itself  only  the  symbol  that 
the  social  elements  have  lost  their  coherence.  When  this  last  is  not 
the  case,  the  loss  of  the  group  symbol  not  only  has  no  disintegrating 
effect  but  it  exerts  a  direct  integrating  influence.  While  the  symbol 
loses  its  corporeal  reality,  it  may,  as  mere  thought,  longing,  ideal, 
work  much  more  powerfully,  profoundly,  indestructibly.  We  may 
get  a  good  view  of  these  two  opposite  influences  of  the  forms  of 
destruction  of  the  group  symbol  upon  the  solidity  of  the  group  by 
reference  to  the  consequences  of  the  destruction  of  the  Jewish  temple 
by  Titus.  The  hierarchal  Jewish  state  was  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of 
the  Roman  statecraft  that  aimed  at  the  unity  of  the  empire.  The 
purpose  of  dissolving  this  state  was  accomplished,  so  far  as  a  certain 
number  of  the  Jews  were  concerned,  by  the  destruction  of  the  temple. 
Such  was  the  effect  with  those  who  cared  little,  anyway,  about  this 
centralization.  Thus  the  alienation  of  the  Pauline  Christians  from 
Judaism  was  powerfully  promoted  by  this  event.  For  the  Palestinian 
Jews,  on  the  other  hand,  the  breach  between  Judaism  and  the  rest  of 
the  world  was  deepened.  By  this  destruction  of  its  symbol  their 
national  religious  exclusiveness  was  heightened  to  desperation. 

g)  Continuity  through  group  honor. — The  sociological  significance 
of  honor  as  a  form  of  cohesion  is  extraordinarily  great.  Through 
the  appeal  to  honor,  society  secures  from  its  members  the  kind  of 
conduct  conducive  to  its  own  preservation,  particularly  within  the 
spheres  of  conduct  intermediate  between  the  purview  of  the  criminal 


35$          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

code,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  field  of  purely  personal  morality,  on 
the  other.  By  the  demands  upon  its  members  contained  in  the  group 
standard  of  honor  the  group  preserves  its  unified  character  and  its 
distinctness  from  the  other  groups  within  the  same  inclusive  associa- 
tion. The  essential  thing  is  the  specific  idea  of  honor  in  narrow 
groups — family  honor,  officers'  honor,  mercantile  honor,  yes,  even 
the  "honor  among  thieves."  Since  the  individual  belongs  to  various 
groups,  the  individual  may,  at  the  same  time,  be  under  the  demands 
of  several  sorts  of  honor  which  are  independent  of  each  other.  One 
may  preserve  his  mercantile  honor,  or  his  scientific  honor  as  an 
investigator,  who  has  forfeited  his  family  honor,  and  vice  versa; 
the  robber  may  strictly  observe  the  requirements  of  thieves'  honor 
after  he  has  violated  every  other;  a  woman  may  have  lost  her 
womanly  honor  and  in  every  other  respect  be  most  honorable,  etc. 
Thus  honor  consists  in  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  a  particular 
circle,  which  in  this  respect  manifests  its  separateness,  its  sociological 
distinctness,  from  other  groups. 

A)  Continuity  through  specialised  organs. — From  such  recourse  of 
social  self-preservation  to  individual  persons,  to  a  material  substance, 
to  an  ideal  conception,  we  pass  now  to  the  cases  in  which  social 
persistence  takes  advantage  of  an  organ  composed  of  a  number  of 
persons.  Thus  a  religious  community  embodies  its  coherence  and  its 
life  principle  in  its  priesthood;  a  political  community  its  inner  prin- 
ciple of  union  in  its  administrative  organization,  its  union  against 
foreign  power  in  its  military  system;  this  latter  in  its  corps  of  officers; 
every  permanent  union  in  its  official  head;  transitory  associations 
in  their  committees;  political  parties  in  their  parliamentary  repre- 
sentatives. 

B.      THE  NATURAL  FORMS   OF  COMMUNICATION 
i.     Sociology  of  the  Senses:   Visual  Interaction1 
It  is  through  the  medium  of  the  senses  that  we  perceive  our 
fellow-men.    This  fact  has  two  aspects  of  fundamental  sociological 
significance:  (a)  that  of  appreciation,  and  (6)  that  of  comprehension, 
a)  Appreciation. — Sense-impressions  may  induce  in  us  affective 
responses  of  pleasure  or  pain,  of  excitement  or  calm,  of  tension  or 

•Translated  and  adapted  from  Georg  Simmel,  Sosiolosit,  pp.  646-51.  (Leip- 
xig:  Duncker  und  Humblot,  1908.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  357 

relaxation,  produced  by  the  features  of  a  person,  or  by  the  tone  of 
his  voice,  or  by  his  mere  physical  presence  in  the  same  room.  These 
affective^resgonses,  however,  do  not  enable  us  tn  nnHprstanH  r>f  to 
define  the  other  person.  Our  emotional  response  to  the  sense-image 
of  the  other  leaves  his  real  self  outside. 

b)  Comprehension. — The  sense-impression  of  the  other  person 
may  develop  in  the  opposite  direction  when  it  becomes  the  medium 
for  understanding  the  other.  What  I  see,  hear,  feel  of  him  is  only 
the  bridge  over  which  I  reach  his  real  self.  The  sound  of  the  voice 
and  its  meaning,  perhaps,  present  the  clearest  illustration.  The 
speech,  quite  as  much  as  the  appearance,  of  a  person,  may  be  im- 
mediately either  attractive  or  repulsive.  On  the  other  hand,  what 
he  says  enables  us  to  understand  not  only  his  momentary  thoughts 
but  also  his  inner  self.  The  same  principle  applies  to  all  sense- 
impressions. 

The  sense-impressions  of  any  object  produce  in  us  not  only 
emotional  and  aesthetic  attitudes  toward  it  but  also  an  understand- 
ing of  it.  In  the  case  of  reaction  to  non-human  objects,  these  two 
responses  are,  in  general,  widely  separated.  We  may  appreciate 
the  emotional  value  of  any  sense-impression  of  an  object.  The 
fragrance  of  a  rose,  the  charm  of  a  tone,  the  grace  of  a  bough  swaying 
in  the  wind,  is  experienced  as  a  joy  engendered  within  the  soul.  On 
the  other  hand,  we  may  desire  to  understand  and  to  comprehend 
the  rose,  or  the  tone,  or  the  bough.  In  the  latter  case  we  respond 
in  an  entirely  different  way,  often  with  conscious  endeavor.  These 
two  diverse  reactions  which  are  independent  of  each  other  are  with 
human  beings  generally  integrated  into  a  unified  response.  Theo- 
retically, our  sense-impressions  of  a  person  may  be  directed  on  the 
one  hand  to  an  appreciation  of  his  emotional  value,  or  on  the  other 
to  an  impulsive  or  deliberate  understanding  of  him.  Actually,  these 
two  reactions  are  coexistent  and  inextricably  interwoven  as  the  basis 
of  our  relation  to  him.  Of  course,  appreciation  and  comprehension 
develop  in  quite  different  degrees.  These  two  diverse  responses — 
to  the  tone  of  voice  and  to  the  meaning  of  the  utterance;  to  the 
appearance  of  a  person  and  to  his  individuality;  to  the  attraction 
or  repulsion  of  his  personality  and  to  the  impulsive  judgment  upon 
his  character  as  well  as  many  times  upon  his  grade  of  culture — are 
present  in  any  perception  in  very  different  degrees  and  combinations. 


3S§          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Of  the  special  sense-organs,  the  eye  has  a  uniquely  sociological 
function.  The  union  and  interaction  of  individuals  is  based  upon 
mutual  glances.  This  is  perhaps  the  most  direct  and  purest  recip- 
rocity which  exists  anywhere.  This  highest  psychic  reaction,  how- 
ever, in  which  the  glances  of  eye  to  eye  unite  men,  crystallizes  into 
no  objective  structure;  the  unity  which  momentarily  arises  between 
two  persons  is  present  in  the  occasion  and  is  dissolved  in  the  function. 
So  tenacious  and  subtle  is  this  union  that  it  can  only  be  maintained 
by  the  shortest  and  straightest  line  between  the  eyes,  and  the  smallest 
deviation  from  it,  the  slightest  glance  aside,  completely  destroys  the 
unique  character  of  this  union.  No  objective  trace  of  this  relation- 
ship is  left  behind,  as  is  universally  found,  directly  or  indirectly,  in 
S\\  other  types  of  associations  between  men,  as,  for  example,  in 
interchange  of  words.  The  interaction  of  eye  and  eye  dies  in  the 
moment  in  which  the  directness  of  the  function  is  lost.  But  the 
totality  of  social  relations  of  human  beings,  their  self-assertion  and 
self-abnegation,  their  intimacies  and  estrangements,  would  be 
changed  in  unpredictable  ways  if  there  occurred  no  glance  of  eye  to 
,  eye.  This  mutual  glance  between  persons,  in  distinction  from  the 
simple  sight  or  observation  of  the  other,  signifies  a  wholly  new  and 
unique  union  between  them. 

The  limits  of  this  relation  are  to  be  determined  by  the  significant 
fact  that  the  glance  by  which  the  one  seeks  to  perceive  the  other  is 
itself  expressive.  By  the  glance  which  reveals  the  other,  one  dis- 
closes himself.  By  the  same  act  in  which  the  observer  seeks  to  know 
the  observed,  he  surrenders  himself  to  be  understood  by  the  observer. 
The  eye  cannot  take  unless  at  the  same  time  it  gives.  The  eye  of 
a  person  discloses  his  own  soul  when  he  seeks  to  uncover  that  of 
another.  What  occurs  in  this  direct  mutual  glance  represents  the 
most  perfect  reciprocity  in  the  entire  field  of  human  relationships. 

Shame  causes  a  person  to  look  at  the  ground  to  avoid  the  glance 
of  the  other.  The  reason  for  this  is  certainly  not  only  because  he  is 
thus  spared  the  visible  evidence  of  the  way  in  which  the  other  regards 
his  painful  situation,  but  the  deeper  reason  is  that  the  lowering  of 
his  glance  to  a  certain  degree  prevents  the  other  from  comprehending 
the  extent  of  his  confusion.  The  glance  in  the  eye  of  the  other  serves 
not  only  for  me  to  know  the  other  but  also  enables  him  to  know  me. 
Upon  the  line  which  unites  the  two  eyes,  it  conveys  to  the  other  the 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  359 

real  personality,  the  real  attitude,  and  the  real  impulse.  The 
"ostrich  policy"  has  in  this  explanation  a  real  justification:  who  does 
not  see  the  other  actually  conceals  himself  in  part  from  the  observer. 
A  person  is  not  at  all  completely  present  to  another,  when  the  latter 
sees  him,  but  only  when  he  also  sees  the  other. 

The  sociological  significance  of  the  eye  has  special  reference  to 
the  expression  of  the  face  as  the  first  object  of  vision  between  man 
and  man.  It  is  seldom  clearly  understood  to  what  an  extent  even 
our  practical  relations  depend  upon  mutual  recognition,  not  only  in 
the  sense  of  all  external  characteristics,  as  the  momentary  appearance 
and  attitude  of  the  other,  but  what  we  know  or  intuitively  perceive 
of  his  life,  of  his  inner  nature,  of  the  immutability  of  his  being,  all  of 
which  colors  unavoidably  both  our  transient  and  our  permanent 
relations  with  him.  The  face  is  the  geometric  chart  of  all  these 
experiences.  It  is  the  symbol  of  all  that  which  the  individual  has 
brought  with  him  as  the  pre-condition  of  his  life.  In  the  face  is 
deposited  what  has  been  precipitated  from  past  experience  as  the 
substratum  of  his  life,  which  has  become  crystallized  into  the  perma- 
nent features  of  his  face.  To  the  extent  to  which  we  thus  perceive 
the  face  of  a  person,  there  enters  into  social  relations,  in  so  far  as  it 
serves  practical  purposes,  a  super-practical  element.  It  follows  that 
a  man  is  first  known  by  his  countenance,  not  by  his  acts.  The  face 
as  a  medium  of  expression  is  entirely  a  theoretical  organ;  it  does  not 
act.  as  the  hand,  the  foot,  the  whole  body;  it  transacts  none  of  the 
internal  or  practical  relations  of  the  man,  it  only  tells  about  him. 
The  peculiar  and  important  sociological  art  of  "knowing"  transmitted 
by  the  eye  is  determined  by  the  fact  that  the  countenance  is  the 
essential  object  of  the  inter-individual  sight.  This  knowing  is  still 
somewhat  different  from  understanding.  To  a  certain  extent,  and 
in  a  highly  variable  degree,  we  know  at  first  glance  with  whom  we 
have  to  do.  Our  unconsciousness  of  this  knowledge  and  its  funda- 
mental significance  lies  in  the  fact  that  we  direct  our  attention  from 
this  self-evident  intuition  to  an  understanding  of  special  features 
which  determine  our  practical  relations  to  a  particular  individual. 
But  if  we  become  conscious  of  this  self-evident  fact,  then  we  are 
amazed  how  much  we  know  about  a  person  in  the  first  glance  at 
him.  We  do  not  obtain  meaning  from  his  expression,  susceptible 
to  analysis  into  individual  traits.  We  cannot  unqualifiedly  say 


360  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

whether  he  is  clever  or  stupid,  good-  or  ill-natured,  temperamental 
or  phlegmatic.  All  these  traits  are  general  characteristics  which  he 
shares  with  unnumbered  others.  But  what  this  first  glance  at  him 
transmits  to  us  cannot  be  analyzed  or  appraised  into  any  such  con- 
ceptual and  expressive  elements.  Yet  our  initial  impression  remains 
ever  the  keynote  of  all  later  knowledge  of  him;  it  is  the  direct  per- 
ception of  his  individuality  which  his  appearance,  and  especially  his 
face,  discloses  to  our  glance. 

The  sociological  attitude  of  the  blind  is  entirely  different  from 
that  of  the  deaf-mute.  For  the  blind,  the  other  person  is  actually 
present  only  in  the  alternating  periods  of  his  utterance.  The 
expression  of  the  anxiety  and  unrest,  the  traces  of  all  past  events, 
exposed  to  view  in  the  faces  of  men,  escape  the  blind,  and  that  may 
be  the  reason  for  the  peaceful  and  calm  disposition,  and  the 
unconcern  toward  their  surroundings,  which  is  so  often  observed  in  the 
blind.  Indeed,  the  majority  of  the  stimuli  which  the  face  presents 
are  often  puzzling;  in  general,  what  we  see  of  a  man  will  be  inter- 
preted by  what  we  hear  from  him,  while  the  opposite  is  more  unusual. 
Therefore  the  one  who  sees,  without  hearing,  is  much  more  perplexed, 
puzzled,  and  worried,  than  the  one  who  hears  without  seeing.  This 
principle  is  of  great  importance  in  understanding  the  sociology  of 
the  modern  city. 

Social  life  in  the  large  city  as  compared  with  the  towns  shows  a 
great  preponderance  of  occasions  to  see  rather  than  to  hear  people. 
One  explanation  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  person  in  the  town  is 
acquainted  with  nearly  all  the  people  he  meets.  With  these  he 
exchanges  a  word  or  a  glance,  and  their  countenance  represents  to 
him  not  merely  the  visible  but  indeed  the  entire  personality.  Another 
reason  of  especial  significance  is  the  development  of  public  means 
of  transportation.  Before  the  appearance  of  omnibuses,  railroads, 
and  street  cars  in  the  nineteenth  century,  men  were  not  in  a  situation 
where  for  periods  of  minutes  or  hours  they  could  or  must  look  at  each 
other  without  talking  to  one  another.  Modern  social  life  increases 
hi  ever  growing  degree  the  role  of  mere  visual  impression  which  always 
characterizes  the  preponderant  part  of  all  sense  relationship  between 
man  and  man,  and  must  place  social  attitudes  and  feelings  upon  an 
entirely  changed  basis.  The  greater  perplexity  which  characterizes 
the  person  who  only  sees,  as  contrasted  with  the  one  who  only  hears, 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  361 

brings  us  to  the  problems  of  the  emotions  of  modern  life:  the  lack  of 
orientation  in  the  collective  life,  the  sense  of  utter  lonesomeness,  and 
the  feeling  that  the  individual  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  closed 
doors. 

2.    The  Expression  of  the  Emotions1 

Actions  of  all  kinds,  if  regularly  accompanying  any  state  of  the 
mind,  are  at  once  recognized  as  expressive.  These  may  consist  of 
movements  of  any  part  of  the  body,  as  the  wagging  of  a  dog's  tail, 
the  shrugging  of  a  man's  shoulders,  the  erection  of  the  hair,  the 
exudation  of  perspiration,  the  state  of  the  capillary  circulation, 
labored  breathing,  and  the  use  of  the  vocal  or  other  sound-producing 
instruments.  Even  insects  express  anger,  terror,  jealousy,  and  love 
by  their  stridulation.  With  man  the  respiratory  organs  are  of  especial 
importance  in  expression,  not  only  in  a  direct,  but  to  a  still  higher 
degree  in  an  indirect,  manner. 

Few  points  are  more  interesting  in  our  present  subject  than  the 
extraordinarily  complex  chain  of  events  which  lead  to  certain  ex- 
pressive movements.  Take,  for  instance,  the  oblique  eyebrows  of 
a  man  suffering  from  grief  or  anxiety.  When  infants  scream  loudly 
from  hunger  or  pain,  the  circulation  is  affected,  and  the  eyes  tend  to 
become  gorged  with  blood;  consequently  the  muscles  surrounding 
the  eyes  are  strongly  contracted  as  a  protection.  This  action,  in 
the  course  of  many  generations,  has  become  firmly  fixed  and  inherited; 
but  when,  with  advancing  years  and  culture,  the  habit  of  screaming 
is  partially  repressed,  the  muscles  round  the  eyes  still  tend  to  con- 
tract, whenever  even  slight  distress  is  felt.  Of  these  muscles,  the 
pyramidals  of  the  nose  are  less  under  the  control  of  the  will  than  are 
the  others,  and  their  contraction  can  be  checked  only  by  that  of  the 
central  fasciae  of  the  frontal  muscle;  these  latter  fasciae  draw  up  the 
inner  ends  of  the  eyebrows  and  wrinkle  the  forehead  in  a  peculiar 
manner,  which  we  instantly  recognize  as  the  expression  of  grief  or 
anxiety.  Slight  movements,  such  as  these  just  described,  or  the 
scarcely  perceptible  drawing  down  of  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  are 
the  last  remnants  or  rudiments  of  strongly  marked  and  intelligible 
movements.  They  are  as  full  of  significance  to  us  in  regard  to 

1  Adapted  from  Charles  Darwin,  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions,  pp.  350-67. 
(John  Murray,  1873.) 


362  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

expression  as  are  ordinary  rudiments  to  the  naturalist  in  the  classifi- 
cation and  genealogy  of  organic  beings. 

That  the  chief  expressive  actions  exhibited  by  man  and  by  the 
lower  animals  are  now  innate  or  inherited — that  is,  have  not  been 
learned  by  the  individual — is  admitted  by  everyone.  So  little  has 
learning  or  imitation  to  do  with  several  of  them  that  they  are  from 
the  earliest  days  and  throughout  life  quite  beyond  our  control;  for 
instance,  the  relaxation  of  the  arteries  of  the  skin  in  blushing,  and  the 
increased  action  of  the  heart  in  anger.  We  may  see  children  only 
two  or  three  years  old,  and  even  those  born  blind,  blushing  from 
shame;  and  the  naked  scalp  of  a  very  young  infant  reddens  from 
passion.  Infants  scream  from  pain  directly  after  birth,  and  all  their 
features  then  assume  the  same  form  as  during  subsequent  years. 
These  facts  alone  suffice  to  show  that  many  of  our  most  important 
expressions  have  not  been  learned;  but  it  is  remarkable  that  some, 
which  are  certainly  innate,  require  practice  in  the  individual  before 
they  are  performed  in  a  full  and  perfect  manner;  for  instance,  weep- 
ing and  laughing.  The  inheritance  of  most  of  our  expressive  actions 
explains  the  fact  that  those  born  blind  display  them,  as  I  hear  from 
the  Rev.  R.  H.  Blair,  equally  well  with  those  gifted  with  eyesight. 
We  can  thus  also  understand  the  fact  that  the  young  and  the  old  of 
widely  different  races,  both  with  man  and  animals,  express  the  same 
state  of  mind  by  the  same  movement. 

We  are  so  familiar  with  the  iact  of  young  and  old  animals  dis- 
playing their  feelings  in  the  same  manner  that  we  hardly  perceive 
how  remarkable  it  is  that  a  young  puppy  should  wag  its  tail  when 
pleased,  depress  its  ears  and  uncover  its  canine  teeth  when  pretending 
to  be  savage,  just  like  an  old  dog;  or  that  a  kitten  should  arch  its 
little  back  and  erect  its  hair  when  frightened  and  angry,  like  an  old 
cat.  When,  however,  we  turn  to  less  common  gestures  in  ourselves, 
which  we  are  accustomed  to  look  at  as  artificial  or  conventional — 
such  as  shrugging  the  shoulders  as  a  sign  of  impotence,  or  the  raising 
the  arms  with  open  hands  and  extended  fingers  as  a  sign  of  wonder — 
we  feel  perhaps  too  much  surprise  at  finding  that  they  are  innate. 
That  these  and  some  other  gestures  are  inherited  we  may  infer  from 
their  being  performed  by  very  young  children,  by  those  born  blind, 
and  by  the  most  widely  distinct  races  of  man.  We  should  also  bear 
in  mind  that  new  and  highly  peculiar  tricks,  in  association  with 


SOCIAL  INf  ERAcTlOtt  363 

certain  states  of  the  mind,  are  known  to  have  arisen  in  certain  indi- 
viduals and  to  have  been  afterward  transmitted  to  their  offspring,  in 
some  cases  for  more  than  one  generation. 

Certain  other  gestures,  which  seem  to  us  so  natural  that  we 
might  easily  imagine  that  they  were  innate,  apparently  have  been 
learned  like  the  words  of  a  language.  This  seems  to  be  the  case  with 
the  joining  of  the  uplifted  hands  and  the  turning  up  of  the  eyes  in 
prayer.  So  it  is  with  kissing  as  a  mark  of  affection;  but  this  is  innate, 
in  so  far  as  it  depends  on  the  pleasure  derived  from  contact  with  a 
beloved  person.  The  evidence  with  respect  to  the  inheritance  of 
nodding  and  shaking  the  head  as  signs  of  affirmation  and  negation 
is  doubtful,  for  they  are  not  universal,  yet  seem  too  general  to  have 
been  independently  acquired  by  all  the  individuals  of  so  many  races. 

We  will  now  consider  how  far  the  will  and  consciousness  have 
come  into  play  in  the  development  of  the  various  movements  of 
expression.  As  far  as  we  can  judge,  only  a  few  expressive  movements, 
such  as  those  just  referred  to,  are  learned  by  each  individual;  that  is, 
were  consciously  and  voluntarily  performed  during  the  early  years 
of  life  for  some  definite  object,  or  in  imitation  of  others,  and  then 
became  habitual.  The  far  greater  number  of  the  movements  of 
expression,  and  all  the  more  important  ones,  are,  as  we  have  seen, 
innate  or  inherited;  and  such  cannot  be  said  to  depend  on  the  will 
of  the  individual.  Nevertheless,  all  those  included  under  our  first 
principle  were  at  first  voluntarily  performed  for  a  definite  object, 
namely,  to  escape  some  danger,  to  relieve  some  distress,  or  to  gratify 
some  desire.  For  instance,  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  the 
animals  which  fight  with  their  teeth  have  acquired  the  habit  of 
drawing  back  their  ears  closely  to  their  heads  when  feeling  savage 
from  their  progenitors  having  voluntarily  acted  in  this  manner  in 
order  to  protect  their  ears  from  being  torn  by  their  antagonists;  for 
those  animals  which  do  not  fight  with  their  teeth  do  not  thus  express 
a  savage  state  of  mind.  We  may  infer  as  highly  probable  that  we 
ourselves  have  acquired  the  habit  of  contracting  the  muscles  round  the 
eyes  whilst  crying  gently,  that  is,  without  the  utterance  of  any  loud 
sound,  from  our  progenitors,  especially  during  infancy,  having 
experienced  during  the  act  of  screaming  an  uncomfortable  sensation 
in  their  eyeballs.  Again,  some  highly  expressive  movements  result 
from  the  endeavor  to  check  or  prevent  other  expressive  movements; 


364  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

thus  the  obliquity  of  the  eyebrows  and  the  drawing  down  of  the  cor- 
ners of  the  mouth  follow  from  the  endeavor  to  prevent  a  screaming- 
fit  from  coming  on  or  to  check  it  after  it  has  come  on.  Here  it 
is  obvious  that  the  consciousness  and  will  must  at  first  have  come 
into  play;  not  that  we  are  conscious  in  these  or  in  other  such  cases 
what  muscles  are  brought  into  action,  any  more  than  when  we  per- 
form the  most  ordinary  voluntary  movements. 

The  power  of  communication  between  the  members  of  the  same 
tribe  by  means  of  language  has  been  of  paramount  importance  in 
the  development  of  man;  and  the  force  of  language  is  much  aided 
by  the  expressive  movements  of  the  face  and  body.  We  perceive 
this  at  once  when  we  converse  on  an  important  subject  with  any 
person  whose  face  is  concealed.  Nevertheless  there  are  no  grounds, 
as  far  as  I  can  discover,  for  believing  that  any  muscle  has  been 
developed  or  even  modified  exclusively  for  the  sake  of  expression. 
The  vocal  and  other  sound-producing  organs  by  which  various 
expressive  noises  are  produced  seem  to  form  a  partial  exception;  but 
I  have  elsewhere  attempted  to  show  that  these  organs  were  first 
developed  for  sexual  purposes,  in  order  that  one  sex  might  call  or 
charm  the  other.  Nor  can  I  discover  grounds  for  believing  that  any 
inherited  movement  which  now  serves  as  a  means  of  expression  was  at 
first  voluntarily  and  consciously  performed  for  this  special  purpose — 
like  some  of  the  gestures  and  the  finger-language  used  by  the  deaf 
and  dumb.  On  the  contrary,  every  true  or  inherited  movement  of 
expression  seems  to  have  had  some  natural  and  independent  origin. 
But  when  once  acquired,  such  movements  may  be  voluntarily  and 
consciously  employed  as  a  means  of  communication.  Even  infants, 
if  carefully  attended  to,  find  out  at  a  very  early  age  that  their  scream- 
ing brings  relief,  and  they  soon  voluntarily  practice  it.  We  may 
frequently  see  a  person  voluntarily  raising  his  eyebrows  to  express 
surprise,  or  smiling  to  express  pretended  satisfaction  and  acquiescence. 
A  man  often  wishes  to  make  certain  gestures  conspicuous  or  demon- 
strative, and  will  raise  his  extended  arms  with  widely  opened  fingers 
above  his  head  to  show  astonishment  or  lift  his  shoulders  to  his 
ears  to  show  that  he  cannot  or  will  not  do  something. 

We  have  seen  that  the  study  of  the  theory  of  expression  confirms 
to  a  certain  limited  extent  the  conclusion  that  man  is  derived  from 
some  lower  animal  form,  and  supports  the  belief  of  the  specific  or 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  365 

subspecific  unity  of  the  several  races;  but  as  far  as  my  judgment 
serves,  such  confirmation  was  hardly  needed.  We  have  also  seen  that 
expression  in  itself,  or  the  language  of  the  emotions,  as  it  has  some- 
tunes  been  called,  is  certainly  of  importance  for  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind. To  understand,  as  far  as  is  possible,  the  source  or  origin  of 
the  various  expressions  which  may  be  hourly  seen  on  the  faces  of 
the  men  around  us,  not  to  mention  our  domesticated  animals,  ought 
to  possess  much  interest  for  us.  From  these  several  causes  we  may 
conclude  that  the  philosophy  of  our  subject  has  well  deserved  that 
attention  which  it  has  already  received  from  several  excellent 
observers,  and  that  it  deserves  still  further  attention,  especially  from 
any  able  physiologist. 

3.    Blushing1 

Blushing  is  the  most  peculiar  and  the  most  human  of  all 
expressions.  Monkeys  redden  from  passion,  but  it  would  require  an 
overwhelming  amount  of  evidence  to  make  us  believe  that  any 
animal  could  blush.  The  reddening  of  the  face  from  a  blush  is  due 
to  the  relaxation  of  the  muscular  coats  of  the  small  arteries,  by  which 
the  capillaries  become  filled  with  blood;  and  this  depends  on  the 
proper  vasomotor  center  being  affected.  No  doubt  if  there  be  at 
the  same  tune  much  mental  agitation,  the  general  circulation  will 
be  affected;  but  it  is  not  due  to  the  action  of  the  heart  that  the 
network  of  minute  vessels  covering  the  face  becomes  under  a  sense 
of  shame  gorged  with  blood.  We  can  cause  laughing  by  tickling  the 
skin,  weeping  or  frowning  by  a  blow,  trembling  from  the  fear  of  pain, 
and  so  forth;  but  we  cannot  cause  a  blush  by  any  physical  means — 
that  is,  by  any  action  on  the  body.  It  is  the  mind  which  must  be 
affected.  Blushing  is  not  only  involuntary,  but  the  wish  to  restrain 
it,  by  leading  to  self-attention,  actually  increases  the  tendency. 

The  young  blush  much  more  freely  than  the  old,  but  not  during 
infancy,  which  is  remarkable,  as  we  know  that  infants  at  a  very 
early  age  redden  from  passion.  I  have  received  authentic  accounts 
of  two  little  girls  blushing  at  the  ages  of  between  two  and  three 
years;  and  of  another  sensitive  child,  a  year  older,  blushing  when 
reproved  for  a  fault.  Many  children  at  a  somewhat  more  advanced 

"Adapted  from  Charles  Darwin,  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions,  pp.  310-37. 
(John  Murray,  1873.) 


366          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

age  blush  in  a  strongly  marked  manner.  It  appears  that  the  mental 
powers  of  infants  are  not  as  yet  sufficiently  developed  to  allow  of  their 
blushing.  Hence,  also,  it  is  that  idiots  rarely  blush.  Dr.  Crichton 
Browne  observed  for  me  those  under  his  care,  but  never  saw  a  genuine 
blush,  though  he  has  seen  their  faces  flush,  apparently  from  joy, 
when  food  was  placed  before  them,  and  from  anger.  Nevertheless 
some,  if  not  utterly  degraded,  are  capable  of  blushing.  A  micro- 
cephalous  idiot,  for  instance,  thirteen  years  old,  whose  eyes  brightened 
a  little  when  he  was  pleased  or  amused,  has  been  described  by 
Dr.  Behn  as  blushing  and  turning  to  one  side  when  undressed  for 
medical  examination. 

Women  blush  much  more  than  men.  It  is  rare  to  see  an  old  man, 
but  not  nearly  so  rare  to  see  an  old  woman,  blushing.  The  blind  do 
not  escape.  Laura  Bridgman,  born  in  this  condition,  as  well  as 
completely  deaf,  blushes.  The  Rev.  R.  H.  Blair,  principal  of  the 
Worcester  College,  informs  me  that  three  children  born  blind,  out 
of  seven  or  eight  then  in  the  asylum,  are  great  blushers.  The  blind 
are  not  at  first  conscious  that  they  are  observed,  and  it  is  a  most 
important  part  of  their  education,  as  Mr.  Blair  informs  me,  to  impress 
this  knowledge  on  their  minds;  and  the  impression  thus  gained 
would  greatly  strengthen  the  tendency  to  blush,  by  increasing  the 
habit  of  self-attention. 

The  tendency  to  blush  is  inherited.  Dr.  Burgess  gives  the  case 
of  a  family  consisting  of  a  father,  mother,  and  ten  children,  all  of 
whom,  without  exception,  were  prone  to  blush  to  a  most  painful 
degree.  The  children  were  grown  up;  "and  some  of  them  were 
sent  to  travel  in  order  to  wear  away  this  diseased  sensibility,  but 
nothing  was  of  the  slightest  avail."  Even  peculiarities  in  blushing 
seem  to  be  inherited.  Sir  James  Paget,  whilst  examining  the  spine 
of  a  girl,  was  struck  at  her  singular  manner  of  blushing;  a  big  splash 
of  red  appeared  first  on  one  cheek,  and  then  other  splashes,  variously 
scattered  over  the  face  and  neck.  He  subsequently  asked  the 
mother  whether  her  daughter  always  blushed  in  this  peculiar  manner 
and  was  answered,  "Yes,  she  takes  after  me."  Sir  J.  Paget  then 
perceived  that  by  asking  this  question  he  had  caused  the  mother  to 
blush  and  she  exhibited  the  same  peculiarity  as  her  daughter. 

In  most  cases  the  face,  ears,  and  neck  are  the  sole  parts  which 
redden;  but  many  persons,  whilst  blushing  intensely,  feel  that 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  367 

their  whole  bodies  grow  hot  and  tingle;  and  this  shows  that  the  entire 
surface  must  be  in  some  manner  affected.  Blushes  are  said  some- 
times to  commence  on  the  forehead,  but  more  commonly  on  the 
cheeks,  afterward  spreading  to  the  ears  and  neck.  In  two  albinos 
examined  by  Dr.  Burgess,  the  blushes  commenced  by  a  small  circum- 
scribed spot  on  the  cheeks,  over  the  parotidean  plexus  of  nerves,  and 
then  increased  into  a  circle;  between  this  blushing  circle  and  the 
blush  on  the  neck  there  was  an  evident  line  of  demarcation,  although 
both  arose  simultaneously.  The  retina,  which  is  naturally  red  in 
the  albino,  invariably  increased  at  the  same  time  in  redness.  Every 
one  must  have  noticed  how  easily  after  one  blush  fresh  blushes  chase 
each  other  over  the  face.  Blushing  is  preceded  by  a  peculiar  sensa- 
tion in  the  skin.  According  to  Dr.  Burgess  the  reddening  of  the  skin 
is  generally  succeeded  by  a  slight  pallor,  which  shows  that  the  capillary 
vessels  contract  after  dilating.  In  some  rare  cases  paleness  instead 
of  redness  is  caused  under  conditions  which  would  naturally  induce 
a  blush.  For  instance,  a  young  lady  told  me  that  in  a  large  and 
crowded  party  she  caught  her  hair  so  firmly  on  the  button  of  a  passing 
servant  that  it  took  some  time  before  she  could  be  extricated;  from 
her  sensation  she  imagined  that  she  had  blushed  crimson  but  was 
assured  by  a  friend  that  she  had  turned  extremely  pale. 

The  mental  states  which  induce  blushing  consist  of  shyness, 
shame,  and  modesty,  the  essential  element  in  all  being  self-attention. 
Many  reasons  can  be  assigned  for  believing  that  originally  self- 
attention  directed  to  personal  appearance,  in  relation  to  the  opinion 
of  others,  was  the  exciting  cause,  the  same  effect  being  subsequently 
produced,  through  the  force  of  association,  by  self-attention  in 
relation  to  moral  conduct.  It  is  not  the  simple  act  of  reflecting  on 
our  own  appearance,  but  the  thinking  what  others  think  of  us,  which 
excites  a  blush.  In  absolute  solitude  the  most  sensitive  person 
would  be  quite  indifferent  about  his  appearance.  We  feel  blame 
or  disapprobation  more  acutely  than  approbation;  and  consequently 
depreciatory  remarks  or  ridicule,  whether  of  our  appearance  or 
conduct,  cause  us  to  blush  much  more  readily  than  does  praise. 
But  undoubtedly  praise  and  admiration  are  highly  efficient:  a 
pretty  girl  blushes  when  a  man  gazes  intently  at  her,  though 
she  may  know  perfectly  well  that  he  is  not  depreciating  her.  Many 
children,  as  well  as  old  and  sensitive  persons,  blush  when  they 


368          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

are  much  praised.  Hereafter  the  question  will  be  discussed  how 
it  has  arisen  that  the  consciousness  that  others  are  attending 
to  our  personal  appearance  should  have  led  to  the  capillaries,  espe- 
cially those  of  the  face,  instantly  becoming  filled  with  blood. 

My  reasons  for  believing  that  attention  directed  to  personal 
appearance,  and  not  to  moral  conduct,  has  been  the  fundamental 
element  in  the  acquirement  of  the  habit  of  blushing  will  now  be  given. 
They  are  separately  light,  but  combined  possess,  as  it  appears  to  me, 
considerable  weight.  It  is  notorious  that  nothing  makes  a  shy 
person  blush  so  much  as  any  remark,  however  slight,  on  his  personal 
appearance.  One  cannot  notice  even  the  dress  of  a  woman  much 
given  to  blushing  without  causing  her  face  to  crimson.  It  is  suf- 
ficient to  stare  hard  at  some  persons  to  make  them,  as  Coleridge 
remarks,  blush — "account  for  that  he  who  can." 

With  the  two  albinos  observed  by  Dr.  Burgess,  "the  slightest 
attempt  to  examine  their  peculiarities"  invariably  caused  them  to 
blush  deeply.  Women  are  much  more  sensitive  about  their  personal 
appearance  than  men  are,  especially  elderly  women  in  comparison 
with  elderly  men,  and  they  blush  much  more  freely.  The  young 
of  both  sexes  are  much  more  sensitive  on  this  same  head  than  the  old, 
and  they  also  blush  much  more  freely  than  the  old.  Children  at  a 
very  early  age  do  not  blush;  nor  do  they  show  those  other  signs  of 
self-consciousness  which  generally  accompany  blushing;  and  it  is  one 
of  their  chief  charms  that  they  think  nothing  about  what  others 
think  of  them.  At  this  early  age  they  will  stare  at  a  stranger  with 
a  fixed  gaze  and  unblinking  eyes,  as  on  an  inanimate  object,  in  a 
manner  which  we  elders  cannot  imitate. 

It  is  plain  to  everyone  that  young  men  and  women  are  highly 
sensitive  to  the  opinion  of  each  other  with  reference  to  their  personal 
appearance;  and  they  blush  incomparably  more  in  the  presence  of 
the  opposite  sex  than  in  that  of  their  own.  A  young  man,  not  very 
liable  to  blush,  will  blush  intensely  at  any  slight  ridicule  of  his  appear- 
ance from  a  girl  whose  judgment  on  any  important  subject  he  would 
disregard.  No  happy  pair  of  young  lovers,  valuing  each  other's 
admiration  and  love  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  probably 
ever  courted  each  other  without  many  a  blush.  Even  the  barbarians 
of  Tierra  del  Fuego,  according  to  Mr.  Bridges,  blush  "chiefly  in  regard 
to  women,  but  certainly  also  at  their  own  personal  appearance." 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  369 

Of  all  parts  of  the  body,  the  face  is  most  considered  and  regarded, 
as  is  natural  from  its  being  the  chief  seat  of  expression  and  the  source 
of  the  voice.  It  is  also  the  chief  seat  of  beauty  and  of  ugliness,  and 
throughout  the  world  is  the  most  ornamented.  The  face,  therefore, 
will  have  been  subjected  during  many  generations  to  much  closer  and 
more  earnest  self-attention  than  any  other  part  of  the  body;  and  in 
accordance  with  the  principle  here  advanced  we  can  understand  why 
it  should  be  the  most  liable  to  blush.  Although  exposure  to  alter- 
nations of  temperature,  etc.,  has  probably  much  increased  the  power 
of  dilatation  and  contraction  in  the  capillaries  of  the  face  and  adjoin- 
ing parts,  yet  this  by  itself  will  hardly  account  for  these  parts  blushing 
much  more  than  the  rest  of  the  body;  for  it  does  not  explain  the  fact 
of  the  hands  rarely  blushing.  With  Europeans  the  whole  body 
tingles  slightly  when  the  face  blushes  intensely;  and  with  the  races 
of  men  who  habitually  go  nearly  naked,  the  blushes  extend  over  a 
much  larger  surface  than  with  us.  These  facts  are,  to  a  certain 
extent,  intelligible,  as  the  self-attention  of  primeval  man,  as  well 
as  of  the  existing  races  which  still  go  naked,  will  not  have  been  so 
exclusively  confined  to  their  faces,  as  is  the  case  with  the  people  who 
now  go  clothed. 

We  have  seen  that  in  all  parts  of  the  world  persons  who  feel 
shame  for  some  moral  delinquency  are  apt  to  avert,  bend  down,  or 
hide  then:  faces,  independently  of  any  thought  about  their  personal 
appearance.  The  object  can  hardly  be  to  conceal  their  blushes,  for 
the  face  is  thus  averted  or  hidden  under  circumstances  which  exclude 
any  desire  to  conceal  shame,  as  when  guilt  is  fully  confessed  and 
repented  of.  It  is,  however,  probable  that  primeval  man  before  he 
had  acquired  much  moral  sensitiveness  would  have  been  highly 
sensitive  about  his  personal  appearance,  at  least  in  reference  to  the 
other  sex,  and  he  would  consequently  have  felt  distress  at  any 
depreciatory  remarks  about  his  appearance;  and  this  is  one  form  of 
shame.  And  as  the  face  is  the  part  of  the  body  which  is  most 
regarded,  it  is  intelligible  that  any  one  ashamed  of  his  personal  appear- 
ance would  desire  to  conceal  this  part  of  his  body.  The  habit, 
having  been  thus  acquired,  would  naturally  be  carried  on  when  shame 
from  strictly  moral  causes  was  felt;  and  it  is  not  easy  otherwise  to 
see  why  under  these  circumstances  there  should  be  a  desire  to  hide 
the  face  more  than  any  other  part  of  the  body. 


370  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  habit,  so  general  with  everyone  who  feels  ashamed,  of  turning 
away  or  lowering  his  eyes,  or  restlessly  moving  them  from  side  to  side, 
probably  follows  from  each  glance  directed  toward  those  present, 
bringing  home  the  conviction  that  he  is  intently  regarded;  and  he 
endeavors,  by  not  looking  at  those  present,  and  especially  not  at 
their  eyes,  momentarily  to  escape  from  this  painful  conviction. 

4.    Laughing1 

Sympathy,  when  it  is  not  the  direct  cause,  is  conditional  to  the 
existence  of  laughter.  Sometimes  it  provokes  it;  always  it  spreads 
it,  sustains  and  strengthens  it. 

First  of  all,  it  is  so  much  the  nature  of  laughter  to  communicate 
itself  that  when  it  no  longer  communicates  itself  it  ceases  to  exist. 
One  might  say  that  outbursts  of  merriment  need  to  be  encouraged, 
that  they  are  not  self-sufficient.  Not  to  share  them  is  to  blow  upon 
them  and  extinguish  them.  When,  in  an  animated  and  mirthful 
group,  some  one  remains  cold  or  gloomy,  the  laughter  immediately 
stops  or  is  checked.  Yet  those  whom  the  common  people  call,  in 
their  picturesque  language,  wet  blankets,  spoil-sports,  or  kill-joys, 
are  not  necessarily  hostile  to  the  gaiety  of  the  rest.  They  may  only 
have,  and,  in  fact,  very  often  do  have,  nothing  but  the  one  fault  of 
being  out  of  tune  with  this  gaiety.  But  even  their  calm  appears  an 
offense  to  the  warmth  and  the  high  spirits  of  the  others  and  kills  by 
itself  alone  this  merriment. 

Not  only  is  laughter  maintained  by  sympathy  but  it  is  even 
born  of  sympathy.  The  world  is  composed  of  two  kinds  of  people: 
those  who  make  one  laugh  and  those  who  are  made  to  laugh,  these 
latter  being  infinitely  more  numerous.  How  many  there  are,  indeed, 
who  have  no  sense  of  humor,  and  who,  of  themselves,  would  not 
think  of  laughing  at  things  at  which  they  do  nevertheless  laugh 
heartily  because  they  see  others  laugh.  As  for  those  who  have  a  ready 
wit  and  a  sense  of  the  comic,  do  they  not  enjoy  the  success  of  their 
jokes  as  much,  if  not  more,  than  their  jokes  themselves?  Their 
mirthfulness,  then,  at  least,  grows  with  the  joy  of  spreading  it.  Very 
often  it  happens  that  many  good  humorists  are  temperamentally  far 
from  gay,  and  laugh  at  their  jokes  only  on  the  rebound,  echoing 

'Translated  and  adapted  from  L.  Dugas,  Psychologic  du  rire,  pp.  32-153. 
(F61ix  Alcan,  1902.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  371 

the  laughter  which  they  provoke.  To  laugh,  then,  is  to  share 
the  gaiety  of  others,  whether  this  gaiety  is  communicated  from 
them  to  us  or  from  us  to  them.  It  seems  that  we  can  be  moved 
to  laughter  only  by  the  merriment  of  others,  that  we  possess  ours 
only  indirectly  when  others  send  it  to  us.  Human  solidarity  never 
appears  more  clearly  than  in  the  case  of  laughter. 

Yet  can  one  say  that  sympathy  actually  produces  laughter  ?  Is 
it  not  enough  to  say  that  it  increases  it,  that  it  strengthens  its  effects  ? 
All  our  sentiments  are  without  doubt  in  a  sense  revealed  to  us  by 
others.  How  many,  as  Rochefoucald  says,  would  be  ignorant  of  love 
if  they  had  never  read  novels!  How  many  hi  the  same  way  would 
never  have  discovered  by  themselves  the  laughable  side  of  people 
and  things.  Yet  even  the  feelings  which  one  experiences  by  contagion 
one  can  experience  only  of  one's  own  accord,  in  one's  own  way,  and 
according  to  one's  disposition.  This  fact  alone  of  their  contagion 
proves  that  from  one's  birth  one  carries  the  germ  in  himself.  Sym- 
pathy would  explain,  then,  contagion,  but  not  the  birth,  of  laughter. 
The  fact  is  that  our  feelings  exist  for  ourselves  only  when  they 
acquire  a  communicative  or  social  value;  they  have  to  be  diffused  in 
order  to  manifest  themselves.  Sympathy  does  not  create  them  but 
it  gives  them  their  place  hi  the  world.  It  gives  them  just  that  access  of 
intensity  without  which  their  nature  cannot  develop  or  even  appear: 
thus  it  is  that  our  laughter  would  be  for  us  as  if  it  did  not  exist,  if  it 
did  not  find  outside  itself  an  echo  which  increases  it. 

From  the  fact  that  sympathy  is  the  law  of  laughter,  does  it 
follow  that  it  is  the  cause?  Not  at  all.  It  would  be  even  con- 
tradictory to  maintain  this.  A  laugh  being  given,  others  are  born 
out  of  sympathy.  But  the  first  laugh  or  one  originally  given,  where 
does  it  get  its  origin  ?  Communicated  laughter  implies  spontaneous 
laughter  as  the  echo  implies  a  sound.  If  sympathy  explains  one,  it 
is,  it  would  seem,  an  antipathy  or  the  absence  of  sympathy  which 
produces  the  other.  "The  thing  at  which  we  laugh,"  says  Aristotle, 
"is  a  defect  or  ugliness  which  is  not  great  enough  to  cause  suffering 
or  injury.  Thus,  for  example,  a  ridiculous  face  is  an  ugly  or  mis- 
shapen face,  but  one  on  which  suffering  has  not  marked."  Bain 
says  likewise,  "  The  laughable  is  the  deformed  or  ugly  thing  which  is 
not  pushed  to  the  point  where  it  is  painful  or  injurious.  An  occasion 
for  laughter  is  the  degradation  of  a  person  of  dignity  hi  circumstances 


372  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

which  do  not  arouse  a  strong  emotion,"  like  indignation,  anger,  or 
pity.  Descartes  puts  still  more  limits  upon  laughter.  Speaking  of 
malice  he  says  that  laughter  cannot  be  provoked  except  by  misfortunes 
not  only  light  but  also  unforseen  and  deserved,  "  Derision  or  mockery," 
he  says,  "  is  a  kind  of  joy  mixed  with  hate,  which  comes  from  one's 
perceiving  some  little  misfortune  in  a  person  whom  one  thinks  deserves 
it.  We  hate  this  misfortune  but  are  happy  at  seeing  it  hi  some  one 
who  merits  it,  and,  when  this  happens  unexpectedly,  surprise  causes 
us  to  burst  out  laughing.  But  this  misfortune  must  be  small,  for  if 
it  is  great  we  cannot  believe  that  he  who  meets  it  deserves  it,  unless 
one  has  a  very  malicious  or  hateful  nature." 

This  fact  can  be  established  directly  by  analyzing  the  most  cruel 
laughter.  If  we  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  one  who  laughs  and 
set  aside  the  disagreeable  sentiments,  irritation,  anger,  and  disgust, 
which  at  tunes  they  produce  upon  us,  we  come  to  understand  even 
the  savage  sneer  which  appears  to  us  as  an  insult  to  suffering;  the 
laugh  of  the  savage,  trampling  his  conquered  enemy  under  foot,  or 
that  of  the  child  torturing  unfortunate  animals.  This  laugh  is,  in 
fact,  inoffensive  in  its  way,  it  is  cruel  in  fact  but  not  in  intention. 
What  it  expresses  is  not  a  perverse,  satanic  joy  but  a  heartlessness, 
as  is  so  properly  said.  In  the  child  and  the  savage  sympathy  has 
not  been  born,  that  is  to  say,  the  absence  of  imagination  for  the 
sufferings  of  others  is  complete.  As  a  result  we  have  a  negative 
cruelty,  a  sort  of  altruistic  or  social  anaesthesia. 

When  such  an  anaesthesia  is  not  complete,  when  the  altruistic 
sensibility  of  one  who  laughs  is  only  dull,  his  egotism  being  very 
keen,  his  laughter  might  appear  still  less  hatefully  cruel.  It  would 
express  then  not  properly  the  joy  of  seeing  others  suffer  but  that 
of  not  having  to  undergo  their  suffering  and  the  power  of  seeing  it 
only  as  a  spectacle. 

Analogous  facts  may  be  cited  closer  to  us,  easier  to  verify.  Those 
who  enjoy  robust  health  often  laugh  at  invalids:  then-  imagination 
does  not  comprehend  physical  suffering,  they  are  incapable  of 
sympathizing  with  those  who  experience  it.  Likewise  those  who 
possess  calm  and  even  dispositions  cannot  witness  without  laughing 
an  excess  of  mad  anger  or  of  impotent  rage.  In  general  we  do  not 
take  seriously  those  feelings  to  which  we  ourselves  are  strangers; 
we  consider  them  extravagant  and  amusing.  "How  can  one  be  a 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  373 

Persian  ?  "  To  laugh  is  to  detach  one's  self  from  others,  to  separate 
one's  self  and  to  take  pleasure  in  this  separation,  to  amuse  one's  self 
by  contrasting  the  feelings,  character,  and  temperament  of  others  and 
one's  own  feelings,  character,  and  temperament.  Insensibility  has 
been  justly  noted  by  M.  Bergson  as  an  essential  characteristic  of 
him  who  laughs.  But  this  insensibility,  this  heartlessness,  gives  very 
much  the  effect  of  a  positive  and  real  ill  nature,  and  M.  Bergson  had 
thus  simply  repeated  and  expressed  in  a  new  way,  more  precise  and 
correct,  the  opinion  of  Aristotle:  the  cause  of  laughter  is  malice 
mitigated  by  insensibility  or  the  absence  of  sympathy. 

Thus  denned,  malice  is  after  all  essentially  relative,  and  when 
one  says  that  the  object  of  our  laughter  is  the  misfortune  of  someone 
else,  known  by  us  to  be  endurable  and  slight,  it  must  be  understood 
that  this  misfortune  may  be  in  itself  very  serious  as  well  as  unde- 
served, and  in  this  way  laughter  is  often  really  cruel. 

The  coarser  men  are,  the  more  destitute  they  are  of  sympathetic 
imagination,  and  the  more  they  laugh  at  one  another  with  an  offensive 
and  brutal  laugh.  There  are  those  who  are  not  even  touched  by 
contact  with  physical  suffering;  such  ones  have  the  heart  to  laugh 
at  the  shufflings  of  a  bandy-legged  man,  at  the  ugliness  of  a  hunch- 
back, or  the  repulsive  hideousness  of  an  idiot.  Others  there  are  who 
are  moved  by  physical  suffering  but  who  are  not  at  all  affected  by 
moral  suffering.  These  laugh  at  a  self-love  touched  to  the  quick, 
at  a  wounded  pride,  at  the  tortured  self-consciousness  of  one  abashed 
or  humiliated.  These  are,  in  their  eyes,  harmless,  and  slight  pricks 
which  they  themselves,  by  a  coarseness  of  nature,  or  a  fine  moral 
health,  would  endure  perhaps  with  equanimity,  which  at  any  rate 
they  do  not  feel  in  behalf  of  others,  with  whom  they  do  not  suffer  in 
sympathy. 

Castigat  ridendo  mores.  According  to  M.  A.  Michiels,  the  author 
of  a  book  upon  the  World  of  Humor  and  of  Laughter,  this  maxim  must 
be  understood  in  its  broadest  sense.  "Everything  that  is  contrary 
to  the  absolute  ideal  of  human  perfection,"  in  whatever  order  it 
be,  whether  physical,  intellectual,  moral,  or  social,  arouses  laughter. 
The  fear  of  ridicule  is  the  most  dominant  of  our  feelings,  that  which 
controls  us  in  most  things  and  with  the  most  strength.  Because  of 
this  fear  one  does  "what  one  would  not  do  for  the  sake  of  justice, 
scrupulousness,  honor,  or  good  will;"  one  submits  to  an  infinite  number 


374  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  obligations  which  morality  would  not  dare  to  prescribe  and  which 
are  not  included  in  the  laws.  "Conscience  and  the  written  laws," 
says  A.  Michiels,  "  form  two  lines  of  ramparts  against  evil,  the  ludicrous 
is  the  third  line  of  defense,  it  stops,  brands,  and  condemns  the  little 
misdeeds  which  the  guards  have  allowed  to  pass." 

Laughter  is  thus  the  great  censor  of  vices,  it  spares  none,  it  does 
not  even  grant  indulgence  to  the  slightest  imperfections,  of  whatever 
nature  they  be.  This  mission,  which  M.  Michiels  attributes  to 
laughter,  granting  that  it  is  fulfilled,  instead  of  taking  its  place  in 
the  natural  or  providential  order  of  things,  does  it  not  answer  simply 
to  those  demands,  whether  well  founded  or  not,  which  society  makes 
upon  each  of  us  ?  M.  Bergson  admits  this,  justly  enough,  it  appears, 
when  he  defines  laughter  as  a  social  bromide.  But  then  it  is 
no  longer  mere  imperfection  in  general,  it  is  not  even  immo- 
rality, properly  speaking;  it  is  merely  unsociability,  well  or  badly 
understood,  which  laughter  corrects.  More  precisely,  it  is  a  special 
unsociability,  one  which  escapes  all  other  penalties,  which  it  is  the 
function  of  laughter  to  reach.  What  can  this  unsociability  be?  It 
is  the  self-love  of  each  one  of  us  in  so  far  as  it  has  anything  disagree- 
able to  others  in  it,  an  abstraction  of  every  injurious  or  hateful  ele- 
ment. It  is  the  harmless  self-love,  slight,  powerless,  which  one  does 
not  fear  but  one  scorns,  yet  for  all  that  does  not  pardon  but  on  the 
contrary  pitilessly  pursues,  wounds,  and  galls.  Self-love  thus  defined 
is  vanity,  and  what  is  called  the  moral  correction  administered  by 
laughter  is  the  wound  to  self-love.  "The  specific  remedy  for  vanity," 
says  M.  Bergson,  "  is  laughter,  and  the  essentially  ridiculous  is  vanity." 

One  sees  in  what  sense  laughter  is  a  "correction."  Whether  one 
considers  the  jests  uttered,  the  feelings  of  the  jester,  or  of  him  at 
whom  one  jests,  laughter  appears  from  the  point  of  view  of  morality 
as  a  correction  most  often  undeserved,  unjust — or  at  least  dispro- 
portionate to  the  fault — pitiless,  and  cruel. 

In  fact,  the  self-love  at  which  one  laughs  is,  as  we  have  said, 
harmless.  Besides  it  is  often  a  natural  failing,  a  weakness,  not 
a  vice.  Even  if  it  were  a  vice,  the  jester  would  not  be  justified  in 
laughing  at  it,  for  it  does  not  appear  that  he  himself  is  exempt.  On 
the  contrary,  his  vanity  is  magnified  when  that  of  others  is  upon 
the  rack.  Finally  the  humiliation  caused  by  laughter  is  not  a 
chastisement  which  one  accepts  but  a  torture  to  which  one  submits; 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  375 

it  is  a  feeling  of  resentment,  of  bitterness,  not  a  wholesome  sense  of 
shame,  nor  one  from  which  anyone  is  likely  to  profit.  Laughter 
may  then  have  a  social  use;  but  it  is  not  an  act  of  justice.  It  is  a 
quick  and  summary  police  measure  which  will  not  stand  too  close  a 
scrutiny  but  which  it  would  be  imprudent  either  to  condemn  or  to 
approve  without  reserve.  Society  is  established  and  organized 
according  to  natural  laws  which  seem  to  be  modeled  on  those  of 
reason,  but  self-loves  discipline  themselves,  they  enter  into  conflict 
and  hold  each  other  in  check. 

C.      LANGUAGE  AND  THE  COMMUNICATION  OF  IDEAS 
i.     Intercommunication  in  the  Lower  Animals1 

The  foundations  of  intercommunication,  like  those  of  imitation, 
are  laid  in  certain  instinctive  modes  of  response,  which  are  stimulated 
by  the  acts  of  other  animals  of  the  same  social  group. 

Some  account  has  already  been  given  of  the  sounds  made  by 
young  birds,  which  seem  to  be  instinctive  and  to  afford  an  index  of 
the  emotional  state  at  the  time  of  utterance.  That  in  many  cases 
they  serve  to  evoke  a  like  emotional  state  and  correlated  expressive 
behavior  in  other  birds  of  the  same  brood  cannot  be  questioned. 
The  alarm  note  of  a  chick  will  place  its  companions  on  the  alert; 
and  the  harsh  "krek"  of  a  young  moor-hen,  uttered  in  a  peculiar 
crouching  attitude,  will  often  throw  others  into  this  attitude,  though 
the  maker  of  the  warning  sound  may  be  invisible.  That  the  cries  of 
her  brood  influence  the  conduct  of  the  hen  is  a  matter  of  familiar 
observation;  and  that  her  danger  signal  causes  them  at  once  to  crouch 
or  run  to  her  for  protection  is  not  less  familar.  No  one  who  has 
watched  a  cat  with  her  kittens,  or  a  sheep  with  her  lambs,  can  doubt 
that  such  "dumb  animals"  are  influenced  in  their  behavior  by  sug- 
gestive sounds.  The  important  questions  are,  how  they  originate, 
what  is  their  value,  and  how  far  such  intercommunication — if  such 
we  may  call  it — extends. 

There  can  be  but  little  question  that  in  all  cases  of  animals  under 
natural  conditions  such  behavior  has  an  instinctive  basis.  Though 
the  effect  may  be  to  establish  a  means  of  communication,  such  is  not 

'Adapted  from  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  Animal  Behaviour,  pp.  193-205.  (Edward 
Arnold,  1908.) 


376  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

their  conscious  purpose  at  the  outset.  They  are  presumably  con- 
genital and  hereditary  modes  of  emotional  expression  which  serve 
to  evoke  responsive  behavior  in  another  animal — the  reciprocal 
action  being  generally  in  its  primary  origin  between  mate  and  mate, 
between  parent  and  offspring,  or  between  members  of  the  same 
family  group.  And  it  is  this  reciprocal  action  which  constitutes  it 
a  factor  in  social  evolution.  Its  chief  interest  in  connection  with  the 
subject  of  behavior  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  shows  the  instinctive  founda- 
tions on  which  intelligent  and  eventually  rational  modes  of  inter- 
communication are  built  up.  For  instinctive  as  the  sounds  are  at 
the  outset,  by  entering  into  the  conscious  situation  and  taking  their 
part  in  the  association-complex  of  experience,  they  become  factors 
in  the  social  life  as  modified  and  directed  by  intelligence.  To  their 
original  instinctive  value  as  the  outcome  of  stimuli,  and  as  themselves 
affording  stimuli  to  responsive  behavior,  is  added  a  value  for  con- 
sciousness in  so  far  as  they  enter  into  those  guiding  situations  by  which 
intelligent  behavior  is  determined.  And  if  they  also  serve  to  evoke, 
in  the  reciprocating  members  of  the  social  group,  similar  or  allied 
emotional  states,  there  is  thus  added  a  further  social  bond,  inasmuch 
as  there  are  thus  laid  the  foundations  of  sympathy. 

"  What  makes  the  old  sow  grunt  and  the  piggies  sing  and  whine  ?  " 
said  a  little  girl  to  a  portly,  substantial  farmer.  "I  suppose  they 
does  it  for  company,  my  dear,"  was  the  simple  and  cautious  reply. 
So  far  as  appearances  went,  that  farmer  looked  as  guiltless  of  theories 
as  man  could  be.  And  yet  he  gave  terse  expression  to  what  may 
perhaps  be  regarded  as  the  most  satisfactory  hypothesis  as  to  the 
primary  purpose  of  animal  sounds.  They  are  a  means  by  which  each 
indicates  to  others  the  fact  of  his  comforting  presence;  and  they 
still,  to  a  large  extent,  retain  their  primary  function.  The  chirping 
of  grasshoppers,  the  song  of  the  cicada,  the  piping  of  frogs  in  the  pool, 
the  bleating  of  lambs  at  the  hour  of  dusk,  the  lowing  of  contented 
cattle,  the  call-notes  of  the  migrating  host  of  birds — all  these,  what- 
ever else  they  may  be,  are  the  reassuring  social  links  of  sound,  the 
grateful  signs  of  kindred  presence.  Arising  thus  in  close  relation  to 
the  primitive  feelings  of  social  sympathy,  they  would  naturally  be 
called  into  play  with  special  force  and  suggestiveness  at  times  of  strong 
emotional  excitement,  and  the  earliest  differentiations  would,  we 
may  well  believe,  be  determined  along  lines  of  emotional  expression. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  377 

Thus  would  originate  mating  cries,  male  and  female  after  their  kind; 
and  parental  cries  more  or  less  differentiated  into  those  of  mother  and 
offspring,  the  deeper  note  of  the  ewe  differing  little  save  in  pitch  and 
timbre  from  the  bleating  of  her  lamb,  while  the  cluck  of  the  hen 
differs  widely  from  the  peeping  note  of  the  chick  in  down.  Thus, 
too,  would  arise  the  notes  of  anger  and  combat,  of  fear  and  distress, 
of  alarm  and  warning.  If  we  call  these  the  instinctive  language  of 
emotional  expression,  we  must  remember  that  such  "language" 
differs  markedly  from  the  "language"  of  which  the  sentence  is  the 
recognized  unit. 

It  is,  however,  not  improbable  that,  through  association  in  the 
conscious  situation,  sounds,  having  their  origin  in  emotional  expression 
and  evoking  in  others  like  emotional  states,  may  acquire  a  new  value 
in  suggesting,  for  example,  the  presence  of  particular  enemies.  An 
example  will  best  serve  to  indicate  my  meaning.  The  following  is 
from  H.  B.  Medlicott: 

In  the  early  dawn  of  a  grey  morning  I  was  geologizing  along  the  base 
of  the  Muhair  Hills  in  South  Behar,  when  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a 
stampede  of  many  pigs  from  the  fringe  of  the  jungle,  with  porcine  shrieks 
of  sauve  qui  pent  significance.  After  a  short  run  in  the  open  they  took  to 
the  jungle  again,  and  in  a  few  minutes  there  was  another  uproar,  but 
different  in  sound  and  in  action;  there  was  a  rush,  presumably  of  the 
fighting  members,  to  the  spot  where  the  row  began,  and  after  some  seconds 
a  large  leopard  sprang  from  the  midst  of  the  scuffle.  In  a  few  bounds  he 
was  in  the  open,  and  stood  looking  back,  licking  his  chops.  The  pigs  did 
not  break  cover,  but  continued  on  their  way.  They  were  returning  to  their 
lair  after  a  night's  feeding  on  the  plain,  several  families  having  combined 
for  mutual  protection;  while  the  beasts  of  prey  were  evidently  waiting 
for  the  occasion.  I  was  alone,  and,  though  armed,  I  did  not  care  to  beat 
up  the  ground  to  see  if  in  either  case  a  kill  had  been  effected.  The  numerous 
herd  covered  a  considerable  space,  and  the  scrub  was  thick.  The  prompt 
concerted  action  must  in  each  case  have  been  started  by  the  special  cry. 
I  imagine  that  the  first  assailant  was  a  tiger,  and  the  case  was  at  once 
known  to  be  hopeless,  the  cry  prompting  instant  flight,  while  in  the  second 
case  the  cry  was  for  defense.  It  can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  in  the  first 
case  each  adult  pig  had  a  vision  of  a  tiger,  and  in  the  second  of  a  leopard 
or  some  minor  foe. 

If  we  accept  Mr.  Medlicott's  interpretation  as  in  the  main  correct, 
we  have  in  this  case:  (i)  common  action  in  social  behavior,  (2) 


378  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

community  of  emotional  state,  and  (3)  the  suggestion  of  natural 
enemies  not  unfamiliar  in  the  experience  of  the  herd.  It  is  a  not 
improbable  hypothesis,  therefore,  that  in  the  course  of  evolution 
the  initial  value  of  uttered  sounds  is  emotional;  but  that  on  this  may 
be  grafted  in  further  development  the  indication  of  particular  enemies. 
If,  for  example,  the  cry  which  prompts  instant  flight  among  the  pigs 
is  called  forth  by  a  tiger,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  this  cry 
would  give  rise  to  a  representative  generic  image  of  that  animal 
having  its  influence  on  the  conscious  situation.  But  if  the  second 
cry,  for  defense,  was  prompted  sometimes  by  a  leopard  and  some- 
times by  some  other  minor  foe,  then  this  cry  would  not  give  rise  to  a 
representative  image  of  the  same  defmiteness.  Whether  animals 
have  the  power  of  intentionally  differentiating  the  sounds  they  make 
to  indicate  different  objects  is  extremely  doubtful.  Can  a  dog  bark 
in  different  tones  to  indicate  "cat"  or  "rat,"  as  the  case  may  be? 
Probably  not.  It  may,  however,  be  asked  why,  if  a  pig  may  squeak 
differently,  and  thus,  perhaps,  incidentally  indicate  on  the  one  hand 
"tiger"  and  on  the  other  hand  "leopard,"  should  not  a  dog  bark 
differently  and  thus  indicate  appropriately  "cat"  or  "rat"?  Be- 
cause it  is  assumed  that  the  two  different  cries  in  the  pig  are  the 
instinctive  expression  of  two  different  emotional  states,  and  Mr. 
Medlicott  could  distinguish  them;  whereas,  in  the  case  of  the  dog, 
we  can  distinguish  no  difference  between  his  barking  in  the  one  case 
and  the  other,  nor  do  the  emotional  states  appear  to  be  differentiated. 
Of  course  there  may  be  differences  which  we  have  failed  to  detect. 
What  may  be  regarded,  however,  as  improbable  is  the  intentional 
differentiation  of  sounds  by  barking  in  different  tones  with  the 
purpose  of  indicating  "cat"  or  "rat." 

Such  powers  of  intercommunication  as  animals  possess  are  based  on 
direct  association  and  refer  to  the  here  and  the  now.  A  dog  may  be 
able  to  suggest  to  his  companion  the  fact  that  he  has  descried  a 
worriable  cat;  but  can  a  dog  tell  his  neighbor  of  the  delightful  worry 
he  enjoyed  the  day  before  yesterday  in  the  garden  where  the 
man  with  the  biscuit  tin  lives?  Probably  not,  bark  he  never  so 
expressively. 

From  the  many  anecdotes  of  dogs  calling  others  to  their  assistance 
or  bringing  others  to  those  who  feed  them  or  treat  them  kindly,  we 
may  indeed  infer  the  existence  of  a  social  tendency  and  of  the  sug- 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  379 

gestive  effects  of  behavior,  but  we  cannot  derive  conclusive  evidence 
of  anything  like  descriptive  communication. 

Such  intentional  communication  as  is  to  be  found  in  animals, 
if  indeed  we  may  properly  so  call  it,  seems  to  arise  by  an  association 
of  the  performance  of  some  act  in  a  conscious  situation  involving 
further  behavior  for  its  complete  development.  Thus  the  cat  which 
touches  the  handle  of  the  door  when  it  wishes  to  leave  the  room  has 
had  experience  in  which  the  performance  of  this  act  has  coalesced 
with  a  specific  development  of  the  conscious  situation.  The  case  is 
similar  when  your  dog  drops  a  ball  or  stick  at  your  feet,  wishing  you 
to  throw  it  for  him  to  fetch.  Still,  it  is  clear  that  such  an  act  would 
be  the  perceptual  precursor  of  the  deliberate  conduct  of  the  rational 
being  by  whom  the  sign  is  definitely  realized  as  a  sign,  the  intentional 
meaning  of  which  is  distinctly  present  to  thought.  This  involves  a 
judgment  concerning  the  sign  as  an  object  of  thought;  and  this  is 
probably  beyond  the  capacity  of  the  dog.  For,  as  Romanes  himself 
says,  "It  is  because  the  human  mind  is  able,  so  to  speak,  to  stand 
outside  of  itself  and  thus  to  constitute  its  own  ideas  the  subject- 
matter  of  its  own  thought  that  it  is  capable  of  judgment,  whether  in 
the  act  of  conception  or  in  that  of  predication.  We  have  no  evidence 
to  show  that  any  animal  is  capable  of  objectifying  its  own  ideas; 
and  therefore  we  have  no  evidence  that  any  animal  is  capable  of 
judgment." 

2.    The  Concept  as  the  Medium  of  Human  Communication1 

There  is  a  petrified  philosophy  hi  language,  and  if  we  examine 
the  most  ancient  word  for  "name,"  we  find  it  is  ndman  in  Sanskrit, 
nomen  in  Latin,  namo  in  Gothic.  This  ndman  stands  for  gndman, 
and  is  derived  from  the  root  gnd,  to  know,  and  meant  originally  that 
by  which  we  know  a  thing. 

And  how  do  we  know  things? 

The  first  step  toward  the  real  knowledge,  a  step  which,  however 
small  in  appearance,  separates  man  forever  from  all  other  animals, 
is  the  naming  of  a  thing,  or  the  making  a  thing  knowable.  All  nam- 
ing is  classification,  bringing  the  individual  under  the  general;  and 

1  Adapted  from  F.  Max  MiiUer,  The  Science  of  Language,  I,. 520-27.  (Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  1891.) 


380  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

whatever  we  know,  whether  empirically  or  scientifically,  we  know  it 
by  means  of  our  general  ideas. 

At  the  very  point  where  man  parts  company  with  the  brute  world, 
at  the  first  flash  of  reason  as  the  manifestation  of  the  light  within  us, 
there  we  see  the  true  genesis  of  language.  Analyze  any  word  you 
like  and  you  will  find  that  it  expresses  a  general  idea  peculiar  to  the 
individual  to  whom  the  name  belongs.  What  is  the  meaning  of 
moon  ?  The  measurer.  What  is  the  meaning  of  sun  ?  The  begetter. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  earth  ?  The  ploughed. 

If  the  serpent  is  called  in  Sankrit  sarpa,  it  is  because  it  was  con- 
ceived under  the  general  idea  of  creeping,  an  idea  expressed  by  the 
root  srip. 

An  ancient  word  for  man  was  the  Sanskrit  marta,  the  Greek 
brotos,  the  Latin  mortalis.  Marta  means  "he  who  dies,"  and  it  is 
remarkable  that,  where  everything  else  was  changing,  fading,  and 
dying,  this  should  have  been  chosen  as  the  distinguishing  name  for 
man. 

There  were  many  more  names  for  man,  as  there  were  many  names 
for  all  things  in  ancient  languages.  Any  feature  that  struck  the 
observing  mind  as  peculiarly  characteristic  could  be  made  to  furnish 
a  new  name.  In  common  Sanskrit  dictionaries  we  find  5  words  for 
hand,  n  for  light,  15  for  cloud,  20  for  moon,  26  for  snake,  33  for 
slaughter,  35  for  fire,  37  for  sun.  The  sun  might  be  called  the  bright, 
the  warm,  the  golden,  the  preserver,  the  destroyer,  the  wolf,  the 
lion,  the  heavenly  eye,  the  father  of  light  and  life.  Hence  that 
superabundance  of  synonyms  in  ancient  dialects,  and  hence  that 
struggle  for  life  carried  on  among  these  words,  which  led  to  the 
destruction  of  the  less  strong,  the  less  fertile,  the  less  happy  words, 
and  ended  in  the  triumph  of  one  as  the  recognized  and  proper  name 
for  every  object  in  every  language.  On  a  very  small  scale  this 
process  of  natural  selection,  or,  as  it  would  better  be  called,  elimina- 
tion, may  still  be  watched  even  hi  modern  languages,  that  is  to  say, 
even  in  languages  so  old  and  stricken  in  years  as  English  and  French. 
What  it  was  at  the  first  burst  of  dialects  we  can  only  gather  from 
such  isolated  cases  as  when  von  Hammer  counts  5,744  words  all 
relating  to  the  camel. 

The  fact  that  every  word  is  originally  a  predicate — that  names, 
though  signs  of  individual  conceptions,  are  all,  without  exception, 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  381 

derived  from  general  ideas — is  one  of  the  most  important  discoveries 
in  the  science  of  language.  It  was  known  before  that  language  is 
the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  man;  it  was  known  also  that  the 
having  of  general  ideas  is  that  which  puts  a  perfect  distinction 
betwixt  man  and  brutes;  but  that  these  two  were  only  different 
expressions  of  the  same  fact  was  not  known  till  the  theory  of  roots 
had  been  established  as  preferable  to  the  theories  both  of  onomato- 
poieia  and  of  interjections.  But,  though  our  modern  philosophy 
did  not  know  it,  the  ancient  poets  and  framers  of  language  must  have 
known  it.  For  in  Greek,  language  is  logos,  but  logos  means  also 
reason,  and  alogon  was  chosen  as  the  name  and  the  most  proper 
name,  for  brute.  No  animal,  so  far  as  we  know,  thinks  and  speaks 
except  man.  Language  and  thought  are  inseparable.  Words  with- 
out thought  are  dead  sounds;  thoughts  without  words  are  nothing., 
Tojthink  is  to  jpeak  low;  to  speak  is  to  think  aloud.  The  word  is  the! 
thought  incarnate. 

What  are  the  two  problems  left  unsettled  at  the  end  of  the 
Science  of  Langitage:  "How  do  mere  cries  become  phonetic  types?" 
and  "How  can  sensations  be  changed  into  concepts?"  What  are 
these  two,  if  taken  together,  but  the  highest  problem  of  all  philosophy, 
viz.,  "What  is  the  origin  of  reason?" 

3.     Writing  as  a  Form  of  Communication1 

The  earliest  stages  of  writing  were  those  in  which  pictographic 
forms  were  used;  that  is,  a  direct  picture  was  drawn  upon  the  writing 
surface,  reproducing  as  nearly  as  possible  the  kind  of  impression 
made  upon  the  observer  by  the  object  itself.  To  be  sure,  the  draw- 
ing used  to  represent  the  object  was  not  an  exact  reproduction  or  full 
copy  of  the  object,  but  it  was  a  fairly  direct  image.  The  visual 
memory  image  was  thus  aroused  by  a  direct  perceptual  appeal  to  the 
eye.  Anyone  could  read  a  document  written  in  this  pictograph 
form,  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  objects  to  which  the  pictures  referred. 
There  was  no  special  relation  between  the  pictures  or  visual  forms 
at  this  stage  of  development  and  the  sounds  used  in  articulate  lan- 
guage. Concrete  examples  of  such  writing  are  seen  in  early  monu- 
ments, where  the  moon  is  represented  by  the  crescent,  a  king  by  the 
drawing  of  a  man  wearing  a  crown. 

1  Adapted  from  Charles  H.  Judd,  Psychology,  pp.  2 19-24.     (Ginn  &  Co.,  1917.) 


382  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  next  stage  of  development  in  writing  began  when  the  picto- 
graphic  forms  were  reduced  in  complexity  to  the  simplest  possible 
lines.  The  reduction  of  the  picture  to  a  few  sketchy  lines  depended 
upon  the  growing  ability  of  the  reader  to  contribute  the  necessary 
interpretation.  All  that  was  needed  in  the  figure  was  something 
which  would  suggest  the  full  picture  to  the  mind.  Indeed,  it  is  prob- 
ably true  that  the  full  picture  was  not  needed,  even  in  the  reader's 
consciousness.  Memory  images  are  usually  much .  simplified  repro- 
ductions of  the  perceptual  facts.  In  writing  we  have  a  concrete 
expression  of  this  tendency  of  memory  to  lose  its  full  reproductive 
form  and  to  become  reduced  to  the  point  of  the  most  meager  contents 
for  conscious  thought.  The  simplification  of  the  written  forms  is 
attained  very  early,  and  is  seen  even  in  the  figures  which  are  used 
by  savage  tribes.  Thus,  to  represent  the  number  of  an  enemy's  army, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  draw  full  figures  of  the  forms  of  the  enemy; 
it  is  enough  if  single  straight  lines  are  drawn  with  some  brief  indica- 
tion, perhaps  at  the  beginning  of  the  series  of  lines,  to  show  that 
these  stand  each  for  an  individual  enemy.  This  simplification  of 
the  drawing  leaves  the  written  symbol  with  very  much  larger  pos- 
sibilities of  entering  into  new  relations  in  the  mind  of  the  reader. 
Instead,  now,  of  being  a  specific  drawing  related  to  a  specific  object, 
it  invites  by  its  simple  character  a  number  of  different  interpretations. 
A  straight  line,  for  example,  can  represent  not  only  the  number  of 
an  enemy's  army  but  it  can  represent  also  the  number  of  sheep  in 
a  flock,  or  the  number  of  tents  in  a  village,  or  anything  else  which 
is  capable  of  enumeration.  The  use  of  a  straight  line  for  these  various 
purposes  stimulates  new  mental  developments.  This  is  shown  by 
the  fact  that  the  development  of  the  idea  of  the  number  relation,  as 
distinguished  from  the  mass  of  possible  relations  in  which  an  object 
may  stand,  is  greatly  facilitated  by  this  general  written  symbol  for 
numbers.  The  intimate  relation  between  the  development  of  ideas 
on  the  one  hand  and  the  development  of  language  on  the  other  is  here 
very  strikingly  illustrated.  The  drawing  becomes  more  useful  be- 
cause it  is  associated  with  more  elaborate  ideas,  while  the  ideas 
develop  because  they  find  in  the  drawing  a  definite  content  which 
helps  to  mark  and  give  separate  character  to  the  idea. 

As  soon  as  the  drawing  began  to  lose  its  significance  as  a  direct 
perceptual  reproduction  of  the  object  and  took  on  new  and  broader 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  383 

meanings  through  the  associations  which  attached  to  it,  the  written 
form  became  a  symbol,  rather  than  a  direct  appeal  to  visual  memory. 
As  a  symbol  it  stood  for  something  which,  in  itself,  it  was  not.  The 
way  was  thus  opened  for  the  written  symbol  to  enter  into  relation 
with  oral  speech,  which  is  also  a  form  of  symbolism.  Articulate 
sounds  are  simplified  forms  of  experience  capable  through  association 
with  ideas  of  expressing  meanings  not  directly  related  to  the  sounds 
themselves.  When  the  written  symbol  began  to  be  related  to  the 
sound  symbol,  there  was  at  first  a  loose  and  irregular  relation  between 
them.  The  Egyptians  seem  to  have  established  such  relations  to 
some  extent.  They  wrote  at  times  with  pictures  standing  for  sounds, 
as  we  now  write  in  rebus  puzzles.  In  such  puzzles  the  picture  of  an 
object  is  intended  to  call  up  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  not  the  special 
group  of  ideas  appropriate  to  the  object  represented  hi  the  picture, 
but  rather  the  sound  which  serves  as  the  name  of  this  object.  When 
the  sound  is  once  suggested  to  the  reader,  he  is  supposed  to  attend 
to  that  and  to  connect  with  it  certain  other  associations  appropriate 
to  the  sound.  To  take  a  modern  illustration,  we  may,  for  example, 
use  the  picture  of  the  eye  to  stand  for  the  first  personal  pronoun. 
The  relationship  between  the  picture  and  the  idea  for  which  it  is 
used  is  in  this  case  through  the  sound  of  the  name  of  the  object 
depicted.  That  the  early  alphabets  are  of  this  type  of  rebus  pictures 
appears  in  their  names.  The  first  three  letters  of  the  Hebrew  alpha- 
bet, for  example,  are  named,  respectively,  aleph  which  means  ox, 
beth  which  means  house,  and  gimmd  which  means  camel. 

The  complete  development  of  a  sound  alphabet  from  this  type 
of  rebus  writing  required,  doubtless,  much  experimentation  on  the 
part  of  the  nations  which  succeeded  hi  establishing  the  association. 
The  Phoenicians  have  generally  been  credited  with  the  invention  of 
the  forms  and  relations  which  we  now  use.  Their  contribution  to 
civilization  cannot  be  overestimated.  It  consisted,  not  in  the 
presentation  of  new  material  or  content  to  conscious  experience,  but 
rather  in  the  bringing  together  by  association  of  groups  of  contents 
which,  in  their  new  relation,  transformed  the  whole  process  of  thought 
and  expression.  They  associated  visual  and  auditory  content  and 
gave  to  the  visual  factors  a  meaning  through  association  which  was 
of  such  unique  importance  as  to  justify  us  in  describing  the  association 
as  a  new  invention. 


384  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

There  are  certain  systems  of  writing  which  indicate  that  the  type 
of  relationship  which  we  use  is  not  the  only  possible  type  of  relation- 
ship. The  Chinese,  for  example,  have  continued  to  use  simple 
symbols  which  are  related  to  complex  sounds,  not  to  elementary 
sounds,  as  are  our  own  letters.  In  Chinese  writing  the  various 
symbols,  though  much  corrupted  in  form,  stand  each  for  an  object. 
It  is  true  that  the  forms  of  Chinese  writing  have  long  since  lost 
their  direct  relationship  to  the  pictures  in  which  they  originated. 
The  present  forms  are  simplified  and  symbolical.  So  free  has  the 
symbolism  become  that  the  form  has  been  arbitrarily  modified  to 
make  it  possible  for  the  writer  to  use  freely  the  crude  tools  with  which 
the  Chinaman  does  his  writing.  These  practical  considerations  could 
not  have  become  operative,  if  the  direct  pictographic  character  of 
the  symbols  had  not  long  since  given  place  to  a  symbolical  character 
which  renders  the  figure  important,  not  because  of  what  it  shows  in 
itself,  but  rather  because  of  what  it  suggests  to  the  mind  of  the  reader. 
The  relation  of  the  symbol  to  elementary  sounds  has,  however,  never 
been  established.  This  lack  of  association  with  elementary  sounds 
keeps  the  Chinese  writing  at  a  level  much  lower  and  nearer  to  primitive 
pictographic  forms  than  is  our  writing. 

Whether  we  have  a  highly  elaborated  symbolical  system,  such  as 
that  which  appears  in  Chinese  writing,  or  a  form  of  writing  which  is 
related  to  sound,  the  chief  fact  regarding  writing,  as  regarding  all 
language,  is  that  it  depends  for  its  value  very  much  more  upon  the 
ideational  relations  into  which  the  symbols  are  brought  in  the  indi- 
vidual's mind  than  upon  the  impressions  which  they  arouse. 

The  ideational  associations  which  appear  in  developed  language 
could  never  have  reached  the  elaborate  form  which  they  have  at 
present  if  there  had  not  been  social  co-operation.  The  tendency  of 
the  individual  when  left  to  himself  is  to  drop  back  into  the  direct 
adjustments  which  are  appropriate  to  his  own  life.  He  might  possibly 
develop  articulation  to  a  certain  extent  for  his  own  sake,  but  the  chief 
impulse  to  the  development  of  language  comes  through  intercourse 
with  others.  As  we  have  seen,  the  development  of  the  simplest 
forms  of  communication,  as  in  animals,  is  a  matter  of  social  imitation. 
Writing  is  also  an  outgrowth  of  social  relations.  It  is  extremely 
doubtful  whether  even  the  child  of  civilized  parents  would  ever 
have  any  sufficient  motive  for  the  development  of  writing,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  social  encouragement  he  receives. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  385 

4.     The  Extension  of  Communication  by  Human  Invention1 

No  one  who  is  asked  to  name  the  agencies  that  weave  the  great 
web  of  intellectual  and  material  influences  and  counter-influences  by 
which  modern  humanity  is  combined  into  the  unity  of  society  will 
need  much  reflection  to  give  first  rank  to  the  newspaper,  along  with  the 
post,  railroad,  and  telegraph. 

In  fact,  the  newspaper  forms  a  link  in  the  chain  of  modern 
commercial  machinery;  it  is  one  of  those  contrivances  by  which  in 
society  the  exchange  of  intellectual  and  material  goods  is  facilitated. 
Yet  it  is  not  an  instrument  of  commercial  intercourse  in  the  sense  of 
the  post  or  the  railway,  both  of  which  have  to  do  with  the  transport 
of  persons,  goods,  and  news,  but  rather  in  the  sense  of  the  letter  and 
circular.  These  make  the  news  capable  of  transport  only  because 
they  are  enabled  by  the  help  of  writing  and  printing  to  cut  it  adrift, 
as  it  were,  from  its  originator  and  give  it  corporeal  independence. 

However  great  the  difference  between  letter,  circular,  and  news- 
paper may  appear  today,  a  little  reflection  shows  that  all  three  are 
essentially  similar  products,  originating  in  the  necessity  of  com- 
municating news  and  in  the  employment  of  writing  in  its  satisfaction. 
The  sole  difference  consists  in  the  letter  being  addressed  to  individuals, 
the  circular  to  several  specified  persons,  the  newspaper  to  many 
unspecified  persons.  Or,  in  other  words,  while  letter  and  circular 
are  instruments  for  the  private  communication  of  news,  the  news- 
paper is  an  instrument  for  its  publication. 

Today  we  are,  of  course,  accustomed  to  the  regular  printing  of 
the  newspaper  and  its  periodical  appearance  at  brief  intervals.  But 
neither  of  these  is  an  essential  characteristic  of  the  newspaper  as  a 
means  of  news  publication.  On  the  contrary,  it  will  become  apparent 
directly  that  the  primitive  paper  from  which  this  mighty  instrument 
of  commercial  intercourse  is  sprung  appeared  neither  in  printed 
form  nor  periodically,  but  that  it  closely  resembled  the  letter  from 
which,  indeed,  it  can  scarcely  be  distinguished.  To  be  sure,  repeated 
appearance  at  brief  intervals  is  involved  in  the  very  nature  of  news 
publication.  For  news  has  value  only  so  long  as  it  is  fresh;  and  to 
preserve  for  it  the  charm  of  novelty  its  publication  must  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  the  events.  We  shall,  however,  soon  see  that  the 

1  Adapted  from  Carl  Biicher,  Industrial  Evolution.  Translated  by  S.  Morley 
Wickett,  pp.  216-43.  (Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1907.) 


386          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

periodicity  of  these  intervals,  as  far  as  it  can  be  noticed  in  the  infancy 
of  journalism,  depended  upon  the  regular  recurrence  of  opportu- 
nities to  transport  the  news,  and  was  in  no  way  connected  with  the 
essential  nature  of  the  newspaper. 

The  regular  collection  and  despatch  of  news  presupposes  a  wide- 
spread interest  in  public  affairs,  or  an  extensive  area  of  trade  exhibit- 
ing numerous  commercial  connections  and  combinations  of  interest, 
or  both  at  once.  Such  interest  is  not  realized  until  people  are  united 
by  some  more  or  less  extensive  political  organization  into  a  certain 
community  of  life-interest.  The  city  republics  of  ancient  times 
required  no  newspaper;  all  their  needs  of  publication  could  be  met 
by  the  herald  and  by  inscriptions,  as  occasion  demanded.  Only  when 
Roman  supremacy  had  embraced  or  subjected  to  its  influence  all  the 
countries  of  the  Mediterranean  was  there  need  of  some  means  by 
which  those  members  of  the  ruling  class  who  had  gone  to  the  prov- 
inces as  officials,  tax-farmers,  and  in  other  occupations,  might  receive 
the  current  news  of  the  capital.  It  is  significant  that  Caesar,  the 
creator  of  the  military  monarchy  and  of  the  administrative  centrali- 
zation of  Rome,  is  regarded  as  the  founder  of  the  first  contrivance 
resembling  a  newspaper. 

Indeed,  long  before  Caesar's  consulate  it  had  become  customary 
for  Romans  in  the  provinces  to  keep  one  or  more  correspondents  at 
the  capital  to  send  them  written  reports  on  the  course  of  political 
movement  and  on  other  events  of  the  day.  Such  a  correspondent 
was  generally  an  intelligent  slave  or  freedman  intimately  acquainted 
with  affairs  at  the  capital,  who,  moreover,  often  made  a  business  of 
reporting  for  several.  He  was  thus  a  species  of  primitive  reporter, 
differing  from  those  of  today  only  in  writing,  not  for  a  newspaper, 
but  directly  for  readers.  On  recommendation  of  their  employers, 
these  reporters  enjoyed  at  times  admission  even  to  the  senate  dis- 
cussions. Antony  kept  such  a  man,  whose  duty  it  was  to  report  to 
him  not  merely  on  the  senate's  resolutions  but  also  on  the  speeches 
and  votes  of  the  senators.  Cicero,  when  proconsul,  received  through 
his  friend,  M.  Caelius,  the  reports  of  a  certain  Chrestus,  but  seems 
not  to  have  been  particularly  well  satisfied  with  the  latter 's  accounts 
of  gladiatorial  sports,  law-court  proceedings,  and  the  various  pieces 
of  city  gossip.  As  in  this  case,  such  correspondence  never  extended 
beyond  a  rude  relation  of  facts  that  required  supplementing  through 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  387 

letters  from  party  friends  of  the  absent  person.    These  friends,  as 
we  know  from  Cicero,  supplied  the  real  report  on  political  feeling. 

The  innovation  made  by  Caesar  consisted  in  instituting  the 
publication  of  a  brief  record  of  the  transactions  and  resolutions  of 
the  senate,  and  in  his  causing  to  be  published  the  transactions 
of  the  assemblies  of  the  plebs,  as  well  as  other  important  matters  of 
public  concern. 

The  Germanic  peoples  who,  after  the  Romans,  assumed  the  lead 
in  the  history  of  Europe  were  neither  in  civilization  nor  in  political 
organization  fitted  to  maintain  a  similar  constitution  of  the  news 
service;  nor  did  they  require  it.  All  through  the  Middle  Ages  the 
political  and  social  life  of  men  was  bounded  by  a  narrow  horizon; 
culture  retired  to  the  cloisters  and  for  centuries  affected  only 'the 
people  of  prominence.  There  were  no  trade  interests  beyond  the 
narrow  walls  of  their  own  town  or  manor  to  draw  men  together.  It 
is  only  in  the  later  centuries  of  the  Middle  Ages  that  extensive  social 
combinations  once  more  appear.  It  is  first  the  church,  embracing 
with  her  hierarchy  all  the  countries  of  Germanic  and  Latin  civiliza- 
tion, next  the  burgher  class  with  its  city  confederacies  and  common 
trade  interests,  and,  finally,  as  a  counter-influence  to  these,  the  secular 
territorial  powers,  who  succeed  in  gradually  realizing  some  form  of 
union.  In  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  we  notice  the  first 
traces  of  an  organized  service  for  transmission  of  news  and  letters  in 
the  messengers  of  monasteries,  the  universities,  and  the  various 
spiritual  dignitaries;  in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  we 
have  advanced  to  a  comprehensive,  almost  postlike,  organization  of 
local  messenger  bureaus  for  the  epistolary  intercourse  of  traders  and 
of  municipal  authorities.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  we  meet  with  the 
word  Zeitung,  or  newspaper.  The  word  meant  originally  that  which 
was  happening  at  the  tune  (Ze^  =  "time"),  a  present  occurrence; 
then  information  on  such  an  event,  a  message,  a  report,  news. 

Venice  was  long  regarded  as  the  birthplace  of  the  newspaper  in  the ' 
modern  acceptation  of  the  word.  As  the  channel  of  trade  between 
the  East  and  the  West,  as  the  seat  of  a  government  that  first  organized 
the  political  news  service  and  the  consular  system  in  the  modern 
sense,  the  old  city  of  lagoons  formed  a  natural  collecting  center  for 
important  news  items  from  all  lands  of  the  known  world.  Even 
early  in  the  fifteenth  century,  as  has  been  shown  by  the  investigations 


388  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  Valentinelli,  the  librarian  of  St.  Mark's  Library,  collections  of  news 
had  been  made  at  the  instance  of  the  council  of  Venice  regarding 
events  that  had  either  occurred  within  the  republic  or  been  reported 
by  ambassadors,  consuls,  and  officials,  by  ships'  captains,  merchants, 
and  the  like.  These  were  sent  as  circular  despatches  to  the  Venetian 
representatives  abroad  to  keep  them  posted  on  international  affairs. 
Such  collections  of  news  were  called  fogli  d'awisi. 

The  further  development  of  news  publication  in  the  field  that  it 
has  occupied  since  the  more  general  adoption  of  the  printing-press 
has  been  peculiar.  At  the  outset  the  publisher  of  a  periodical 
printed  newspaper  differed  in  no  wise  from  the  publisher  of  any  other 
printed  work — for  instance,  of  a  pamphlet  or  a  book.  He  was  but 
the  multiplier  and  seller  of  a  literary  product,  over  whose  content  he 
had  no  control.  The  newspaper  publisher  marketed  the  regular 
post-news  in  its  printed  form  just  as  another  publisher  offered  the 
public  a  herbal  or  an  edition  of  an  old  writer. 

But  this  soon  changed.  It  was  readily  perceived  that  the 
contents  of  a  newspaper  number  did  not  form  an  entity  in  the  same 
sense  as  the  contents  of  a  book  or  pamphlet.  The  news  items  there 
brought  together,  taken  from  different  sources,  were  of  varying  reli- 
ability. They  needed  to  be  used  judicially  and  critically:  in  this  a 
political  or  religious  bias  could  find  ready  expression.  In  a  still 
higher  degree  was  this  the  case  when  men  began  to  discuss  con- 
temporary political  questions  in  the  newspapers  and  to  employ  them 
as  a  medium  for  disseminating  party  opinions. 

This  took  place  first  in  England  during  the  Long  Parliament  and 
the  Revolution  of  1640.  The  Netherlands  and  a  part  of  the  imperial 
free  towns  of  Germany  followed  later.  In  France  the  change  was 
not  consummated  before  the  era  of  the  great  Revolution:  in  most 
other  countries  it  occurred  in  the  nineteenth  century.  The  news- 
paper, from  being  a  mere  vehicle  for  the  publication  of  news,  became 
•an  instrument  for  supporting  and  shaping  public  opinion  and  a 
weapon  of  party  politics. 

The  effect  of  this  upon  the  internal  organization  of  the  news- 
paper undertaking  was  to  introduce  a  third  department,  the  editor- 
ship, between  news  collecting  and  news  publication.  For  the 
newspaper  publisher,  however,  it  signified  that  from  a  mere  seller  of 
news  he  had  become  a  dealer  in  public  opinion  as  well. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  389 

At  first  this  meant  nothing  more  than  that  the  publisher  was 
placed  in  a  position  to  shift  a  portion  of  the  risk  of  his  undertaking 
upon  a  party  organization,  a  circle  of  interested  persons,  or  a  govern- 
ment. If  the  leanings  of  the  paper  were  distasteful  to  the  readers, 
they  ceased  to  buy  the  paper.  Their  wishes  thus  remained,  in  the 
final  analysis,  the  determining  factor  for  the  contents  of  the  news- 
papers. 

The  gradually  expanding  circulation  of  the  printed  newspapers 
nevertheless  soon  led  to  their  employment  by  the  authorities  for 
making  public  announcements.  With  this  came,  in  the  first  quarter 
of  the  last  century,  the  extension  of  private  announcements,  which 
have  now  attained,  through  the  so-called  advertising  bureaus,  some 
such  organization  as  political  news-collecting  possesses  in  the  cor- 
respondence bureaus. 

The  modern  newspaper  is  a  capitalistic  enterprise,  a  sort  of  news- 
factory  in  which  a  great  number  of  people  (correspondents,  editors, 
typesetters,  correctors,  machine-tenders,  collectors  of  advertisements, 
office  clerks,  messengers,  etc.)  are  employed  on  wage,  under  a  single 
administration,  at  very  specialized  work.  This  paper  produces 
wares  for  an  unknown  circle  of  readers,  from  whom  it  is,  further- 
more, frequently  separated  by  intermediaries,  such  as  delivery 
agencies  and  postal  institutions.  The  simple  needs  of  the  reader  or 
of  the  circle  of  patrons  no  longer  determine  the  quality  of  these 
wares;  it  is  now  the  very  complicated  conditions  of  competition  in 
the  publication  market.  In  this  market,  however,  as  generally  in 
wholesale  markets,  the  consumers  of  the  goods,  the  newspaper 
readers,  take  no  direct  part;  the  determining  factors  are  the  whole- 
sale dealers  and  the  speculators  in  news:  the  governments,  the  tele- 
graph bureaus  dependent  upon  their  special  correspondents,  the 
political  parties,  artistic  and  scientific  cliques,  men  on  'change,  and, 
last  but  not  least,  the  advertising  agencies  and  large  individual 
advertisers. 

Each  number  of  a  great  journal  which  appears  today  is  a  marvel 
of  economic  division  of  labor,  capitalistic  organization,  and  mechani- 
cal technique;  it  is  an  instrument  of  intellectual  and  economic 
intercourse,  in  which  the  potencies  of  all  other  instruments  of 
commerce — the  railway,  the  post,  the  telegraph,  and  the  telephone — 
are  united  as  in  a  focus. 


390 

D.      IMITATION 
i.     Definition  of  Imitation1 

The  term  "imitation"  is  used  in  ordinary  language  to  designate 
any  repetition  of  any  act  or  thought  which  has  been  noted  by  an 
observer.  Thus  one  imitates  the  facial  expression  of  another,  or  his 
mode  of  speech.  The  term  has  been  brought  into  prominence  in 
scientific  discussions  through  the  work  of  Gabriel  Tarde,  who  in  his 
Les  lois  de  limitation  points  out  that  imitation  is  a  fundamental  fact 
underlying  all  social  development.  The  customs  of  society  are 
imitated  from  generation  to  generation.  The  fashions  of  the  day 
are  imitated  by  large  groups  of  people  without  any  consciousness 
of  the  social  solidarity  which  is  derived  from  this  common  mode  of 
behavior.  There  is  developed  through  these  various  forms  of  imita- 
tion a  body  of  experiences  which  is  common  to  all  of  the  members 
of  a  given  social  group.  In  complex  society  the  various  imitations 
which  tend  to  set  themselves  up  are  frequently  found  to  be  in  conflict; 
thus  the  tendency  toward  elaborate  fashions  in  dress  is  constantly 
limited  by  the  counter- tendency  toward  simpler  fashions.  The 
conflict  of  tendencies  leads  to  individual  variations  from  the.jexampk 
offered  at  any  given  time,  and,  as  a  result,  there  are  new  examples 
to  be  followed.  Complex  social  examples  are  thus  products  of 
conflict. 

This  general  doctrine  of  Tarde  has  been  elaborated  by  a  number 
of  recent  writers.  Royce  calls  attention  to  the  fundamental  impor- 
tance of  imitation  as  a  means  of  social  inheritance.  The  same  doctrine 
is  taken  up  by  Baldwin  in  his  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and 
Race,  and  in  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations.  With  these  later 
writers,  imitation  takes  on  a  significance  which  is  somewhat  technical 
and  broader  than  the  significance  which  it  has  either  with  Tarde  or 
in  the  ordinary  use  of  the  term.  Baldwin  uses  the  term  to  cover 
that  case  in  which  an  individual  repeats  an  act  because  he  has  him- 
self gone  through  the  act.  In  such  a  case  one  imitates  himself  and 
sets  up  what  Baldwin  terms  a  circular  reaction.  The  principle  of 
imitation  is  thus  introduced  into  individual  psychology  as  well  as  into 
general  social  psychology,  and  the  relation  between  the  individual's 

1  From  Charles  H.  Judd,  "Imitation,"  in  Monroe's  Cyclopedia  of  Education, 
III,  388-89.  (Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1912.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  391 

acts  and  his  own  imagery  is  brought  under  the  same  general  principle 
as  the  individual's  responses  to  his  social  environment.  The  term 
"imitation"  in  this  broader  sense  is  closely  related  to  the  processes 
of  sympathy. 

The  term  "social  heredity"  has  very  frequently  been  used  in 
connection  with  all  of  the  processes  here  under  discussion.  Society 
tends  to  perpetuate  itself  in  the  new  individual  in  a  fashion  analogous 
to  that  in  which  the  physical  characteristics  of  the  earlier  generation 
tend  to  perpetuate  themselves  in  the  physical  characteristics  of  the 
new  generation.  Since  modes  of  behavior,  such  as  acts  of  courtesy, 
cannot  be  transmitted  through  physical  structure,  they  would  tend 
to  lapse  if  they  were  not  maintained  through  imitation  from  generation 
to  generation.  Thus  imitation  gives  uniformity  to  social  practices  and 
consequently  is  to  be  treated  as  a  form  of  supplementary  inheritance 
extending  beyond  physical  inheritance  and  making  effective  the 
established  forms  of  social  practice. 

2.    Attention,  Interest,  and  Imitation1 

Imitation  is  a  process  of  very  great  importance  for  the  develop- 
ment of  mental  life  in  both  men  and  animals.  In  its  more  complex 
forms  it  presupposes  trains  of  ideas;  but  in  its  essential  features  it 
is  present  and  operative  at  the  perceptual  level.  It  is  largely  through 
imitation  that  the  results  of  the  experience  of  one  generation  are 
transmitted  to  the  next,  so  as  to  form  the  basis  for  further  develop- 
ment. Where  trains  of  ideas  play  a  relatively  unimportant  part,  as 
in  the  case  of  animals,  imitation  may  be  said  to  be  the  sole  form  of 
social  tradition.  In  the  case  of  human  beings,  the  thought  of  past 
generations  is  embodied  in  language,  institutions,  machinery,  and 
the  like.  This  distinctively  human  tradition  presupposes  trains  of 
ideas  in  past  generations,  which  so  mold  the  environment  of  a  new 
generation  that  in  apprehending  and  adapting  itself  to  this  environ- 
ment it  must  re-think  the  old  trains  of  thought.  Tradition  of  this 
kind  is  not  found  in  animal  life,  because  the  animal  mind  does  not 
proceed  by  way  of  trains  of  ideas.  None  the  less,  the  more  intelligent 
animals  depend  largely  on  tradition.  This  tradition  consists  essen- 
tially in  imitation  by  the  young  of  the  actions  of  their  parents,  or 

'Adapted  from  G.  F.  Stout,  A  Manual  of  Psychology,  pp.  390-91.  (The 
University  Tutorial  Press,  1913.) 


392  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  other  members  of  the  community  in  which  they  are  born.  The 
same  directly  imitative  process,  though  it  is  very  far  from  forming 
the  whole  of  social  tradition  in  human  beings,  forms  a  very  important 
part  of  it. 

a)  The  imitative  impulse. — We  must  distinguish  between  ability 
to  imitate  and  impulse  to  imitate.  We  may  be  already  fully  able  to 
perform  an  action,  and  the  sight  of  it  as  performed  by  another  may 
merely  prompt  us  to  reproduce  it.  But  the  sight  of  an  act  performed 
by  another  may  also  have  an  educational  influence;  it  may  not  only 
stimulate  us  to  do  what  we  are  already  able  to  do  without  its  aid; 
it  may  also  enable  us  to  do  what  we  could  not  do  without  having  an 
example  to  follow.  When  the  cough  of  one  man  sets  another  cough- 
ing, it  is  evident  that  imitation  here  consists  only  hi  the  impulse  to 
follow  suit.  The  second  man  does  not  learn  how  to  cough  from  the 
example  of  the  first.  He  is  simply  prompted  to  do  on  this  particular 
occasion  what  he  is  otherwise  quite  capable  of  doing.  But  if  I  am 
learning  billiards  and  someone  shows  me  by  his  own  example  how  to 
make  a  particular  stroke,  the  case  is  different.  It  is  not  his  example 
which  in  the  first  instance  prompts  me  to  the  action.  He  merely 
shows  the  way  to  do  what  I  already  desire  to  do. 

We  have  then  first  to  discuss  the  nature  of  the  imitative  impulse — 
the  impulse  to  perform  an  action  which  arises  from  the  perception  of 
it  as  performed  by  another. 

This  impulse  is  an  affair  of  attentive  consciousness.  The  percep- 
tion of  an  action  prompts  us  to  reproduce  it  when  and  so  far  as  it 
excites  interest  or  is  at  least  ultimately  connected  with  what  does 
excite  interest.  Further,  the  interest  must  be  of  such  a  nature  that 
it  is  more  fully  gratified  by  partially  or  wholly  repeating  the  inter- 
esting action.  Thus  imitation  is  a  special  development  of  attention. 
Attention  is  always  striving  after  a  more  vivid,  more  definite,  and 
more  complete  apprehension  of  its  object.  Imitation  is  a  way  in 
which  this  endeavor  may  gratify  itself  when  the  interest  in  the  object 
is  of  a  certain  kind.  It  is  obvious  that  we  do  not  try  to  imitate  all 
manner  of  actions,  without  distinction,  merely  because  they  take 
place  under  our  eyes.  What  is  familiar  and  commonplace  or  what 
for  any  other  reason  is  unexciting  or  insipid  fails  to  stir  us  to  re-enact 
it.  It  is  otherwise  with  what  is  strikingly  novel  or  in  any  way 
impressive,  so  that  our  attention  dwells  on  it  with  relish  or  fasci- 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  393 

nation.  It  is,  of  course,  not  true  that  whatever  act  fixes  attention 
prompts  to  imitation.  This  is  only  the  case  where  imitation 
helps  attention,  where  it  is,  in  fact,  a  special  development  of 
attention.  This  is  so  when  interest  is  directly  concentrated  on  the 
activity  itself  for  its  own  sake  rather  than  for  the  sake  of  its 
possible  consequences  and  the  like  ulterior  motives.  But  it  is  not 
necessary  that  the  act  in  itself  should  be  interesting;  in  a  most 
important  class  of  cases  the  interest  centers,  not  directly  in  the 
external  act  imitated,  but  in  something  else  with  which  this  act 
is  so  intimately  connected  as  virtually  to  form  a  part  of  it.  Thus 
there  is  a  tendency  to  imitate  not  only  interesting  acts  but  also  the 
acts  of  interesting  persons.  Men  are  apt  to  imitate  the  gestures  and 
modes  of  speech  of  those  who  excite  their  admiration  or  affection  or 
some  other  personal  interest.  Children  imitate  their  parents  or 
their  leaders  in  the  playground.  Even  the  mannerisms  and  tricks  of 
a  great  man  are  often  unconsciously  copied  by  those  who  regard  him 
as  a  hero.  In  such  instances  the  primary  interest  is  in  the  whole 
personality  of  the  model;  but  this  is  more  vividly  and  distinctly 
brought  before  consciousness  by  reproducing  his  external  peculiari- 
ties. Our  result,  then,  is  that  interest  in  an  action  prompts  to  imita- 
tion in  proportion  to  its  intensity,  provided  the  interest  is  of  a  kind 
which  will  be  gratified  or  sustained  by  imitative  activity. 

£)  Learning  by  imitation. — Let  us  now  turn  to  the  other  side  of 
the  question.  Let  us  consider  the  case  in  which  the  power  of  per- 
forming an  action  is  acquired  in  and  by  the  process  of  imitation  itself. 
Here  there  is  a  general  rule  which  is  obvious  when  once  it  is  pointed 
out.  It  is  part  of  the  still  more  general  rule  that  "  to  him  that  hath 
shall  be  given."  Our  power  of  imitating  the  activity  of  another  is 
strictly  proportioned  to  our  pre-existing  power  of  performing  the 
same  general  kind  of  action  independently.  For  instance,  one  devoid 
of  musical  faculty  has  practically  no  power  of  imitating  the  violin 
playing  of  Joachim.  Imitation  may  develop  and  improve  a  power 
which  already  exists,  but  it  cannot  create  it.  Consider  the  child 
beginning  for  the  first  time  to  write  in  a  copybook.  He  learns  by 
imitation;  but  it  is  only  because  he  has  already  some  rudimentary 
ability  to  make  such  simple  figures  as  pothooks  that  the  imitative 
process  can  get  a  start.  At  the  outset,  his  pothooks  are  very  unlike 
the  model  set  before  him.  Gradually  he  improves;  increased  power 


394          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  independent  production  gives  step  by  step  increased  power  of 
imitation,  until  he  approaches  too  closely  the  limits  of  his  capacity 
in  this  direction  to  make  any  further  progress  of  an  appreciable  kind. 

But  this  is  an  incomplete  account  of  the  matter.  The  power  of 
learning  by  imitation  is  part  of  the  general  power  of  learning  by 
experience;  it  involves  mental  plasticity.  An  animal  which  starts 
life  with  congenital  tendencies  and  aptitudes  of  a  fixed  and  stereo- 
typed kind,  so  that  they  admit  of  but  little  modification  hi  the  course 
of  individual  development,  has  correspondingly  little  power  of 
learning  by  imitation. 

At  higher  levels  of  mental  development  the  imitative  impulse  is 
far  less  conspicuous  because  impulsive  activity  in  general  is  checked 
and  overruled  by  activity  organized  in  a  unified  system.  Civilized 
men  imitate  not  so  much  because  of  immediate  interest  in  the  action 
imitated  as  with  a  view  to  the  attainment  of  desirable  results. 

3.    The  Three  Levels  of  Sympathy1 

Sympathy  is  not  an  instinct  or  a  tendency,  i.e.,  a  group  of  co- 
ordinated movements  adapted  to  a  particular  end,  and  showing 
itself  in  consciousness  as  an  emotion,  such  as  fear,  anger,  sex  attrac- 
tion; it  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  highly  generalized  psycho-physiological 
property.  To  the  specialized  character  of  each  emotion  it  opposes  a 
character  of  almost  unlimited  plasticity.  We  have  not  to  consider 
it  under  all  its  aspects  but  as  one  of  the  most  important  manifestations 
of  emotional  life,  as  the  basis  of  the  tender  emotions,  and  one  of  the 
foundations  of  social  and  moral  existence. 

a)  The  first  phase. — In  its  primitive  form  sympathy  is  reflex, 
automatic,  unconscious,  or  very  slightly  conscious;  it  is,  according 
to  Bain,  the  tendency  to  produce  in  ourselves  an  attitude,  a  state,  a 
bodily  movement  which  we  perceive  in  another  person.  This  is 
imitation  in  its  most  rudimentary  form.  Between  sympathy  and 
imitation,  at  any  rate  in  this  primitive  period,  I  see  only  one  difference 
of  aspect:  sympathy  everywhere  marks  the  passive,  receptive  side 
of  the  phenomenon;  imitation,  its  active  and  motor  side. 

It  manifests  itself  in  animals  forming  aggregates  (not  societies), 
such  as  a  flock  of  sheep,  or  a  pack  of  dogs  who  run,  stop,  bark  all  at 

1  Adapted  from  Th.  Ribot,  The  Psychology  of  the  Emotions,  pp.  230-34. 
(Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  1898.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  395 

the  same  time,  through  a  purely  physical  impulse  of  imitation;  in 
man,  infectious .  laughter  or  yawning,  walking  in  step,  imitating  the 
movements  of  a  rope-walker  while  watching  him,  feeling  a  shock  in 
one's  legs  when  one  sees  a  man  falling,  and  a  hundred  other  occur- 
rences of  this  kind  are  cases  of  physiological  sympathy.  It  plays  a 
great  part  in  the  psychology  of  crowds,  with  their  rapid  attacks  and 
sudden  panics.  In  nervous  diseases,  there  is  a  superfluity  of  examples: 
epidemics  of  hysteric  fits,  convulsive  barking,  hiccup,  etc.  I  omit 
the  mental  maladies  (epidemics  of  suicide,  double  or  triple  madness) 
since  we  are  only  considering  the  purely  physiological  stage. 

To  sum  up,  sympathy  is  originally  a  property  of  living  matter: 
as  there  is  an  organic  memory  and  an  organic  sensitiveness,  being 
those  of  the  tissues  and  ultimate  elements  which  compose  them, 
there  is  an  organic  sympathy,  made  up  of  receptivity  and  imitative 
movements. 

b)  The  second  phase. — The  next  phase  is  that  of  sympathy  in  the 
psychological  sense,  necessarily  accompanied  by  consciousness;  it 
creates  in  two  or  more  individuals  analogous  emotional  states.  Such 
are  the  cases  in  which  we  say  that  fear,  indignation,  joy,  or  sorrow 
are  communicated.  It  consists  in  feeling  an  emotion  existing  in  an- 
other, and  is  revealed  to  us  by  its  physiological  expression.  This 
phase  consists  of  two  stages. 

(i)  The  first  might  be  defined  as  psychological  unison.  If, 
during  this  period  of  unison,  we  could  read  the  minds  of  those  who 
sympathize,  we  should  see  a  single  emotional  fact  reflected  in  the 
consciousness  of  several  individuals.  L.  Noire,  in  his  book,  Ur sprung 
der  Sprache,  has  proposed  the  theory  that  language  originated  in 
community  of  action  among  the  earliest  human  beings.  When 
working,  marching,  dancing,  rowing,  they  uttered  (according  to  this 
writer)  sounds  which  became  the  appellatives  of  these  different 
actions,  or  of  various  objects;  and  these  sounds,  being  uttered  by 
all,  must  have  been  understood  by  all.  Whether  this  theory  be 
correct  or  not  (it  has  been  accepted  as  such  by  Max  Miiller),  it  will 
serve  as  an  illustration.  But  this  state  of  sympathy  does  not  by 
itself  constitute  a  tie  of  affection  or  tenderness  between  those  who 
feel  it;  it  only  prepares  the  way  for  such  an  emotion.  It  may  be  the 
basis  of  a  certain  social  solidarity,  because  the  same  internal  states 
excite  the  same  acts  of  a  mechanical,  exterior,  non-moral  solidarity. 


396  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(2)  The  second  stage  is  that  of  sympathy,  in  the  restricted  and 
popular  sense  of  the  word.  This  consists  of  psychological  unison, 
plus  a  new  element:  there  is  added  another  emotional  manifestation, 
tender  emotion  (benevolence,  sympathy,  pity,  etc.).  It  is  no  longer 
sympathy  pure  and  simple,  it  is  a  binary  compound.  The  common 
habit  of  considering  phenomena  only  under  their  higher  and  complete 
forms  often  misleads  us  as  to  their  origin  and  constitution.  More- 
over, in  order  to  understand  that  this  is  a  case  of  duality — the  fusion 
of  two  distinct  elements — and  that  our  analysis  is  not  a  factitious 
one,  it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  that  sympathy  (in  the  etymological 
sense)  may  exist  without  any  tender  emotion — nay,  that  it  may 
exclude  instead  of  excite  it.  According  to  Lubbock,  while  ants  carry 
away  their  wounded,  bees — though  forming  a  society — are  indifferent 
toward  each  other.  It  is  well  known  that  gregarious  animals  nearly 
always  shun  and  desert  a  wounded  member  of  the  herd.  Among 
men,  how  many  there  are  who,  when  they  see  suffering,  hasten  to 
withdraw  themselves  from  the  spectacle,  in  order  to  escape  the  pain 
which  it  sympathetically  awakens  in  them.  This  impulse  may  go  to 
the  length  of  aversion,  as  typified  by  Dives  in  the  Gospel.  It  is 
therefore  a  complete  psychological  error  to  consider  sympathy  as 
capable,  unaided,  of  delivering  men  from  egoism;  it  only  takes  the 
first  step,  and  not  always  that. 

c)  The  third  phase. — Under  its  intellectual  form,  sympathy  is  an 
agreement  in  feelings  and  actions,  founded  on  unity  of  representation. 
The  law  of  development  is  summed  up  in  Spencer's  formula,  "The 
degree  and  range  of  sympathy  depend  on  the  clearness  and  extent  of 
representation."  I  should,  however,  add:  on  condition  of  being 
based  on  an  emotional  temperament.  This  last  is  the  source  par 
excellence  of  sympathy,  because  it  vibrates  like  an  echo;  the  active 
temperament  lends  itself  less  to  such  impulses,  because  it  has  so 
much  to  do  in  manifesting  its  own  individuality  that  it  can  scarcely 
manifest  those  of  others;  finally,  the  phlegmatic  temperament  does 
so  least  of  all,  because  it  presents  a  minimum  of  emotional  life;  like 
Leibnitz'  monads,  it  has  no  windows. 

In  passing  from  the  emotional  to  the  intellectual  phase,  sympathy 
gains  in  extent  and  stability.  In  fact,  emotional  sympathy  requires 
some  analogy  in  temperament  or  nature;  it  can  scarcely  be  estab- 
lished between  the  timid  and  the  daring,  between  the  cheerful  and 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  397 

the  melancholic;  it  may  be  extended  to  all  human  beings  and  to  the 
animals  nearest  us,  but  not  beyond  them.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  the 
special  attribute  of  intelligence  to  seek  resemblances  or  analogies 
everywhere,  to  unify;  it  embraces  the  whole  of  nature.  By  the  law 
of  transfer  (which  we  have  already  studied)  sympathy  follows  this 
invading  march  and  comprehends  even  inanimate  objects,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  poet,  who  feels  himself  in  communion  with  the  sea,  the 
woods,  the  lakes,  or  the  mountains.  Besides,  intellectual  sympathy 
participates  in  the  relative  fixity  of  representation;  we  find  a  simple 
instance  of  this  in  animal  societies,  such  as  those  of  the  bees,  where 
unity  or  sympathy  among  the  members  is  only  maintained  by  the 
perception  or  representation  of  the  queen. 

4.     Rational  Sympathy1 

As  we  have  no  immediate  experience  of  what  other  men  feel,  we 
can  form  no  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  they  are  affected  but  by 
conceiving  what  we  ourselves  should  feel  in  the  like  situation.  Though 
our  brother  is  upon  the  rack,  as  long  as  we  ourselves  are  at  our  ease 
our  senses  will  never  inform  us  of  what  he  suffers.  They  never  did, 
and  never  can,  carry  us  beyond  our  own  person,  and  it  is  by  the 
imagination  only  that  we  can  form  any  conception  of  what  are  his 
sensations.  Neither  can  that  faculty  help  us  to  this  any  other  way 
than  by  representing  to  us  what  would  be  our  own,  if  we  were  in  his 
case.  It  is  the  impressions  of  our  own  senses  only,  not  those,  of  his, 
which  our  imaginations  copy.  By  the  imagination  we  place  ourselves 
in  his  situation,  we  conceive  ourselves  enduring  all  the  same  torments, 
we  enter  as  it  were  into  his  body  and  become  in  some  measure  the 
same  person  with  him,  and  thence  form  some  idea  of  his  sensations, 
and  even  feel  something  which,  though  weaker  in  degree,  is  not 
altogether  unlike  them.  His  agonies,  when  they  are  thus  brought 
home  to  ourselves,  when  we  have  thus  adopted  and  made  them  our 
own,  begin  at  last  to  affect  us,  and  we  then  tremble  and  shudder  at 
the  thought  of  what  he  feels.  For,  as  to  be  in  pain  or  distress  of  any 
kind  excites  the  most  excessive  sorrow,  so  to  conceive  or  to  imagine 
that  we  are  in  it  excites  some  degree  of  the  same  emotion,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  vivacity  or  dulness  of  the  conception. 

'Adapted  from  Adam  Smith,  The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  pp.  3-10. 
(G.  Bell  &  Sons,  1893.) 


398  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

That  this  is  the  source  of  our  fellow-feeling  for  the  misery  of  others, 
that  it  is  by  changing  places  in  fancy  with  the  sufferer  that  we  come 
either  to  conceive  or  to  be  affected  by  what  he  feels,  may  be  demon- 
strated by  many  obvious  observations,  if  it  should  not  be  thought 
sufficiently  evident  of  itself.  When  we  see  a  stroke  aimed,  and  just 
ready  to  fall  upon  the  leg  or  arm  of  another  person,  we  naturally 
shrink  and  draw  back  our  own  leg  or  our  own  arm ;  and  when  it  does 
fall,  we  feel  it  in  some  measure  and  are  hurt  by  it  as  well  as  the 
sufferer.  The  mob,  when  they  are  gazing  at  a  dancer  on  the  slack 
rope,  naturally  writhe  and  twist  and  balance  their  own  bodies  as  they 
see  him  do,  and  as  they  feel  that  they  themselves  must  do  if  in  his 
situation.  Persons  of  delicate  fibers  and  a  weak  constitution  of 
body  complain  that  in  looking  on  the  sores  and  ulcers  which  are 
exposed  by  beggars  in  the  streets  they  are  apt  to  feel  an  itching  or 
uneasy  sensation  in  the  corresponding  part  of  their  own  bodies.  The 
horror  which  they  conceive  at  the  misery  of  those  wretches  affects 
that  particular  part  in  themselves  more  than  any  other  because  that 
horror  arises  from  conceiving  what  they  themselves  would  suffer  if 
they  really  were  the  wretches  whom  they  are  looking  upon,  and  if 
that  particular  part  in  themselves  was  actually  affected  in  the  same 
miserable  manner.  The  very  force  of  this  conception  is  sufficient, 
in  their  feeble  frames,  to  produce  that  itching  or  uneasy  sensation 
complained  of.  Men  of  the  most  robust  make  observe  that  in  look- 
ing upon  sore  eyes  they  often  feel  a  very  sensible  soreness  in  their 
own,  which  proceeds  from  the  same  reason;  that  organ,  being  in  the 
strongest  man  more  delicate  than  any  other  part  of  the  body,  is  the 
weakest. 

Upon  some  occasions  sympathy  may  seem  to  arise  merely  from 
the  view  of  a  certain  emotion  in  another  person.  The  passions  upon 
some  occasions  may  seem  to  be  transfused  from  one  man  to  another 
instantaneously  and  antecedent  to  any  knowledge  of  what  excited 
them  in  the  person  principally  concerned.  Grief  and  joy,  for  example, 
strongly  expressed  in  the  look  and  gestures  of  any  person  at  once 
affect  the  spectator  with  some  degree  of  a  like  painful  or  agreeable 
emotion.  A  smiling  face  is,  to  everybody  that  sees  it,  a  cheerful 
object,  as  a  sorrowful  countenance,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  melancholy 
one. 

This,  however,  does  not  hold  universally,  or  with  regard  to  every 
passion.  There  are  some  passions  of  which  the  expressions  excite 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  399 

no  sort  of  sympathy,  but,  before  we  are  acquainted  with  what  gave 
occasion  to  them,  serve  rather  to  disgust  and  provoke  us  against 
them.  The  furious  behavior  of  an  angry  man  is  more  likely  to 
exasperate  us  against  himself  than  against  his  enemies.  As  we  are 
unacquainted  with  his  provocation,  we  cannot  bring  his  case  home 
to  ourselves,  nor  conceive  anything  like  the  passions  which  it  excites. 
But  we  plainly  see  what  is  the  situation  of  those  with  whom  he  is 
angry,  and  to  what  violence  they  may  be  exposed  from  so  enraged 
an  adversary.  We  readily,  therefore,  sympathize  with  their  fear  or 
resentment,  and  are  immediately  disposed  to  take  part  against  the 
man  from  whom  they  appear  to  be  in  danger. 

If  the  very  appearances  of  grief  and  joy  inspire  us  with  some 
degree  of  the  like  emotions,  it  is  because  they  suggest  to  us  the  general 
idea  of  some  good  or  bad  fortune  that  has  befallen  the  person  in  whom 
we  observe  them:  and  in  these  passions  this  is  sufficient  to  have 
some  little  influence  upon  us.  The  effects  of  grief  and  joy  terminate 
in  the  person  who  feels  these  emotions,  of  which  the  expressions  do 
not,  like  those  of  resentment,  suggest  to  us  the  idea  of  any  other 
person  for  whom  we  are  concerned  and  whose  interests  are  opposite 
to  his.  The  general  idea  of  good  or  bad  fortune,  therefore,  creates 
some  concern  for  the  person  who  has  met  with  it;  but  the  general 
idea  of  provocation  excites  no  sympathy  with  th~  anger  of  the  man 
who  has  received  it.  Nature,  it  seems,  teaches  us  to  be  more  averse 
to  enter  into  this  passion,  and,  till  informed  of  its  cause,  to  be  disposed 
rather  to  take  part  against  it. 

Even  our  sympathy  with  the  grief  or  joy  of  another,  before  we 
are  informed  of  the  cause  of  either,  is  always  extremely  imperfect. 
General  lamentations,  which  express  nothing  but  the  anguish  of  the 
sufferer,  create  rather  a  curiosity  to  inquire  into  his  situation,  along 
with  some  disposition  to  sympathize  with  him,  than  any  actual 
sympathy  that  is  very  sensible.  The  first  question  which  we  ask  is, 
What  has  befallen  you?  Till  this  be  answered,  though  we  are 
uneasy  both  from  the  vague  idea  of  his  misfortune  and  still  more 
from  torturing  ourselves  with  conjectures  about  what  it  may  be, 
yet  our  fellow-feeling  is  not  very  considerable. 

Sympathy,  therefore,  does  not  arise  so  much  from  the  view  of 
the  passion  as  from  that  of  the  situation  which  excites  it.  We  some- 
tunes  feel  for  another  a  passion  of  which  he  himself  seems  to  be  alto- 
gether incapable,  because,  when  we  put  ourselves  in  his  case,  that 


400  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

passion  arises  in  our  breast  from  the  imagination,  though  it  does 
not  in  his  from  the  reality.  We  blush  for  the  impudence  and  rudeness 
of  another,  though  he  himself  appears  to  have  no  sense  of  the  impro- 
priety of  his  own  behavior,  because  we  cannot  help  feeling  with  what 
confusion  we  ourselves  should  be  covered,  had  we  behaved  in  so  absurd 
a  manner. 

Of  all  the  calamities  to  which  the  condition  of  mortality  exposes 
mankind,  the  loss  of  reason  appears,  to  those  who  have  the  least 
spark  of  humanity,  by  far  the  most  dreadful;  and  they  behold  that 
last  stage  of  human  wretchedness  with  deeper  commiseration  than 
any  other.  But  the  poor  wretch  who  is  in  it  laughs  and  sings,  perhaps, 
and  is  altogether  insensible  to  his  own  misery.  The  anguish  which 
humanity  feels,  therefore,  at  the  sight  of  such  an  object  cannot  be 
the  reflection  of  any  sentiment  of  the  sufferer.  The  compassion  of 
the  spectator  must  arise  altogether  from  the  consideration  of  what 
he  himself  would  feel  if  he  was  reduced  to  the  same  unhappy  situation, 
and,  what  perhaps  is  impossible,  was  at  the  same  time  able  to  regard 
it  with  his  present  reason  and  judgment. 

What  are  the  pangs  of  a  mother  when  she  hears  the  moanings  of 
her  infant,  that,  during  the  agony  of  disease,  cannot  express  what  it 
feels?  In  her  idea  of  what  it  suffers,  she  joins  to  its  real  helpless- 
ness her  own  consciousness  of  that  helplessness  and  her  own  terrors 
for  the  unknown  consequences  of  its  disorder;  and,  out  of  all  these, 
forms  for  her  own  sorrow  the  most  complete  image  of  misery  and 
distress.  The  infant,  however,  feels  only  the  uneasiness  of  the 
present  instant,  which  can  never  be  great.  With  regard  to  the 
future  it  is  perfectly  secure  in  its  thoughtlessness  and  want  of  anxiety, 
the  great  tormentors  of  the  human  breast,  from  which  reason  and 
philosophy  will  in  vain  attempt  to  defend  it  when  it  grows  up  to  a 
man. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  cause  of  sympathy,  or  however  it  may 
be  excited,  nothing  pleases  us  more  than  to  observe  in  other  men  a 
fellow-feeling  with  all  the  emotions  of  our  own  breast;  nor  are  we 
ever  so  much  shocked  as  by  the  appearance  of  the  contrary.  Those 
who  are  fond  of  deducing  all  our  sentiments  from  certain  refinements  of 
self-love  think  themselves  at  no  loss  to  account,  according  to  their  own 
principles,  both  for  this  pleasure  and  for  this  pain.  Man,  say  they, 
conscious  of  his  own  weakness  and  of  the  need  which  he  has  for  the 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  401 

assistance  of  others,  rejoices  whenever  he  observes  that  they  adopt 
his  own  passions  because  he  is  then  assured  of  that  assistance  and 
grieves  whenever  he  observes  the  contrary,  because  he  is  then  assured 
of  then*  opposition.  But  both  the  pleasure  and  the  pain  are  always 
felt  so  instantaneously,  and  often  upon  such  frivolous  occasions,  that 
it  seems  evident  that  neither  of  them  can  be  derived  from  any  such 
self-interested  consideration.  A  man  is  mortified  when,  after  having 
endeavored  to  divert  the  company,  he  looks  round  and  sees  that 
nobody  laughs  at  his  jests  but  himself.  On  the  contrary,  the  mirth 
of  the  company  is  highly  agreeable  to  him  and  he  regards  this  cor- 
respondence of  their  sentiments  with  his  own  as  the  greatest  applause. 

5.    Art,  Imitation,  and  Appreciation1 

The  investigation  into  the  psychology  of  masses,  as  well  as  the 
experiments  on  suggestive  therapeutics,  have  proved  to  how  great 
an  extent  mental  states  may  be  transmitted  from  individual  to 
individual  by  unconscious  imitation  of  the  accompanying  movements. 
The  doctrine  of  universal  sympathy,  a  clear  statement  of  which  was 
given  long  ago  in  the  ethical  theory  of  Adam  Smith,  has  thus  acquired 
a  psychological  justification  in  the  modern  theories  of  imitative 
movement.  Contemporary  science  has  at  last  learned  to  appreciate 
the  fundamental  importance  of  imitation  for  the  development  of 
human  culture.  And  some  authors  have  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
endeavor  to  deduce  all  sociological  laws  from  this  one  principle.  At 
the  same  time  natural  history  has  begun  to  pay  more  and  more 
attention  to  the  indispensability  of  imitation  for  the  full  development 
of  instincts,  as  well  as  for  training  in  those  activities  which  are  the 
most  necessary  in  life. 

It  is  fortunate  for  the  theory  of  art  that  the  importance  of  the 
imitative  functions  has  thus  been  simultaneously  acknowledged  in 
various  departments  of  science.  Whatever  one  may  think  of  the 
somewhat  audacious  generalizations  which  have  been  made  in  the 
recent  application  of  this  new  principle,  it  is  incontestable  that 
the  aesthetic  activities  can  be  understood  and  explained  only  by  refer- 
ence to  the  universal  tendency  to  Imitate.  It  is  also  significant  that 
writers  on  aesthetic  had  'felt  themselves  compelled  to  set  up  a  theory 

1  From  Yrjo  Hirn,  The  Origins  of  Art,  pp.  74-85.  (Published  by  The  Mac- 
millan  Co.,  1900.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


402  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  imitation  long  before  experimental  psychologists  had  begun  to 
turn  their  attention  in  this  direction.  In  Germany  the  enjoyment 
of  form  and  form-relations  has,  since  Vischer's  time,  been  interpreted 
as  the  result  of  the  movements  by  which,  not  only  our  eye,  but  also 
our  whole  body  follows  the  outlines  of  external  things.  In  France 
Jouffroy  stated  the  condition  for  the  receiving  of  aesthetic  impressions 
to  be  a  "power  of  internally  imitating  the  states  which  are  externally 
manifested  in  living  nature."  In  England,  finally,  Vernon  Lee  and 
Anstruther  Thompson  have  founded  a  theory  of  beauty  and  ugliness 
upon  this  same  psychical  impulse  to  copy  in  our  own  unconscious 
movements  the  forms  of  objects.  And  in  the  writings  of,  for  instance, 
Home,  Hogarth,  Dugald  Stewart,  and  Spencer,  there  can  be  found 
a  multitude  of  isolated  remarks  on  the  influence  which  is  in  a  direct 
way  exercised  on  our  mental  life  by  the  perception  of  lines  and  forms. 

In  most  of  these  theories  and  observations,  however,  the  imitative 
activity  has  been  noticed  only  in  so  far  as  it  contributes  to  the  aesthetic 
delight  which  may  be  derived  from  sensual  impressions.  But  its 
importance  is  by  no  means  so  restricted  as  this;  on  the  contrary,  we 
believe  it  to  be  a  fundamental  condition  for  the  existence  of  intuition 
itself.  Without  all  these  imperceptible  tracing  movements  with 
which  our  body  accompanies  the  adaptation  of  the  eye-muscles  to  the 
outlines  of  external  objects,  our  notions  of  depth,  height,  and  distance, 
and  so  on,  would  certainly  be  far  less  distinct  than  they  are.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  habit  of  executing  such  movements  has,  so  to  say, 
brought  the  external  world  within  the  sphere  of  the  internal.  The 
world  has  been  measured  with  man  as  a  standard,  and  objects  have 
been  translated  into  the  language  of  mental  experience.  The  impres- 
sions have  hereby  gained,  not  only  in  emotional  tone,  but  also  in 
intellectual  comprehensibility. 

Greater  still  is  the  importance  of  imitation  for  our  intuition  of 
moving  objects.  And  a  difficult  movement  itself  is  fully  understood 
only  when  it  has  been  imitated,  either  internally  or  hi  actual  outward 
activity.  The  idea  of  a  movement,  therefore,  is  generally  associated 
with  an  arrested  impulse  to  perform  it.  Closer  introspection  will 
show  everyone  to  how  great  a  part  our  knowledge,  even  of  persons, 
is  built  up  of  motor  elements.  By  unconscious  and  imperceptible 
copying  in  our  own  body  the  external  behavior  of  a  man,  we  may 
learn  to  understand  him  with  benevolent  or  malevolent  sympathy. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION.  403 

And  it  will,  no  doubt,  be  admitted  by  most  readers  that  the  reason 
why  they  know  their  friends  and  foes  better  than  they  know  anyone 
else  is  that  they  carry  the  remembrance  of  them  not  only  in  their 
eyes,  but  in  their  whole  body.  When  in  idle  moments  we  find  the 
memory  of  an  absent  friend  surging  up  in  our  minds  with  no  apparent 
reason,  we  may  often  note,  to  our  astonishment,  that  we  have  just 
been  unconsciously  adopting  one  of  his  characteristic  attitudes,  or 
imitating  his  peculiar  gestures  or  gait. 

It  may,  however,  be  objected  that  the  above-mentioned  instances 
refer  only  to  a  particular  class  of  individuals.  In  other  minds,  it  will 
be  said,  the  world-picture  is  entirely  built  up  of  visual  and  acoustic 
elements.  It  is  also  impossible  to  deny  that  the  classification  of 
minds  in  different  types,  which  modern  psychology  has  introduced, 
is  as  legitimate  as  it  is  advantageous  for  the  purposes  of  research. 
But  we  can  hardly  believe  that  such  divisions  have  in  view  anything 
more  than  a  relative  predominance  of  the  several  psychical  elements. 
It  is  easily  understood  that  a  man  in  whose  store  of  memory  visual  or 
acoustic  images  occupy  the  foremost  place  may  be  inclined  to  deny 
that  motor  sensations  of  unconscious  copying  enter  to  any  extent 
into  his  psychical  experience.  But  an  exclusively  visual  world- 
image,  if  such  a  thing  is  possible,  must  evidently  be  not  only  emo- 
tionally poorer,  but  also  intellectually  less  distinct  and  less  complete, 
than  an  intuition,  in  which  such  motor  elements  are  included. 

The  importance  of  motor  sensations  in  the  psychology  of  knowl- 
edge is  by  itself  of  no  aesthetic  interest.  The  question  has  been 
touched  upon  in  this  connection  only  because  of  the  illustration 
which  it  gives  to  the  imitation  theory.  If,  as  we  believe  is  the  case, 
it  is  really  necessary,  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  a  complete  com- 
prehension of  things  and  events,  to  "experience"  them — that  is  to 
say,  to  pursue  and  seize  upon  them,  not  only  with  that  particular 
organ  of  sense  to  which  they  appeal,  but  also  by  tracing  movements 
of  the  whole  body — then  there  is  no  need  to  wonder  at  the  universality 
of  the  imitative  impulse.  Imitation  does  not  only,  according  to  this 
view,  facilitate  our  training  in  useful  activities,  and  aid  us  in  deriving 
an  aesthetic  delight  from  our  sensations;  it  serves  also,  and  perhaps 
primarily,  as  an  expedient  for  the  accommodating  of  ourselves  to  the 
external  world,  and  for  the  explaining  of  things  by  reference  to  our- 
selves. It  is  therefore  natural  that  imitative  movements  should 


404  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

occupy  so  great  a  place  among  the  activities  of  children  and  primitive 
men.  And  we  can  also  understand  why  this  fundamental  impulse, 
which  has  played  so  important  a  part  in  racial  as  well  as  in  individual 
education,  may  become  so  great  as  to  be  a  disease  and  dominate  the 
whole  of  conscious  life.  As  children  we  all  imitated  before  we  com- 
prehended, and  we  have  learned  to  comprehend  by  imitating.  It  is 
only  when  we  have  grown  familiar  by  imitation  with  the  most  impor- 
tant data  of  perception  that  we  become  capable  of  appropriating 
knowledge  in  a  more  rational  way.  Although  no  adult  has  any  need 
to  resort  to  external  imitation  in  order  to  comprehend  new  impres- 
sions, it  is  still  only  natural  that  in  a  pathological  condition  he  should 
relapse  into  the  primitive  imitative  reaction.  And  it  is  equally 
natural  that  an  internal,  i.e.,  arrested,  imitation  should  take  place 
in  all  our  perceptions.  After  this  explanation  of  the  universality  of 
this  phenomenon  we  have  no  further  need  to  occupy  ourselves  with 
the  general  psychology  of  imitation.  We  have  here  only  to  take 
notice  of  its  importance  for  the  communication  of  feeling. 

As  is  well  known,  it  is  only  in  cases  of  abnormally  increased 
sensibility — for  instance,  in  some  of  the  stages  of  hypnotism  and 
thought  transmission — that  the  motor  counterpart  of  a  mental  state 
can  be  imitated  with  such  faithfulness  and  completeness  that  the 
imitator  is  thereby  enabled  to  partake  of  all  the  intellectual  elements 
of  the  state  existing  in  another.  The  hedonic  qualities,  on  the  other 
hand,  which  are  physiologically  conditioned  by  much  simpler  motor 
counterparts,  may  of  course  be  transmitted  with  far  greater  per- 
fection: it  is  easier  to  suggest  a  pleasure  than  a  thought.  It  is  also 
evident  that  it  is  the  most  general  hedonic  and  volitional  elements 
which  have  been  considered  by  the  German  authors  on  aesthetic  in 
their  theories  on  internal  imitation  ("Die  innere  Nachahmung"). 
They  seem  to  have  thought  that  the  adoption  of  the  attitudes  and 
the  performance  of  the  movements  which  usually  accompany  a  given 
emotional  state  will  also  succeed  to  some  extent  hi  producing  a  similar 
emotional  state.  This  assumption  is  perfectly  legitimate,  even  if  the 
connection  between  feeling  and  movement  be  interpreted  in  the  asso- 
ciative way.  And  it  needs  no  justification  when  the  motor  changes 
are  considered  as  the  physiological  correlate  of  the  feeling  itself. 

Everyday  experience  affords  many  examples  of  the  way  in  which 
feelings  are  called  into  existence  by  the  imitation  of  their  expressive 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  405 

movements.  A  child  repeats  the  smiles  and  the  laughter  of  its 
parents,  and  can  thus  partake  of  their  joy  long  before  it  is  able  to 
understand  its  cause.  Adult  life  naturally  does  not  give  us  many 
opportunities  of  observing  this  pure  form  of  direct  and  almost  auto- 
matic transmission.  But  even  in  adult  life  we  may  often  meet  with  an 
exchange  of  feeling  which  seems  almost  independent  of  any  intellectual 
communication.  Lovers  know  it,  and  intimate  friends  like  the 
brothers  Goncourt,  to  say  nothing  of  people  who  stand  in  so  close  a 
rapport  with  each  other  as  a  hypnotiser  and  his  subject.  And  even 
where  there  is  no  previous  sympathetic  relation,  a  state  of  joy  or 
sadness  may  often,  if  it  is  only  distinctly  expressed,  pass  over,  so  to 
say,  from  the  individual  who  has  been  under  the  influence  of  its 
objective  cause,  to  another  who,  as  it  were,  borrows  the  feeling,  but 
remains  unconscious  of  its  cause.  We  experience  this  phenomenon 
almost  daily  in  the  influence  exerted  upon  us  by  social  intercourse, 
and  even  by  those  aspects  of  nature — for  instance,  blue  open  sky  or 
overhanging  mountains — which  naturally  call  up  in  us  the  physical 
manifestation  of  emotional  states.  The  coercive  force  with  which 
our  surroundings — animate  or  inanimate — compel  us  to  adopt  the 
feelings  which  are  suggested  by  their  attitudes,  forms,  or  movements, 
is  perhaps  as  a  rule  too  weak  to  be  noticed  by  a  self-controlled,  unemo- 
tional man.  But  if  we  want  an  example  of  this  influence  at  its 
strongest,  we  need  but  remember  how  difficult  it  is  for  an  individual 
to  resist  the  contagion  of  collective  feeling.  On  public  occasions  the 
common  mood,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow,  is  often  communicated 
even  to  those  who  were  originally  possessed  by  the  opposite  feeling. 
So  powerful  is  the  infection  of  great  excitement  that — according  to 
M.  Fere — even  a  perfectly  sober  man  who  takes  part  hi  a  drinking 
bout  may  often  be  tempted  to  join  in  the  antics  of  his  drunken  com- 
rades in  a  sort  of  second-hand  intoxication,  "drunkenness  by  induc- 
tion." In  the  great  mental  epidemics  of  the  Middle  Ages  this  kind 
of  contagion  operated  with  more  fatal  results  than  ever  before  or 
afterward.  But  even  hi  modern  times  a  popular  street  riot  may 
often  show  us  something  of  the  same  phenomenon.  The  great  tumult 
in  London  in  1886  afforded,  it  is  said,  a  good  opportunity  of  observing 
how  people  who  had  originally  maintained  an  indifferent  attitude 
were  gradually  carried  away  by  the  general  excitement,  even  to  tte 
extent  of  joining  in  the  outrages.  In  this  instance  the  contagious 


406  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

effect  of  expressional  movements  was  undoubtedly  facilitated  by 
their  connection  with  so  primary  an  impulse  as  that  of  rapine  and 
destruction.  But  the  case  is  the  same  with  all  the  activities  which 
appear  as  the  outward  manifestations  of  our  strongest  feeling-states. 
They  all  consist  of  instinctive  actions  with  which  everyone  is  well 
familiar  from  his  own  experience.  It  is  therefore  natural  that  anger, 
hate,  or  love  may  be  communicated  almost  automatically  from  an 
individual  to  masses,  and  from  masses  to  individuals. 

Now  that  the  principle  of  the  interindividual  diffusion  of  feeling 
has  been  stated  and  explained,  we  may  return  to  our  main  line  of 
research  and  examine  its  bearings  on  the  expressional  impulse.  We 
have  seen  that  in  the  social  surroundings  of  the  individual  there  is 
enacted  a  process  resembling  that  which  takes  place  within  his  own 
organism.  Just  as  functional  modifications  spread  from  organ  to 
organ,  just  as  wider  and  wider  zones  of  the  system  are  brought  into 
participation  in  the  primary  enhancement  or  inhibition,  so  a  feeling 
is  diffused  from  an  individual  to  a  circle  of  sympathisers  who  repeat 
its  expressional  movements.  And  just  as  all  the  widened  "somatic 
resonances"  contribute  to  the  primary  feeling- tone  increased  strength 
and  increased  definiteness,  so  must  the  emotional  state  of  an  individual 
be  enhanced  by  retroactive  stimulation  from  the  expressions  by  which 
the  state  has,  so  to  say,  been  continued  in  others.  By  the  reciprocal 
action  of  primary  movements  and  borrowed  movements,  which 
mutually  imitate  each  other,  the  social  expression  operates  in  the 
same  way  as  the  individual  expression.  And  we  are  entitled  to 
consider  it  as  a  secondary  result  of  the  general  expressional  impulse, 
that  when  mastered  by  an  overpowering  feeling  we  seek  enhance- 
ment or  relief  by  retroaction  from  sympathisers,  who  reproduce 
and  in  their  expression  represent  the  mental  state  by  which  we  are 
dominated. 

In  point  of  fact,  we  can  observe  in  the  manifestations  of  all  strong 
feelings  which  have  not  found  a  satisfactory  relief  in  individual 
expression,  a  pursuit  of  social  resonance.  A  happy  man  wants  to 
see  glad  faces  around  him,  in  order  that  from  their  expression  he  may 
derive  further  nourishment  and  increase  for  his  own  feeling.  Hence 
the  benevolent  attitude  of  mind  which  as  a  rule  accompanies  all 
strong  and  pure  joy.  Hence  also  the  widespread  tendency  to  express 
joy  by  gifts  or  hospitality.  In  moods  of  depression  we  similarly 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  407 

desire  a  response  to  our  feeling  from  our  surroundings.  In  the  depth 
of  despair  we  may  long  for  a  universal  cataclysm  to  extend,  as  it 
were,  our  own  pain.  As  joy  naturally  makes  men  good,  so  pain 
often  makes  them  hard  and  cruel.  That  this  is  not  always  the  case 
is  a  result  of  the  increased  power  of  sympathy  which  we  gain  by  every 
experienced  pain.  Moreover,  we  have  need  of  sympathetic  rapport 
for  our  motor  reactions  against  pain.  All  the  active  manifestations 
of  sorrow,  despair,  or  anger  which  are  not  wholly  painful  in  them- 
selves are  facilitated  by  the  reciprocal  influence  of  collective  excite- 
ment. Thus  all  strong  feelings,  whether  pleasurable  or  painful,  act 
as  socialising  factors.  This  socialising  action  may  be  observed  at 
all  stages  of  development.  Even  the  animals  seek  their  fellows  in 
order  to  stimulate  themselves  and  each  other  by  the  common  expres- 
sion of  an  overpowering  feeling.  As  has  been  remarked  by  Espinas, 
the  flocking  together  of  the  male  birds  during  the  pairing  season  is 
perhaps  as  much  due  to  this  craving  for  mutual  stimulation  as  to 
the  desire  to  compete  for  the  favor  of  the  hen.  The  howling  choirs 
of  the  macaws  and  the  drum  concerts  of  the  chimpanzees  are  still 
better  and  unmistakable  instances  of  collective  emotional  expression. 
In  man  we  find  the  results  of  the  same  craving  for  social  expression  hi 
the  gatherings  for  rejoicing  or  mourning  which  are  to  be  met  with  in 
all  tribes,  of  all  degrees  of  development.  And  as  a  still  higher  devel- 
opment of  the  same  fundamental  impulse,  there  appears  in  man  the 
artistic  activity. 

The  more  conscious  our  craving  for  retroaction  from  sympathisers, 
the  more  there  must  also  be  developed  in  us  a  conscious  endeavor 
to  cause  the  feeling  to  be  appropriated  by  as  many  as  possible  and  as 
completely  as  possible.  The  expressional  impulse  is  not  satisfied  by 
the  resonance  which  an  occasional  public,  however  sympathetic,  is 
able  to  afford.  Its  natural  aim  is  to  bring  more  and  more  sentient 
beings  under  the  influence  of  the  same  emotional  state.  It  seeks  to 
vanquish  the  refractory  and  arouse  the  indifferent.  An  echo,  a  true 
and  powerful  echo — that  is  what  it  desires  with  all  the  energy  of  an 
unsatisfied  longing.  As  a  result  of  this  craving  the  expressional 
activities  lead  to  artistic  production.  The  work  of  art  presents 
itself  as  the  most  effective  means  by  which  the  individual  is  enabled 
to  convey  to  wider  and  wider  circles  of  sympathisers  an  emotional 
state  similar  to  that  by  which  he  is  himself  dominated. 


408  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

E.      SUGGESTION 

i.    A  Sociological  Definition  of  Suggestion1 
The  nature  of  suggestion  manifestly  consists  not  in  any  external 

peculiarities  whatever.     It  is  based  upon  the  peculiar  kind  of  relation 

of  the  person  making  the  suggestion  to  the  "ego"  of  the  subject 

during  the  reception  and  realization  of  the  suggestion. 

Suggestion  is,  in  general,  one  of  many  means  of  influence  of 

man  on  man  that  is  exercised  with  or  without  intention  on  persons, 

who  respond  either  consciously  or  unconsciously. 

For  a  closer  acquaintance  with  what  we  call  "suggestion,"  it 

may  be  observed  that  our  perceptive  activities  are  divided  into  (a) 

active,  and  (b)  passive. 

a)  Active  perception. — In  the  first  case  the  "ego"  of  the  subject 
necessarily  takes  a  part,  and  according  to  the  trend  of  our  thinking 
or  to  the  environmental  circumstances  directs  the  attention  to  these 
or  those  external  impressions.     These,  since  they  enter  the  mind 
through  the  participation  of  attention  and  will  and  through  reflection 
and  judgment,  are  assimilated  and  permanently  incorporated  in  the 
personal  consciousness  or  in  our  "ego."    This  type  of  perception 
leads  to  an  enrichment  of  our  personal  consciousness  and  lies  at 
the  bottom  of  our  points  of  view  and  convictions.    The  organization 
of  more  or  less  definite  convictions  is  the  product  of  the  process  of 
reflection  instituted  by  active  perception.    These  convictions,  before 
they  become  the  possession  of  our  personal  consciousness,  may 
conceal  themselves  awhile  in  the  so-called  subconsciousness.    They 
are  capable  of  being  aroused  at  any  moment  at  the  desire  of  the 
"ego"  whenever  certain  experienced  representations  are  reproduced. 

b)  Passive   perception. — In    contrast    to    active   perception    we 
perceive  much  from  the  environment  in  a  passive  manner  without 
that  participation  of  the  "ego."    This  occurs  when  our  attention  is 
diverted  in  any  particular  direction  or  concentrated  on  a  certain 
thought,  and  when  its  continuity  for  one  or  another  reason  is  broken 
up,  which,  for  instance,  occurs  in  cases  of  so-called  distraction.     In 
these  cases  the  object  of  the  perception  does  not  enter  into  the 
personal  consciousness,  but  it  makes  its  way  into  other  spheres  of 

1  Translated  and  adapted  from  the  German,  Die  Bedeutung  der  Suggestion 
im  Sozialen  Leben,  pp.  10-15,  from  the  original  Russian  of  W.  v.  Bechterew. 
(J.  F.  Bergmann,  Wiesbaden,  1905.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  409 

our  mind,  which  we  call  the  general  consciousness.  The  general 
consciousness  is  to  a  certain  degree  independent  of  the  personal 
consciousness.  For  this  reason  everything  that  enters  into  the 
general  consciousness  cannot  be  introduced  at  will  into  the  personal 
consciousness.  Nevertheless  products  of  the  general  consciousness 
make  their  way  into  the  sphere  of  the  personal  consciousness,  without 
awareness  by  it  of  their  original  derivation. 

In  passive  perception,  without  any  participation  of  attention, 
a  whole  series  of  varied  impressions  flow  in  upon  us  and  press  hi  past 
our  "ego"  directly  to  the  general  consciousness.  These  impressions 
are  the  sources  of  those  influences  from  the  outer  world  so  unintelligible 
even  to  ourselves,  which  determine  our  emotional  attitudes  and  those 
obscure  motives  and  impulses  which  often  possess  us  in  certain 
situations. 

The  general  consciousness,  in  this  way,  plays  a  permanent  rok 
in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  individual.  Now  and  then  an  impression 
passively  received  in  the  train  of  an  accidental  chain  of  ideas  makes 
its  way  into  the  sphere  of  the  personal  consciousness  as  a  mental 
image,  whose  novelty  astounds  us.  In  specific  cases  this  image  or 
illusion  takes  the  form  of  a  peculiar  voice,  a  vision,  or  even  a 
hallucination,  whose  origin  undoubtedly  lies  in  the  general  con- 
sciousness. When  the  personal  consciousness  is  in  abeyance,  as  in 
sleep  or  in  profound  hypnosis,  the  activity  of  the  general  conscious- 
ness comes  into  the  foreground.  The  activity  of  the  general 
consciousness  is  limited  neither  by  our  ways  of  viewing  things  nor 
by  the  conditions  under  which  the  personal  consciousness  operates. 
On  this  account,  in  a  dream  and  in  profound  hypnosis  acts  appear 
feasible  and  possible  which  with  our  full  personal  consciousness  we 
would  not  dare  to  contemplate. 

This  division  of  our  mind  into  a  personal  and  a  general  con- 
sciousness affords  a  basis  for  a  clear  understanding  of  the  principles 
of  suggestion.  The  personal  consciousness,  the  so-called  "ego," 
aided  by  the  will  and  attention,  largely  controls  the  reception  of 
external  impressions,  influences  the  trend  of  our  ideas,  and  deter- 
mines the  execution  of  our  voluntary  behavior.  Every  impression 
that  the  personal  consciousness  transmits  to  the  mind  is  usually 
subject  to  a  definite  criticism  and  remodeling  which  results  in  the 
development  of  our  points  of  view  and  of  our  convictions. 


410  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

This  mode  of  influence  from  the  outer  world  upon  our  mind  is 
that  of  "logical  conviction."  As  the  final  result  of  that  inner  recon- 
struction of  impressions  appears  always  the  conviction:  "This  is 
true,  that  useful,  inevitable,  etc."  We  can  say  this  inwardly  when 
any  reconstruction  of  the  impressions  has  been  effected  in  us  through 
the  activity  of  the  personal  consciousness.  Many  impressions  get 
into  our  mind  without  our  remarking  them.  In  case  of  distraction, 
when  our  voluntary  attention  is  in  abeyance,  the  impression  from 
without  evades  our  personal  consciousness  and  enters  the  mind  with- 
out coming  into  contact  with  the  "ego."  Not  through  the  front 
door,  but — so  to  speak — up  the  back  steps,  it  gets,  in  this  case,  directly 
into  the  inner  rooms  of  the  soul. 

Suggestion  may  now  be  defined  as  the  direct  infection  of  one 
person  by  another  of  certain  mental  states.  In  other  words,  sugges- 
tion is  the  penetration  or  inoculation  of  a  strange  idea  into  the 
consciousness,  without  direct  immediate  participation  of  the  "ego" 
of  the  subject.  Moreover,  the  personal  consciousness  in  general 
appears  quite  incapable  of  rejecting  the  suggestion,  even  when  the 
"ego"  detects  its  irrationality.  Since  the  suggestion  enters  the  mind 
without  the  active  aid  of  the  "ego,"  it  remains  outside  the  borders 
of  the  personal  consciousness.  All  further  effects  of  the  suggestion, 
therefore,  take  place  without  the  control  of  the  "ego." 

By  the  term  suggestion  we  do  not  usually  understand  the  effect 
upon  the  mind  of  the  totality  of  external  stimuli,  but  the  influence 
of  person  upon  person  which  takes  place  through  passive  perception 
and  is  therefore  independent  of  the  activity  of  the  personal  conscious- 
ness. Suggestion  is,  moreover,  to  be  distinguished  from  the  other 
type  of  influences  operating  through  mental  processes  of  attention 
and  the  participation  of  the  personal  consciousness,  which  result  in 
logical  convictions  and  the  development  of  definite  points  of  view. 

Loewenfeld  emphasized  a  distinction  between  the  actual  process 
of  "suggesting"  and  its  result,  which  one  simply  calls  "suggestion." 
It  is  self-evident  that  these  are  two  different  processes,  which  should 
not  be  mistaken  for  each  other.  A  more  adequate  definition  might 
be  accepted,  which  embraces  at  once  the  characteristic  manner  of 
the  "suggesting,"  and  the  result  of  its  activity. 

Therefore  for  suggestion  it  is  not  alone  the  process  itself  that  is 
characteristic,  or  the  kind  of  psychic  influence,  but  also  the  result 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  411 

of  this  reaction.  For  that  reason  I  do  not  understand  under  "sug- 
gesting" alone  a  definite  sort  and  manner  of  influence  upon  man  but 
at  the  same  time  the  eventual  result  of  it;  and  under  "suggestion" 
not  only  a  definite  psychical  result  but  to  a  certain  degree  also  the 
manner  in  which  this  result  was  obtained. 

An  essential  element  of  the  concept  of  suggestion  is,  first  of  all, 
a  pronounced  directness  of  action.  Whether  a  suggestion  takes 
place  through  words  or  through  attitudes,  impressions,  or  acts, 
whether  it  is  a  case  of  a  verbal  or  of  a  concrete  suggestion,  makes 
no  difference  here  so  long  as  its  effect  is  never  obtained  through 
logical  conviction.  On  the  other  hand,  the  suggestion  is  always 
immediately  directed  to  the  mind  by  evading  the  personal  conscious- 
ness, or  at  least  without  previous  recasting  by  the  "ego"  of  the 
subject.  This  process  represents  a  real  infection  of  ideas,  feelings, 
emotions,  or  other  psychophysical  states. 

In  the  same  manner  there  arise  somewhat  similar  mental  states 
known  as  autosuggestion.  These  do  not  require  an  external  influ- 
ence for  their  appearance  but  originate  immediately  in  the  mind 
itself.  Such  is  the  case,  for  instance,  when  any  sort  of  an  image 
forces  itself  into  the  consciousness  as  something  complete,  whether 
it  is  in  the  form  of  an  idea  that  suddenly  emerges  and  dominates 
consciousness,  or  a  vision,  a  premonition,  or  the  like. 

In  all  these  cases  psychic  influences  which  have  arisen  without 
external  stimulus  have  directly  inoculated  the  mind,  thereby  evading 
the  criticism  of  the  "ego"  or  of  personal  consciousness. 

"Suggesting"  signifies,  therefore,  to  inoculate  the  mind  of  a  person 
more  or  less  directly  with  ideas,  feelings,  emotions,  and  other 
psychical  states,  in  order  that  no  opportunity  is  left  for  criticism 
and  consideration.  Under  "suggestion,"  on  the  other  hand,  is  to 
be  understood  that  sort  of  direct  inoculation  of  the  mind  of  an 
individual  with  ideas,  feelings,  emotions,  and  other  psychophysical 
states  which  evade  his  "ego,"  his  personal  self-consciousness,  and 
his  critical  attitude. 

Now  and  then,  especially  hi  the  French  writers,  one  will  find 
besides  "suggestion"  the  term  "psychic  contagion,"  under  which, 
however,  nothing  further  than  involuntary  imitation  is  to  be  under- 
stood (compare  A.  Vigouroux  and  P.  Juquelier,  La  contagion  mentale, 
Paris,  1905).  If  one  takes  up  the  conception  of  suggestion  in  a  wider 


412  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

sense,  and  considers  by  it  the  possibility  of  involuntary  suggestion 
in  the  way  of  example  and  imitation,  one  will  find  that  the  conceptions 
of  suggestion  and  of  psychic  contagion  depend  upon  each  other  most 
intimately,  and  to  a  great  extent  are  not  definitely  to  be  distinguished 
from  each  other.  In  any  case,  it  is  to  be  maintained  that  a  strict 
boundary  between  psychic  contagion  and  suggestion  does  not  always 
exist,  a  fact  which  Vigouroux  and  Juquelier  in  their  paper  have  rightly 
emphasized. 

2.     The  Subtler  Forms  of  Suggestion1 

In  one  very  particular  respect  hypnotism  has  given  us  a  lesson 
of  the  greatest  importance  to  psychology:  it  has  proved  that  special 
precautionary  measures  must  be  taken  in  planning  psychological 
experiments.  The  training  of  hypnotics  has  thrown  light  on  this 
source  of  error.  A  hypnotizer  may,  often  without  knowing  it,  by 
the  tone  of  his  voice  or  by  some  slight  movement  cause  the  hypnotic 
to  exhibit  phenomena  that  at  first  could  only  be  produced  by  explicit 
verbal  suggestion,  and  that  altogether  the  signs  used  by  the  hypnotizer 
to  cause  suggestions  may  go  on  increasing  in  delicacy.  A  dangerous 
source  of  error  is  provided  by  the  hypnotic's  endeavor  to  divine 
and  obey  the  experimenter's  intentions.  This  observation  has  also 
proved  useful  in  non-hypnotic  experiments.  We  certainly  knew 
before  the  days  of  hypnotism  that  the  signs  by  which  A  betrays  his 
thoughts  to  B  may  gradually  become  more  delicate.  We  see  this,  for 
example,  in  the  case  of  the  schoolboy,  who  gradually  learns  how  to 
detect  from  the  slightest  movement  made  by  his  master  whether 
the  answer  he  gave  was  right  or  not.  We  find  the  same  sort  of  thing 
in  the  training  of  animals — the  horse,  for  instance,  in  which  the 
rough  methods  at  first  employed  are  gradually  toned  down  until  in 
the  end  an  extremely  slight  movement  made  by  the  trainer  produces 
the  same  effect  that  the  rougher  movements  did  originally.  But 
even  if  this  lessening  in  the  intensity  of  the  signals  exists  independently 
of  hypnosis,  it  is  the  latter  that  has  shown  us  how  easily  neglect  of 
this  factor  may  lead  to  erroneous  conclusions  being  drawn.  The 
suggestibility  of  the  hypnotic  makes  these  infinitesimal  signals 
specially  dangerous  in  his  case.  But  when  once  this  danger  was 
recognized,  greater  attention  was  paid  to  this  source  of  error  in 

1  Adapted  from  Albert  Moll,  Hypnotism,  pp.  453-57.  The  Contemporary 
Science  Series.  (Walter  Scott,  1909.) 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  413 

non-hypnotic  cases  than  before.  It  is  certain  that  many  psychological 
experiments  are  vitiated  by  the  fact  that  the  subject  knows  what 
the  experimenter  wishes.  Results  are  thus  brought  about  that  can 
only  be  looked  upon  as  the  effects  of  suggestion;  they  do  not  depend 
on  the  external  conditions  of  the  experiment  but  on  what  is  passing 
in  the  mind  of  the  subject. 

An  event  which  at  the  time  of  its  occurrence  created  a  consider- 
able commotion  (I  refer  to  the  case  of  Clever  Hans),  will  show  how 
far  we  may  be  led  by  neglecting  the  above  lesson  taught  us  by  hyp- 
notism. If  the  Berlin  psychologist  Stumpf,  the  scientific  director  of 
the  committee  of  investigation,  had  but  taken  into  consideration  the 
teachings  of  hypnotism,  he  would  never  have  made  the  fiasco  of 
admitting  that  the  horse,  Clever  Hans,  had  been  educated  like  a  boy, 
not  trained  like  an  animal. 

Clever  Hans  answered  questions  by  tapping  his  hoof  on  the  stage; 
and  the  observers,  more  particularly  the  committee  presided  over 
by  Stumpf,  believed  that  answers  tapped  out  were  the  result  of  due 
deliberation  on  the  part  of  the  horse,  exactly  as  spiritists  believe  that 
the  spirits  hold  intelligent  intercourse  with  them  by  means  of  "raps." 
One  tap  denoted  a.  two  taps  b,  three  taps  c,  etc.;  or,  where  numbers 
were  concerned,  one  tap  signified  i,  two  taps  2,  etc.  In  this  way 
the  animal  answered  the  most  complicated  questions.  For  instance, 
it  apparently  not  only  solved  such  problems  as  3  times  4  by  tapping 
12  times,  and  6  tunes  3  by  tapping  18  times,  but  even  extracted 
square  roots,  distinguished  between  concords  and  discords,  also  be- 
tween ten  different  colors,  and  was  able  to  recognize  the  photographs 
of  people;  altogether,  Clever  Hans  was  supposed  to  be  at  that  time 
about  upon  a  level  with  fifth-form  boys  (the  fifth  form  is  the  lowest 
form  but  one  in  a  German  gymnasium).  After  investigating  the 
matter,  Stumpf  and  the  members  of  his  committee  drew  up  the  fol- 
lowing conjoint  report,  according  to  which  only  one  of  two  things 
was  possible — either  the  horse  could  think  and  calculate  independ- 
ently, or  else  he  was  under  telepathic,  perhaps  occult,  influence: 

The  undersigned  met  together  to  decide  whether  there  was  any  trickery 
in  the  performance  given  by  Herr  v.  Osten  with  his  horse,  i.e.,  whether  the 
latter  was  helped  or  influenced  intentionally.  As  the  result  of  the 
exhaustive  tests  employed,  they  have  come  to  the  unanimous  conclusion 
that,  apart  from  the  personal  character  of  Herr  v.  Osten,  with  which  most 


414  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  them  were  well  acquainted,  the  precautions  taken  during  the  investigation 
altogether  precluded  any  such  assumption.  Notwithstanding  the  most 
careful  observation,  they  were  well  unable  to  detect  any  gestures,  move- 
ments, or  other  intimations  that  might  serve  as  signs  to  the  horse.  To 
exclude  the  possible  influence  of  involuntary  movements  on  the  part  of 
spectators,  a  series  of  experiments  was  carried  out  solely  in  the  presence  of 
Herr  Busch,  councilor  of  commissions.  In  some  of  these  experiments, 
tricks  of  the  kind  usually  employed  by  trainers  were,  in  his  judgment  as 
an  expert,  excluded.  Another  series  of  experiments  was  so  arranged  that 
Herr  v.  Ostea  himself  could  not  know  the  answer  to  the  question  he  was 
putting  to  the  horse.  From  previous  personal  observations,  moreover, 
the  majority  of  the  undersigned  knew  of  numerous  individual  cases  in  which 
other  persons  had  received  correct  answers  in  the  momentary  absence  of 
Herr  v.  Osten  and  Herr  Schillings.  These  cases  also  included  some  in  which 
the  questioner  was  either  ignorant  of  the  solution  or  only  had  an  erroneous 
notion  of  what  it  should  be.  Finally,  some  of  the  undersigned  have  a 
personal  knowledge  of  Herr  v.  Osten's  method,  which  is  essentially  different 
from  ordinary  "training"  and  is  copied  from  the  system  of  instruction 
employed  in  primary  schools.  In  the  opinion  of  the  undersigned,  the  col- 
lective results  of  these  observations  show  that  even  unintentional  signs 
of  the  kind  at  present  known  were  excluded.  It  is  their  unanimous  opinion 
that  we  have  here  to  deal  with  a  case  that  differs  in  principle  from  all  former 
and  apparently  similar  cases;  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  "training" 
in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  word,  and  that  it  is  consequently  deserving  of 
earnest  and  searching  scientific  investigation.  Berlin,  September  12,  1904. 
[Here  follow  the  signatures,  among  which  is  that  of  Privy  Councilor  Dr.  C. 
Stumpf,  university  professor,  director  of  the  Psychological  Institute, 
member  of  the  Berlin  Academy  of  Sciences.] 

Anyone  who  has  done  critical  work  in  the  domain  of  hypnotism 
after  the  manner  insisted  on  by  the  Nancy  school  cannot  help  con- 
sidering Stumpf's  method  of  investigation  erroneous  from  the  very 
outset.  A  first  source  of  error  that  had  to  be  considered  was  that 
someone  present — it  might  have  been  Herr  v.  Osten  or  it  might  have 
been  anyone  else — unintentionally  had  given  the  horse  a  sign  when 
to  stop  tapping.  It  cannot  be  considered  sufficient,  as  stated  in 
Stumpf's  report,  that  Herr  v.  Osten  did  not  know  the  answer;  no 
one  should  be  present  who  knows  it.  This  is  the  first  condition  to 
be  fulfilled  when  making  such  experiments.  Anybody  who  has  been 
engaged  in  training  hypnotized  subjects  knows  that  these  insignificant 
signs  constitute  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  error.  Some  of  the  leading 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  415 

modern  investigators  in  the  domain  of  hypnotism — Charcot  and 
Heidenhain,  for  instance — were  misled  by  them  at  the  time  they 
thought  they  had  discovered  new  physical  reflexes  in  hypnosis.  But 
in  1904,  by  which  time  suggestion  had  been  sufficiently  investigated 
to  prevent  such  an  occurrence,  a  psychologist  should  not  have  fallen 
into  an  error  that  had  been  sufficiently  made  more  than  twenty  years 
previously.  But  the  main  point  is  this:  signs  that  are  imperceptible 
to  others  are  nevertheless  perceived  by  a  subject  trained  to  do  so, 
no  matter  whether  that  subject  be  a  human  being  or  an  animal. 

3.    Social  Suggestion  and  Mass  or  "Corporate"  Action1 

In  most  cases  the  crowd  naturally  is  under  leaders,  who,  with  an 
instinctive  consciousness  of  the  importance  and  strength  of  the  crowd, 
seek  to  direct  it  much  more  through  the  power  of  suggestion  than  by 
sound  conviction. 

It  is  conceivable,  therefore,  that  anyone  who  understands  how  to 
arrest  the  attention  of  the  crowd,  may  always  influence  it  to  do  great 
deeds,  as  history,  indeed,  sufficiently  witnesses.  One  may  recall 
from  the  history  of  Russia  Minin,  who  with  a  slogan  saved  his  native 
land  from  the  gravest  danger.  His  "Pawn  your  wife  and  child,  and 
free  your  fatherland"  necessarily  acted  as  a  powerful  suggestion  on 
the  already  intense  crowd.  How  the  crowd  and  its  sentiments  may 
be  controlled  is  indicated  in  the  following  account  by  Boris  Sidis: 

On  the  nth  of  August,  1895,  there  took  place  in  the  open  air  a  meeting 
at  Old  Orchard,  Maine.  The  business  at  hand  was  a  collection  for  mis- 
sionary purposes.  The  preacher  resorted  to  the  following  suggestions: 
"The  most  remarkable  remembrance  which  I  have  of  foreign  lands  is  that 
of  multitudes,  the  waves  of  lost  humanity  who  ceaselessly  are  shattered  on 
the  shores  of  eternity.  How  despairing  are  they,  how  poor  in  love — their 
religion  knows  no  joy,  no  pleasure,  nor  song.  Once  I  heard  a  Chinaman 
say  why  he  was  a  Christian.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  lay  in  a  deep  abyss, 
out  of  which  he  could  not  escape.  Have  you  ever  wept  for  the  sake  of  the 
lost  world,  as  did  Jesus  Christ  ?  If  not,  then  woe  to  you.  Your  religion 
is  then  only  a  dream  and  a  blind.  We  see  Christ  test  his  disciples.  Will 
he  take  them  with  him  ?  My  beloved,  today  he  will  test  you.  [Indirect 

1  Translated  and  adapted  from  the  German,  Die  Bedeutung  der  Suggestion  im 
Sozialen  Leben,  pp.  134-42,  from  the  original  Russian  of  W.  v.  Bechterew.  (Wies- 
baden: J.  F.  Bergmann,  1905.) 


416  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

suggestion.]  He  could  convert  a  thousand  millionaires,  but  he  gives  you 
an  opportunity  to  be  saved.  [More  direct  suggestion.]  Are  you  strong 
enough  in  faith?  [Here  follows  a  discussion  about  questions  of  faith.] 
Without  faith  God  can  do  no  great  things.  I  believe  that  Jesus  will  appear 
to  them  who  believe  firmly  in  him.  My  dear  ones,  if  only  you  give  for 
the  sake  of  God,  you  have  become  participants  in  the  faith.  [Still  more 
direct  suggestion.]  The  youth  with  the  five  loaves  and  the  two  little 
fishes  [the  story  follows].  When  everything  was  ended,  he  did  not  lose 
his  loaves;  there  were  twelve  baskets  left  over.  O  my  dear  ones,  how  will 
that  return!  Sometime  the  King  of  Kings  will  call  to  you  and  give  you 
an  empire  of  glory,  and  simply  because  you  have  had  a  little  faith  in  him. 
It  is  a  day  of  much  import  to  you.  Sometime  God  will  show  us  how  much 
better  he  has  guarded  our  treasure  than  we  ourselves."  The  sugges- 
tion had  the  desired  effect.  Money  streamed  from  all  sides;  hundreds 
became  thousands,  tens  of  thousands.  The  crowd  gave  seventy  thousand 
dollars. 

Of  analogous  importance  are  the  factors  of  suggestions  in  wars, 
where  the  armies  go  to  brilliant  victories.  Discipline  and  the  sense 
of  duty  unite  the  troops  into  a  single  mighty  giant's  body.  To 
develop  its  full  strength,  however,  this  body  needs  some  inspiration 
through  a  suggested  idea,  which  finds  an  active  echo  in  the  hearts 
of  the  soldiers.  Maintenance  of  the  warlike  spirit  in  decisive  moments 
is  one  of  the  most  important  problems  for  the  ingenious  general. 

Even  when  the  last  ray  of  hope  for  victory  seems  to  have  dis- 
appeared, the  call  of  an  honored  war  chief,  like  a  suggestive  spark, 
may  fire  the  hosts  to  self-sacrifice  and  heroism.  A  trumpet  signal, 
a  cry  "hurrah,"  the  melody  of  the  national  hymn,  can  here  at  the 
decisive  moment  have  incalculable  effects.  There  is  no  need  to  recall 
the  role  of  the  "Marsellaise"  in  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution. 
The  agencies  of  suggestion  in  such  cases  make  possible,  provided 
that  they  are  only  able  to  remove  the  feeling  of  hopelessness,  results 
which  a  moment  before  are  neither  to  be  anticipated  nor  expected. 
Where  will  and  the  sense  of  duty  alone  seem  powerless,  the  mech- 
anisms of  suggestion  may  develop  surprising  effects. 

Excited  masses  are,  it  is  well  known,  capable  of  the  most  inhuman 
behavior,  and  indeed  for  the  very  reason  that,  instead  of  sound  logic, 
automatism  and  impulsiveness  have  entered  in  as  direct  results  of 
suggestion.  The  modern  barbarities  of  the  Americans  in  the  shape 
of  lynch  law  for  criminals  or  those  who  are  only  under  a  suspicion  of 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  417 

a  crime  redound  to  the  shame  of  the  land  of  freedom,  but  find  their 
full  explanation  in  that  impulsiveness  of  the  crowd  which  knows  no 
mercy. 

The  multitude  can,  therefore,  ever  be  led  according  to  the 
content  of  the  ideas  suggested  to  it,  as  well  to  sublime  and  noble 
deeds  as,  on  the  other  hand,  to  expressions  of  the  lower  and  barbaric 
instincts.  That  is  the  art  of  manipulating  the  masses. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  regard  popular  assemblies  who  have  adopted 
a  certain  uniform  idea  simply  as  a  sum  of  single  elements,  as  is  now 
and  then  attempted.  For  one  is  dealing  in  such  cases,  not  with 
accidental,  but  with  actual  psychical,  processes  of  fusion,  which 
reciprocal  suggestion  is  to  a  high  degree  effective  in  establishing  and 
maintaining.  The  aggressiveness  of  the  single  elements  of  the  mass 
arrives  in  this  at  their  high  point  at  one  and  the  same  time,  and 
with  complete  spiritual  unanimity  the  mass  can  now  act  as  one  man; 
it  moves,  then,  like  one  enormous  social  body,  which  unites  in  itself 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  all  by  the  very  fact  that  there  is  a  temper 
of  mind  common  to  all.  Easily,  however,  as  the  crowd  is  excited 
to  the  highest  degrees  of  activity,  as  quickly — indeed,  much  more 
quickly — does  it  allow  itself,  as  we  have  already  seen,  to  be  dispersed 
by  a  panic.  Here  too  the  panic  rests  entirely  on  suggestion,  centra- 
suggestion,  and  the  instinct  of  imitation,  not  on  logic  and  conviction. 
Automatism,  not  intelligence,  is  the  moving  factor  therein. 

Other,  but  quite  generally  favorable,  conditions  for  suggestions 
are  universally  at  hand  in  the  human  society,  whose  individual  mem- 
bers in  contrast  to  the  crowd  are  physically  separated  from  each 
other  but  stand  in  a  spiritual  alliance  to  each  other.  Here  obviously 
those  preliminary  conditions  for  the  dissemination  of  psychical  infec- 
tions are  lacking  as  they  exist  in  the  crowd,  and  the  instruments  of 
the  voice,  of  mimicry,  of  gestures,  which  often  fire  the  passions  with 
lightning  rapidity,  are  not  allowed  to  assert  themselves.  There 
exists  much  rather  a  certain  spiritual  cohesion  on  the  ground  perhaps 
of  common  impressions  (theatrical  representations),  a  similar  direc- 
tion of  thoughts  (articles  in  periodicals,  etc.).  These  conditions  are 
quite  sufficient  to  prepare  the  foundation  on  which  similar  feelings 
propagate  themselves  from  individual  to  individual  by  the  method 
of  suggestion  and  autosuggestion,  and  similar  decisions  for  many  are 
matured. 


418  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Things  occur  here  more  slowly,  more  peacefully,  without  those 
passionate  outbreaks  to  which  the  crowd  is  subjected;  but  this  slow 
infection  establishes  itself  all  the  more  surely  in  the  feelings,  while 
the  infection  of  the  crowd  often  only  continues  for  a  time  until  the 
latter  is  broken  up. 

Moreover,  such  contagious  examples  in  the  public  do  not  usually 
lead  to  such  unexpected  movements  as  they  easily  induce  in  the  crowd. 
But  here,  too.  the  infection  frequently  acts  in  defiance  of  a  man's 
sound  intelligence;  complete  points  of  view  are  accepted  upon  trust 
and  faith,  without  further  discussion,  and  frequently  immature  reso- 
lutions are  formed.  On  the  boards  representing  the  stage  of  the  world 
there  are  ever  moving  idols,  who  after  the  first  storm  of  admiration 
which  they  call  out,  sink  back  into  oblivion.  The  fame  of  the  people's 
leaders  maintains  itself  in  quite  the  same  way  by  means  of  psychical 
infection  through  the  similar  national  interest  of  a  unified  group.  It 
has  often  happened  that  their  brightness  was  extinguished  with  the 
first  opposition  which  the  masses  saw  setting  its  face  against  their 
wishes  and  ideals.  What  we,  however,  see  in  close  popular  masses 
recurs  to  a  certain  degree  in  every  social  milieu,  in  every  larger  society. 

Between  the  single  elements  of  such  social  spheres  there  occur 
uninterrupted  psychical  infections  and  contra-infectious.  Ever 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  material  of  the  infection  that  has 
been  received,  the  individual  feels  himself  attracted  to  the  sublime 
and  the  noble,  or  to  the  lower  and  bestial.  Is,  then,  the  intercourse 
between  teacher  and  pupil,  between  friends,  between  lovers,  unin- 
fluenced by  reciprocal  suggestion  ?  Suicide  pacts  and  other  mutual 
acts  present  a  certain  participation  of  interacting  suggestion.  Yet 
more.  Hardly  a  single  deed  whatever  occurs  that  stands  out  over 
the  everyday,  hardly  a  crime  is  committed,  without  the  concurrence 
of  third  persons,  direct  or  indirect,  not  unseldom  bearing  a  likeness 
to  the  effects  of  suggestion. 

We  must  here  admit  that  Tarde  was  right  when  he  said  that  it 
is  less  difficult  to  find  crimes  of  the  crowd  than  to  discover  crimes 
which  were  not  such  and  which  would  indicate  no  sort  of  promotion 
or  participation  of  the  environment.  That  is  true  to  such  a  degree 
that  one  may  ask  whether  there  are  any  individual  crimes  at  all,  as 
the  question  is  also  conceivable  whether  there  are  any  works  of  genius 
which  do  not  have  a  collective  character. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  419 

Many  believe  that  crimes  are  always  pondered.  A  closer  insight 
into  the  behavior  of  criminals  testifies,  however,  in  many  cases  that 
even  when  there  is  a  long  period  of  indecision,  a  single  encouraging 
word  from  the  environment,  an  example  with  a  suggestive  effect,  is 
quite  sufficient  to  scatter  all  considerations  and  to  bring  the  criminal 
intention  to  the  deed.  In  organized  societies,  too,  a  mere  nod  from 
the  chief  may  often  lead  with  magic  power  to  a  crime. 

The  ideas,  efforts,  and  behavior  of  the  individual  may  by  no  means 
be  looked  on  as  something  sharply  distinct,  individually  peculiar, 
since  from  the  form  and  manner  of  these  ideas,  efforts,  and  behavior, 
there  shines  forth  ever,  more  or  less,  the  influence  of  the  milieu. 

In  close  connection  with  this  fact  there  stands  also  the  so-called 
astringent  effect  of  the  milieu  upon  the  individuals  who  are  incapable 
of  rising  out  of  their  environment,  of  stepping  out  of  it.  In  society 
that  bacillus  for  which  one  has  found  the  name  "suggestion"  appears 
certainly  as  a  leveling  element,  and,  accordingly,  whether  the  indi- 
vidual stands  higher  or  lower  than  his  environment,  whether  he 
becomes  worse  or  better  under  its  influence,  he  always  loses  or  gains 
something  from  the  contact  with  others.  This  is  the  basis  of  the 
great  importance  of  suggestion  as  a  factor  in  imposing  a  social  uni- 
formity upon  individuals. 

The  power  of-  suggestion  and  centra-suggestion,  however,  extends 
yet  further.  It  enhances  sentiments  and  aims  and  enkindles  the 
activity  of  the  masses  to  an  unusual  degree. 

Many  historical  personages  who  knew  how  to  embody  in  them- 
selves the  emotions  and  the  desires  of  the  masses — we  may  think  of 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  Mahomet,  Peter  the  Great,  Napoleon  I — were  sur- 
rounded with  a  nimbus  by  the  more  or  less  blind  belief  of  the  people 
in  their  genius;  this  frequently  acted  with  suggestive  power  upon 
the  surrounding  company  which  it  carried  away  with  a  magic  force 
to  its  leaders,  and  supported  and  aided  the  mission  historically  vested 
in  the  latter  by  means  of  their  spiritual  superiority.  A  nod  from  a 
beloved  leader  of  any  army  is  sufficient  to  enkindle  anew  the  courage 
of  the  regiment  and  to  lead  them  irresistibly  into  sure  death. 

Many,  it  is  well  known,  are  still  inclined  to  deny  the  individual 
personality  any  influence  upon  the  course  of  historic  events.  The 
individual  is  to  them  only  an  expression  of  the  views  of  the  mass,  an 
embodiment  of  the  epoch,  something,  therefore,  that  cannot  actively 


420  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

strike  at  the  course  of  history;  he  is  much  rather  himself  heaved  up 
out  of  the  mass  by  historic  events,  which,  unaffected  by  the  individual, 
proceed  in  the  courses  they  have  themselves  chosen. 

We  forget  in  such  a  theory  the  influences  of  the  suggestive  factors 
which,  independently  of  endowments  and  of  energy,  appear  as  a 
mighty  lever  in  the  hands  of  the  fortunately  situated  nature  and  of 
those  created  to  be  the  rulers  of  the  masses.  That  the  individual 
reflects  his  environment  and  his  time,  that  the  events  of  world- 
history  only  take  their  course  upon  an  appropriately  prepared  basis 
and  under  appropriately  favorable  circumstances,  no  one  will  deny. 
There  rests,  however,  in  the  masters  of  speech  and  writing,  in  the 
demagogues  and  the  favorites  of  the  people,  in  the  great  generals  and 
statesmen,  an  inner  power  which  welds  together  the  masses  for 
battle  for  an  ideal,  sweeps  them  away  to  heroism,  and"  fires  them  to 
do  deeds  which  leave  enduring  impressions  in  the  history  of  humanity. 

I  believe,  therefore,  that  suggestion  as  an  active  agent  should 
be  the  object  of  the  most  attentive  study  for  the  historians  and  the 
sociologists.  Where  this  factor  is  not  reckoned  with,  a  whole  series 
of  historical  and  social  phenomena  is  threatened  with  the  danger  of 
incomplete,  insufficient,  and  perhaps  even  incorrect  elucidation. 

in.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    The  Process  of  Interaction 

The  concept  of  universal  interaction  was  first  formulated  in 
philosophy.  Kant  listed  community  or  reciprocity  among  his 
dynamic  categories.  In  the  Herbartian  theory  of  a  world  of  coexist- 
ing individuals,  the  notion  of  reciprocal  action  was  central.  The 
distinctive  contribution  of  Lotze  was  his  recognition  that  interaction  of 
the  parts  implies  the  unity  of  the  whole  since  external  action  implies 
internal  changes  in  the  interacting  objects.  Ormond  in  his  book 
The  Foundations  of  Knowledge  completes  this  philosophical  conception 
by  embodying  in  it  a  conclusion  based  on  social  psychology.  Just 
as  society  is  constituted  by  interacting  persons  whose  innermost 
nature,  as  a  result  of  interaction,  is  internal  to  each,  so  the  universe 
is  constituted  by  the  totality  of  interacting  units  internally  predis- 
posed to  interaction  as  elements  and  products  of  the  process. 

In  sociology,  Gumplowicz  arrived  at  the  notions  of  a  "natural 
social  process"  and  of  "reciprocal  action  of  heterogeneous  elements" 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  421 

in  his  study  of  the  conflict  of  races.  Ratzenhofer,  Simmel,  and  Small 
place  the  social  process  and  socialization  central  in  their  systems  of 
sociology.  Cooley's  recent  book  The  Social  Process  is  an  intimate 
and  sympathetic  exposition  of  "interaction"  and  the  "social  process." 
"Society  is  a  complex  of  forms  or  processes  each  of  which  is  living 
and  growing  by  interaction  with  the  others,  the  whole  being  so  unified 
that  what  takes  place  in  one  part  affects  all  the  rest.  It  is  a  vast  tissue 
of  reciprocal  activity,  differentiated  into  innumerable  systems,  some 
of  them  quite  distinct,  others  not  readily  traceable,  and  all  interwoven 
to  such  a  degree  that  you  see  different  systems  according  to  the  point 
of  view  you  take."1 

This  brief  resume  of  the  general  literature  upon  the  social  process 
and  social  interaction  is  introductory  to  an  examination  of  the  more 
concrete  material  upon  communication,  imitation,  and  suggestion. 

2.    Communication 

"Many  works  have  been  written  on  Expression,  but  a  greater 
number  on  Physiognomy"  wrote  Charles  Darwin  in  1872.  Physiog- 
nomy, or  the  interpretation  of  character  through  the  observation  of 
the  features,  has  long  been  relegated  by  the  scientific  world  to  the 
limbo  occupied  by  astrology,  alchemy,  phrenology,  and  the  practice 
of  charlatans. 

While  positive  contributions  to  an  appreciation  of  human  expres- 
sion were  made  before  Darwin,  as  by  Sir  Charles  Bell,  Pierre  Gratiolet, 
and  Dr.  Piderit,  his  volume  on  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions  in 
Man  and  Animals  marked  an  epoch  in  the  thinking  upon  the  subject. 
Although  his  three  principles  of  utility,  antithesis,  and  direct  nervous 
discharge  to  explain  the  signs  of  emotions  may  be  open  to  question, 
as  the  physiological  psychologist,  Wilhelm  Wundt,  asserts,  the  great 
value  of  his  contribution  is  generally  conceded.  His  convincing 
demonstration  of  the  universal  similarity  of  emotional  expression 
in  the  various  human  races,  a  similarity  based  on  a  common  human 
inheritance,  prepared  the  way  for  further  study. 

Darwin  assumed  that  the  emotion  was  a  mental  state  which 
preceded  and  caused  its  expression.  According  to  the  findings  of 
later  observation,  popularly  known  as  the  James-Lange  Theory,  the 

1  The  Social  Process,  p.  28. 


422  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

emotion  is  the  mental  sign  of  a  behavior  change  whose  external 
aspects  constitute  the  so-called  "expression."  The  important  point 
brought  out  by  this  new  view  of  the  emotion  was  an  emphasis  upon 
the  nature  of  physiological  changes  involved  hi  emotional  response. 
Certain  stimuli  affect  visceral  processes  and  thereby  modify  the  per- 
ception of  external  objects. 

The  impetus  to  research  upon  this  subject  given  by  Darwin  was 
first  manifest  in  the  reports  of  observation  upon  the  expression  of 
different  emotions.  Fear,  anger,  joy,  were  made  the  subjects  of 
individual  monographs.  Several  brilliant  essays,  as  those  by  Sully, 
Dugas,  and  Bergson,  appeared  in  one  field  alone,  that  of  laughter. 
In  the  last  decade  there  has  been  a  distinct  tendency  toward  the 
experimental  study  of  the  physiological  and  chemical  changes  which 
constitute  the  inner  aspect  of  emotional  responses,  as  for  example, 
the  report  of  Cannon  upon  his  studies  in  his  book  Bodily  Changes  in 
Pain,  Hunger,  Fear,  and  Rage. 

Simultaneous  with  this  study  of  the  physiological  aspect  of  the 
emotional  responses  went  further  observation  of  its  expression,  the 
manifestation  of  the  emotion.  The  research  upon  the  communication 
of  emotions  and  ideas  proceeded  from  natural  signs  to  gesture  and 
finally  to  language.  Genetic  psychologists  pointed  out  that  the 
natural  gesture  is  an  abbreviated  act.  Mallery's  investigation  upon 
"Sign  Language  among  North  American  Indians  Compared  with 
that  among  Other  Peoples  and  Deaf  Mutes"  disclosed  the  high  devel- 
opment of  communication  by  gestures  among  Indian  tribes.  Wilhelm 
Wundt  in  his  study  of  the  origin  of  speech  indicated  the  intimate 
relation  between  language  and  gesture  in  his  conclusion  that  speech 
is  vocal  gesture.  Similarly  research  in  the  origin  of  writing  derives  it, 
as  indicated  earlier  in  this  chapter,  through  the  intermediate  form  of 
pictographs  from  pictures. 

The  significance  for  social  life  of  the  extension  of  communica- 
tion through  inventions  has  impressed  ethnologists,  historians,  and 
sociologists.  The  ethnologist  determines  the  beginnings  of  ancient 
civilization  by  the  invention  of  writing.  Historians  have  noted  and 
emphasized  the  relation  of  the  printing  press  to  the  transition  from 
medieval  to  modern  society.  Graham  Wallas  in  his  Great  Society. 
interprets  modern  society  as  a  creation  of  the  machine  and  of  the 
artificial  means  of  communication. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  423 

Sociological  interest  in  language  and  writing  is  turning  from 
studies  of  origins  to  investigations  of  their  function  in  group  life. 
Material  is  now  available  which  indicates  the  extent  to  which  the 
group  may  be  studied  through  its  language.  Accordingly  the  point 
of  view  for  the  study  of  orthodox  speech,  or  "correct"  English,  is 
that  of  the  continuity  of  society;  just  as  the  standpoint  for  the  study 
of  heterodox  language,  or  "  slang,"  is  that  of  the  life  of  the  group  at 
the  moment.  The  significance  of  the  fact  that  "  every  group  has  its 
own  language"  is  being  recognized  in  its  bearings  upon  research. 
Studies  of  dialects  of  isolated  groups,  of  the  argot  of  social  classes, 
of  the  technical  terms  of  occupational  groups,  of  the  precise  termi- 
nology of  scientific  groups  suggest  the  wide  range  of  concrete  materials. 
The  expression  "different  universes  of  discourse"  indicates  how 
communication  separates  as  well  as  unites  persons  and  groups. 

3.    Imitation 

Bagehot's  Physics  and  Politics  published  in  1872,  with  its  chapter 
on  "Imitation,"  was  the  first  serious  account  of  the  nature  of  the  role 
of  imitation  in  social  life.  Gabriel  Tarde,  a  French  magistrate, 
becoming  interested  in  imitation  as  an  explanation  of  the  behavior 
of  criminals,  undertook  an  extensive  observation  of  its  effects  in  the 
entire  field  of  human  activities.  In  his  book  Laws  of  Imitation, 
published  in  1890,  he  made  imitation  synonymous  with  all  intermental 
activity.  "I  have  always  given  it  (imitation)  a  very  precise  and 
characteristic  meaning,  that  of  the  action  at  a  distance  of  one  mind 
upon  another By  imitation  I  mean  every  impression  of  inter- 
psychical  photography,  so  to  speak,  willed  or  not  willed,  passive  or 
active."1  "The  unvarying  characteristic  of  every  social  fact  what- 
soever is  that  it  is  imitative,  and  this  characteristic  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  social  facts."3 

In  this  unwarranted  extension  of  the  concept  of  imitation  Tarde 
undeniably  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  of  science,  i.e.,  he 
substituted  for  the  careful  study  and  patient  observation  of  imitative 
behavior,  easy  and  glittering  generalizations  upon  uniformities  in 
society.  Contributions  to  an  understanding  of  the  actual  process  of 
imitation  came  from  psychologists.  Baldwin  brought  forward  the 
concept  of  circular  reaction  to  explain  the  interrelation  of  stimulus 

1  P.  xiv.  *  P.  41. 


424  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  response  in  imitation.  He  also  indicated  the  place  of  imitation 
in  personal  development  in  his  description  of  the  dialectic  of  personal 
growth  where  the  self  develops  in  a  process  of  give-and-take  with 
other  selves.  Dewey,  Stout,  Mead,  Henderson,  and  others,  empha- 
sizing the  futility  of  the  mystical  explanation  of  imitation  by  imitation, 
have  pointed  out  the  influence  of  interest  and  attention  upon  imitation 
as  a  learning  process.  Mead,  with  keen  analysis  of  the  social  situa- 
tion, interprets  imitation  as  the  process  by  which  the  person  practices 
r61es  in  social  life.  The  studies  of  Thorndike  may  be  mentioned  as 
representative  of  the  important  experimental  research  upon  this 
subject. 

4.    Suggestion 

The  reflective  study  of  imitation  originated  in  attempts  at  the 
explanation  of  uniformities  in  the  behavior  of  individuals.  Research 
in  suggestion  began  hi  the  narrow  but  mysterious  field  of  the  occult. 
In  1765  Mesmer  secured  widespread  attention  by  advancing  the 
theory  that  heavenly  bodies  influence  human  beings  by  means  of  a 
subtle  fluid  which  he  called  "animal  magnetism."  Abbe  Faria,  who 
came  to  Paris  from  India  in  1814-15,  demonstrated  by  experiments 
that  the  cause  of  the  hypnotic  sleep  was  subjective.  With  the  experi- 
ments in  1841  of  Dr.  James  Braid,  the  originator  of  the  term  "hypno- 
tism," the  scientific  phase  of  the  development  of  hypnotism  began. 
The  acceptance  of  the  facts  of  hypnotism  by  the  scientific  world  was 
the  result  of  the  work  of  Charcot  and  his  students  of  the  so-called 
Nancy  School  of  Psychology. 

From  the  study  of  hypnotism  to  observation  upon  the  role  of 
suggestion  in  social  life  was  a  short  step.  Binet,  Sidis,  Miinsterberg 
have  formulated  psychological  definitions  of  suggestion  and  indicated 
its  significance  for  an  understanding  of  so-called  crowd  phenomena  in 
human  behavior.  Bechterew  in  his  monograph  Die  Bedeutung  der 
Suggestion  im  Sozialen  Leben  has  presented  an  interpretation  of  dis- 
tinct value  for  sociological  research.  At  the  present  time  there  are 
many  promising  developments  in  the  study  of  suggestion  in  special 
fields,  such  as  advertising,  leadership,  politics,  religion. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  425 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 
I.      INTERACTION  AND  SOCIAL  INTERACTION 

(1)  Lotze,  Hermann.    Metapkysic.     Vol.  I,  chap,  vi,   "The  Unity  of 
Things."    Oxford,  1887. 

(2)  Ormond,    Alexander    T.    Foundations     of   Knowledge.     Chap,    vii, 
"Community  or  Interaction."    London  and  New  York,  1900. 

(3)  Gumplowicz,  L.    Der  Rassenkampf.     Sociologische  Untersuchungen. 
Pp.  158-75.    Innsbruck,  1883. 

(4)  Simmel,   Georg.     "Uber  sociale    Differenzierung,   sociologische   und 
psychologische  Untersuchungen."    Staats-  und  Socialwissenschaftliche 
Forschungen,  edited  by  G.  Schmoller.    Vol.  X.    Leipzig,  1891. 

(5)  Royce,  J.     The  World  and  the  Individual,     ad  ser.     "Nature,  Man, 
and  the  Moral  Order,"  Lecture  IV.     "Physical  and  Social  Reality." 
London  and  New  York,  1901. 

(6)  Boodin,  J.  E.     "Social"  Systems,"  American  Journal  of   Sociology, 
XXIII  (May,  1918),  705-34- 

(7)  Tosti,  Gustavo.     "Social  Psychology  and   Sociology,"  The  Psycho- 
logical Review,  V  (July,  1898),  348-61. 

(8)  Small,  Albion  W.    General  Sociology.     Chicago,  1905. 

(9)  Cooley,  Charles  H.     The  Social  Process.    New  York,  1918. 

n.      SOCIAL  INTERACTION  AND   SOCIAL  CONSCIOUSNESS 

(1)  Marshall,  Henry  R.    Consciousness.     Chap,  vii,  "Of  Consciousnesses 
More  Complex  than  Human  Consciousnesses."   New  York  and  London, 
1909. 

(2)  Baldwin,  James  Mark.    Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental 
Development.    A  study  hi  social  psychology.    New  York  and  London, 
1906. 

(3)  Royce,    Josiah.    "Self-Consciousness,     Social    Consciousness    and 
Nature,"  Philosophical  Review,  IV  (1895),  465-85;  577-602. 

(4)  .     "The  External  World  and  the  Social  Consciousness,"    Phil- 
osophical Review,  III  (1894),  513-45. 

(5)  Worms,    Rene.    Organisme    et    Societe.     Chap,    x,    "Fonctions    de 
Relation."    Paris,  1896. 

(6)  Mead,  G.  H.    "  Social  Consciousness  and  the  Consciousness  of  Mean- 
ing," Psychological  Bulletin,  VII  (Dec.  15,  1910),  397-405. 

(7)  .    "  Psychology  of  Social  Consciousness  Implied  in  Instruction," 

Science,  N.  S.,  XXI  (1910),  688-93. 

(8)  Novicow,  J.    Conscience  et  volonte  sociales.    Paris,  1897. 

(9)  McDougall,  W.    The  Group  Mind.    A  sketch  of  the  principles  of 
collective  psychology  with  some  attempt  to  apply  them  to  the  inter- 
pretation of  national  life  and  character.    New  York  and  London,  1920 


426  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(10)  Ames,  Edward  S.     "Religion  in  Terms  of  Social  Consciousness," 

The  Journal  of  Religion,  I  (1921),  264-70. 
(n)  Burgess,  E.  W.     The  Function  of  Socialization  in  Social  Evolution. 

Chicago,  1916. 
(12)  Maciver,   R.   M.    Community.    A  sociological  study,   being   an 

attempt  to  set  out  the  nature  and  fundamental  laws  of  social  life. 

London,  1917. 

HI.      COMMUNICATION   AND   INTERACTION 

A.  The  Emotions  and  Emotional  Expression 

(1)  James,  William.     The  Principles  of  Psychology.     Vol.  II,    chap, 
xxv.    New  York,  1896. 

(2)  Dewey,  John.     "The  Theory  of  Emotion,"  Psychological  Review, 
I  (1894),  553-69;  II  (1895),  13-32. 

(3)  Wundt,    Wilhelm.     Grundziige    der    physiologischen    Psychologie. 
3  vols.    6th  ed.    Leipzig,  1 008-11. 

(4)  Ribot,  T.     The  Psychology  of  the  Emotions.     London  and  New 
York,  1898. 

(5)  Darwin,  Charles.     The  Expression  of  the  Emotions  in  Man  and 
Animals.    London  and  New  York,  1873. 

(6)  Rudolph,    Heinrich.    Der    Ausdruck    der    Gemiitsbewegungen    des 
Menschen  dargestellt  und  erkldrt  auf  Grund  der  Urformen  und  der 
Gesetze  des  Ausdrucks  und  der  Erregungen.    Dresden,  1003. 

(7)  Piderit,  T.    Mimik  und  Physiognomik.    Rev.  ed.    Detmold,  1886. 

(8)  Cannon,  Walter  B.    Bodily  Changes  in  Pain,  Hunger,  Fear,  and 
Rage.    An  account  of  recent  researches  into  the  function  of  emo- 
tional excitement.    New  York  and  London,  1915. 

(9)  Him,  Yrjo.     The  Origins  of  Art.    A  psychological  and  sociological 
inquiry.    London  and  New  York,  1900. 

(10)  Bergson,   H.    Le  Rire.    Essai  sur  la  signification  du  comique. 

Paris,  1900. 
(n)  Sully,  James.    An  Essay  on  Laughter.    Its  forms,  its  causes,  its 

development,  and  its  value.    London  and  New  York,  1902. 

(12)  Dugas,   L.    Psychologie  du  rire.     Paris,    1902. 

(13)  Groos,  Karl.     The  Play  of  Man.    Translated  from  the  German  by 
Elizabeth  L.  Baldwin.    New  York,  1001. 

(14)  ~      — •     The  Play  of  Animals.    Translated  from  the  German  by 
Elizabeth  L.  Baldwin.    New  York,  1898. 

(15)  Royce,  J.     The  Spirit  of  Modern  Philosophy.    An  essay  in    the 
form  of  lectures.     Chap,   xii,  "Physical  Law  and  Freedom:    The 
World  of  Desciiption  and  the  World  of  Appreciation."     Boston, 
1892. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  427 

(16)  Bticher,  Karl.    Arbeit  und  Khythmus.    Leipzig,  1902. 

(17)  Mallery,  Garrick.    "  Sign  Language  among  North  American  Indians 
compared  with  That  among  Other  Peoples  and  Deaf  Mutes."    United 
States  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology.    First  Annual  Report.    Wash- 
ington, 1 88 1. 

B.  Language  and  the  Printing  Press 

(1)  Schmoller,   Gustav.     Grundriss  dsr  allgemeinen    Volkswirtschafts- 
lehre.     Chap,  ii,   2,  "Die  psychophysischen  Mittel   menschlicher 
Verstandigung:   Sprache  und  Schrift."    Leipzig,  1900. 

(2)  Lazarus,  Moritz.     "Das  Leben  der  Seele,"  Geist   und   Sprache, 
Vol.  II.    Berlin,  1878. 

(3)  Wundt,  Wilhelm.     "Volkerpsychologie."    Eine  Untersuchung  der 
Entwicklungsgesetze  von  Sprache,  Mythus,  und  Sitte.     Die  Sprache, 
Vol.  I.    Part  i.    Leipzig,  1000. 

(4)  Wuttke,  Heinrich.    Die  deutschen  Zeitschriften  und  die  Entstehung 
der  offentlichen  Meinung.    Ein  Beitrag  zur  Geschichte  des  Zeitungs- 
wesens.    Leipzig,  1875. 

(5)  Mason,  William  A.    A  History  of  the  Art  of  Writing.     New  York, 
1920. 

(6)  Bttcher,  Carl.    Industrial  Evolution.    Translated  from  the  German 
by  S.  M.  Wickett.     Chap,  vi,  "The  Genesis  of  Journalism."     New 
York,  1001. 

(7)  Dibblee,  G.  Binney.    The  Newspaper.    New  York  and  London,  1913. 

(8)  Payne,  George  Henry.    History  of  Journalism  in  the  United  States. 
New  York  and  London,  1920; 

(9)  Kawabe,  Kisaburo.     The  Press  and  Politics  in  Japan.    A  study  of 
the  relation  between  the  newspaper  and  the  political  development 
of  modern  Japan.     Chicago,  1921. 

(10)  Miinsterberg,    Hugo.     The    Photoplay.    A    psychological    study. 

New  York,  1916. 
(n)  Kingsbury,  J.  E.     The  Telephone  and  Telephone  Exchanges.     Their 

invention  and  development.     London  and  New  York,  1915. 

(12)  Borght,  R.  van  der.     Das  Verkehrswesen.     Leipzig,  1894. 

(13)  Mason,  O.  T.    Primitive  Travel  and   Transportation.    New  York, 
1897. 

C.  Slang,  Argot,  and  Universes  of  Discourse 

(i)  Farmer,  John  S.  Slang  and  Its  Analogues  Past  and  Present.  A 
dictionary,  historical  and  comparative,  of  the  heterodox  speech  of 
all  classes  of  society  for  more  than  three  hundred  years.  With 
synonyms  in  English,  French,  German,  Italian,  etc.  London, 
1890-1904. 


428  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(2)  Sechrist,  Frank  K.     The  Psychology  of  Unconventional  Language. 
Worcester,  Mass.,  1913. 

(3)  Ware,  J.  Redding.     Passing  English  of  the   Victorian  Era.     A 
dictionary  of  heterodox  English,  slang  and  phrase.    New  York, 
1009. 

(4)  Hotten,  John  C.    A  Dictionary  of  Modern  Slang,  Cant,  and  Vulgar 
Words.    Used  at  the  present  day  in  the  streets  of  London;   the 
universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge;   the  houses  of  Parliament; 
the  dens  of  St.  Giles;  and  the  palaces  of  St.  James.    Preceded  by  a 
history  of  cant  and  vulgar  language;  with  glossaries  of  two  secret 
languages,  spoken  by  the  wandering  tribes  of  London,  the  coster- 
mongers,  and  the  patterers.    London,  1859. 

(5)  .     The   Slang    Dictionary.     Etymological,    historical,    and 

anecdotal.    New  York,  1898. 

(6)  Farmer,  John  S.     The  Public  School  Word-Book.    A  contribution 
to  a  historical  glossary  of  words,  phrases,  and  turns  of  expression, 
obsolete  and  in  present  use,  peculiar  to  our  great  public  schools, 
together  with  some  that  have  been  or  are  modish  at  the  universities. 
London,  1900. 

(7)  A  New  Dictionary  of  the  Terms  Ancient  and  Modern  of  the  Canting 
Crew.    In  its  several  tribes  of  gypsies,  beggars,  thieves,  cheats, 
etc.,  with  an  addition  of  some  proverbs,  phrases,  and  figurative 
speeches,  etc.    London,  1690.    Reprinted,  19-. 

(8)  Kluge,  F.    Rotwelsch.    Quellen  und  Wortschatz  der  Gaunersprache 
und  der  verwandten  Geheimsprachen.    Strassburg,  1901. 

(9)  Barrere,  Albert,  and  Leland,  C.  G.,  editors.     A  Dictionary  of  Slang, 
Jargon,  and  Cant.    Embracing    English,  American,  and  Anglo- 
Indian  slang,  pidgin  English,  gypsies'  jargon,  and  other  irregular 
phraseology.     2  vols.    London,  1897. 

(10)  Villatte,  C6saire.  Parisismen.  Alphabetisch  geordnete  Sammlung 
der  eigenartigen  Ausdrucksweisen  des  Pariser  Argot.  Ein  Supple- 
ment zu  alien  franzosisch-deutschen  Worterbiichern.  Berlin, 
1899. 

(n)  Delesalle,  Georges.  Dictionnaire  argot-franqais  el  franqais-argot. 
Nouvelle  edition.  Paris,  1899. 

(12)  Villon,  Francois.    Le  jargon  et  jobelin  de  Francois  Villon,  suivi  du 
jargon  au  theatre.    Paris,  1888. 

(13)  Saineanu,  Lazar.    U Argot  ancien  (1455-1850).    Ses  elements  con- 
stitutifs,  ses  rapports  avec  les  langues  secretes  de  1'Europe  meri- 
dionale  et  1'argot  moderne,  avec  un  appendice  sur  1'argot  juge  par 
Victor  Hugo  et  Balzac;  par  Lazare  Sainean,  pseud.    Paris,  1907. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  429 

(14)  Dauzat,  Albert.     Les  argots  des  metiers  franco-provenqaux.    Paris, 
1917. 

(15)  Leland,  Charles  G.     The  English  Gypsies  and  Their  Languages. 
4th  ed.    New  York,  1893. 

(16)  Dictionnaire  des  termes  militaires  et  de  I'argot  poilu.     Paris,  1916. 

(17)  Empey,  Arthur  Guy.    Over  the  Top.     By  an  American  soldier  who 
went,  Arthur  Guy  Empey,  machine  gunner,  serving  in  France; 
together  with  Tommy's  dictionary  of  the  trenches.     New  York 
and  London,  1917. 

(18)  Smith,  L.  N.    Lingo  of  No  Man's  Land;  or,  War  Time  Lexicon. 
Compiled  by  Sergt.  Lorenzo  N.  Smith.     Chicago,  1918. 

(19)  Saineanu,  Lazar.    U  Argot  des  tranchees.     D'apres  les  lettres  des 
poilus  et  les  journaux  du  front.    Paris,  1915. 

(20)  Horn,  Paul.    Die  deulsche  Soldatensprache.     Giessen,  1905. 

IV.      IMITATION  AND  SUGGESTION 

A.  Imitation 

(1)  Bagehot,  Walter.    Physics  and  Politics;    or,  Thoughts  on  the  Appli- 
cation of  the  Principles  of  "Natural  Selection"  and  "Inheritance" 
to  Political  Society.    New  York,  1873. 

(2)  Tarde,  Gabriel.     The  Laws  of  Imitation.    Translated  from  the  ad 
French  ed.  by  Elsie  Clews  Parsons.    New  York,  1903. 

(3)  Baldwin,  James  M.    Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race. 
Methods  and  processes.    3d.  rev.  ed.    New  York,  1006. 

(4)  .    Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental  Development. 

A  study  in  social  psychology.    4th  ed.    New  York,  1906. 

(5)  Royce,  Josiah.    Outlines  of  Psychology.    An  elementary  treatise 
with  some  practical  applications.    New  York,  1903. 

(6)  Henderson,  Ernest  N.    A  Text-Book  in  the  Principles  of  Education. 
Chap,  xi,  "Imitation."    New  York,  1910. 

(7)  Thorndike,  E.  L.    Educational  Psychology.    Vol.  L,  The  Original 
Nature  of  Man.     Chap,  viii,  pp.  108-22.    New  York,  1913. 

(8)  Hughes,  Henry.    Die  Mimik  des  Menschen  auf  Grund  wluntarisclier 
Psychologic.    Frankfurt  a.  M.,  1900. 

(9)  Park,  Robert  E.    Masse  und  Publikum.    Eine  methodologische 
und  soziologische   Untersuchung.     Chap,   ii,   "Der  soziologische 
Prozess,"  describes  the  historical  development  of  the  conception  of 
imitation  in  its  relation  to  sympathy  and  mimicry  in  the  writings 
of  Hume,  Butler,  and  Dugald  Stewart.    Bern,  1904. 

(10)  Smith,  Adam.     The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments.    To  which  is  added 
a  dissertation  on  the  origin  of  languages.    London,  1892. 


43°  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(n)  Ribot,  T.  The  Psychology  of  the  Emotions.  Part  II,  chap,  iv, 
"Sympathy  and  the  Tender  Emotions,"  pp.  230-38.  Translated 
from  the  French.  2d  ed.  London,  1911. 

(12)  Dewey,  John.     "Imitation  in  Education,"  Cyclopedia  of  Education, 
III,  380-90. 

(13)  Him,  Yrjo.     The  Origins  of  Art.    A  psychological  and  sociological 
inquiry.     Chap,  vi,  "Social  Expression."    London  and  New  York, 
1000. 

B.  Suggestion 

(1)  Moll,  Albert.    Hypnotism.    Including  a  study  of  the  chief  points 
of  psychotherapeutics  and  occultism.     Translated  from  the  4th 

.    enl.  ed.  by  A.  F.  Hopkirk.    London  and  New  York,  1909. 

(2)  Binet,  A.,  and  Fere,  Ch.    Animal  Magnetism.    New  York,  1892. 

(3)  Janet,  Pierre.    UAutomisme  psychologique.     Essai  de  psychologic 
experimental  sur   les   formes   inferieures   de  1'activite   humaine, 
Paris,  1889. 

(4)  Bernheim,    H.    Hypnotisme,    Suggestion,     Psychotherapie.     Paris, 
1891. 

(5)  Richet,  Ch.    Experimentelle  Studien  auf  dem  Gebiete  der  Gedanken- 
ubertragung  und  des  sogenannten  Hettsehens.     Deutsch  von  Frhrn. 
von  Schrenck-Notzing.     Stuttgart,  1891. 

(6)  Pfungst,  Oskar.     Clever  Hans  (The  Horse  of  Mr.  von  Osten).     A 
contribution  to  experimental  animal  and  human  psychology.    New 
York,  1911.     [Bibliography.] 

(7)  Hansen,  F.  C.  C.,  and  Lehmann,  A.     Vber  unwittkiirliches  Fliistern. 
Philosophische  Studien,  Leipzig,  XI  (1895),  471-530. 

(8)  F6re,  Ch.    Sensation  et  mouvement.      Chap,  xix,  pp.  120-24.     Paris, 
1887. 

(9)  Sidis,  Boris.     The  Psychology  of  Suggestion.     A  research  into  the 
subconscious  nature  of  man  and  society.    New  York,  1898. 

(10)  Bechterew,  W.  v.  Die  Bedeutung  der  Suggestion  im  Sozialen 
Leben.  Grenzfragen  des  Nerven-  und  Seelenlebens.  Wiesbaden, 
1005. 

(n)  Stoll,  Otto.  Suggestion  und  Hypnotismus  in  der  Volkerpsychologie. 
Leipzig,  1904. 

(12)  Binet,  Alfred.    La  Suggestibility.    Paris,  1900. 

(13)  Munsterberg,  Hugo.     Psychotherapy.     Chap,  v,  "Suggestion  and 
Hypnotism,"  pp.  85-124.    New  York,  1909. 

(14)  Cooley,  Charles.     Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order.     Chap.  ii. 
New  York,  1902. 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  431 

(15)  Gulick,  Sidney.     The  American  Japanese  Problem.    A  study  of  the 
racial  relations  of  the  East  and  the  West.     Pp.  118-68.     New 
York,  1914. 

(16)  Fishberg,  Maurice.     The  Jews.     A  study  of  race  and  environment. 
London  and  New  York,  191 1. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  A  History  of  the  Concept  of  Social  Interaction 

2.  Interaction  and  the  Atomic  Theory 

3.  Interaction  and  Social  Consciousness 

4.  Interaction  and  Self-Consciousness 

5.  Religion  and  Social  Consciousness 

6.  Publicity  and  Social  Consciousness 

7.  Interaction  and  the  Limits  of  the  Group 

8.  The  Senses  and  Communication:  a  Comparative  Study  of  the  Rdle  of 
Touch,  Smell,  Sight,  and  Hearing  in  Social  Intercourse 

9.  Facial  Expression  as  a  Form  of  Communication 

10.  Laughter  and  Blushing  and  Self-Consciousness 

11.  The  Sociology  of  Gesture 

12.  The    Subtler    Forms   of   Interaction;      "Mind-Reading,"    "Thought 
Transference" 

13.  Rapport,  A  Study  of  Mutual  Influence  in  Intimate  Associations 

14.  A  History  of  Imitation  as  a  Sociological  Theory 

15.  Suggestion  as  an  Explanation  of  Collective  Behavior 

16.  Adam   Smith's  Theory  of  the   Relation  of    Sympathy  and    Moral 
Judgment 

17.  Interest,  Attention,  and  Imitation 

18.  Imitation  and  Appreciation 

19.  The  History  of  Printing  and  of  the  Press 

20.  Modern  Extensions  of  Communication:  the  Telephone,  the  Telegraph, 
Radio,  the  Motion  Picture,  Popular  Music 

21.  An  Explanation  of  Secondary  Society  in  Terms  of  Secondary  Devices 
of  Communication 

22.  Graham  Wallas'  Conception  of  the  Problem  of  Social  Heritages  in 
Secondary  Society 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  What  do  you  understand  Gumplowicz  to  mean  by  a  "natural  process "  ? 

2.  Do  you  think  that  the  idea  of  a  "natural  process"  is  applicable  to 
society  ? 

3.  Is  Gumplowicz'  principle  of  the  interaction  of  social  elements  valid  ? 


432  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

4.  What  do  you  understand  Simmel  to  mean  by  society?  by  sociali- 
zation ? 

5.  Do  you  agree  with  Simmel  when  he  says,  "In  and  of  themselves,  these 
materials  with  which  life  is  filled,  these  motivations  which  impel  it, 
are  not  social  in  their  nature "  ? 

6.  In  what  ways,  according  to  Simmel,  does  interaction  maintain  the 
mechanism  of  the  group  in  time  ? 

7.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  distinction  which  Simmel  makes 
between  attitudes  of  appreciation  and  comprehension  ? 

8.  "The  interaction  of  individuals  based  upon  mutual  glances  is  perhaps 
the  most  direct  and  purest  reciprocity  which  exists."    Explain. 

i   Explain  the  sociology  of  the  act  of  looking  down  to  avoid  the  glance 
of  the  other. 

10.  In  what  way  does   Simmel's  distinction  between   the  reactions  to 
other  persons  of  the  blind  and  the  deaf-mute  afford  an  explanation 
of  the  difference  between  the  social  life  of  the  village  and  of  the 
large  city  ? 

11.  In  what  sense  are  emotions  expressive?      To  whom  are  they  ex- 
pressive ? 

12.  WTiat  is  the  relation  of  emotional  expression  to  communication? 

13.  Why  would  you  say  Darwin  states  that  "blushing  is  the  most  peculiar 
and  the  most  human  of  all  expressions  "  ? 

14.  Does  a  person  ever  blush  in  isolation? 

15.  What  in  your  opinion  is  the  bearing  of  the  phenomenon  of  blushing 
upon  interaction  and  communication? 

1 6.  What  is  the  difference  between  the  function  of  blushing  and  of  laughing 
in  social  life  ? 

17.  In  what  sense  is  sympathy  the  "law  of  laughter"? 

18.  What  determines  the  object  of  laughter? 

19.  What  is  the  sociological  explanation  of  the  role  of  laughter  and  ridicule 
in  social  control? 

20.  What  are  the  likenesses  and  differences  between  intercommunication 
among  animals  and  language  among  men  ? 

21.  What  is  the  criterion  of  the  difference  between  man  and  the  animal, 
according  to  Max  Miiller? 

22.  In  your  opinion,  was  the  situation  in  which  language  arose  one  of 
unanimity  or  diversity  of  attitude  ? 

23.  "Language   and   ideational   processes   developed    together   and   are 
necessary  to  each  other."    Explain. 

24.  What  is  the  relation  of  the  evolution  of  writing  as  a  form  of  com- 
munication (a)  to  the  development  of  ideas,  and  (b)  to  social  life  ? 


SOCIAL  INTERACTION  433 

25.  What  difference  in  function,  if  any,  is  there  between  communication 
carried  on  (a)  merely  through  expressive  signs,  (b)  language,  (c)  writing, 
(d)  printing  ? 

26.  How  does  the  evolution  of  publicity  exhibit  the  extension  of  com- 
munication by  human  invention  ? 

27.  In  what  ways  is  the  extension  of  communication  related  to  primary 
and  secondary  contacts? 

28.  Does  the  growth  of  communication  make  for  or  against  the  development 
of  individuality  ? 

29.  How  do  you  define  imitation  ? 

30.  What  is  the  relation  of  attention  and  interest  to  the  mechanism  of 
imitation  ? 

31.  What  is  the  relation  of  imitation  to  learning? 

32.  What  is  the  relation  of  imitation  to  the  three  phases  of  sympathy 
differentiated  by  Ribot  ? 

33.  What  do  you  understand  by  Smith's  definition  of  sympathy?     How 
does  it  differ  from  that  of  Ribot  ? 

34.  Under  what  conditions  is  the  sentiment  aroused  in  the  observer  likely 
to  resemble  that  of  the  observed  ?    When  is  it  likely  to  be  different  ? 

35.  In  what  sense  is  sympathy  the  basis  for  passing  a  moral  judgment 
upon  a  person  or  an  act  ? 

36.  What  do  you  understand  by  "internal  imitation"  ? 

37.  What  is  the  significance  of  imitation  for  artistic  appreciation? 

38.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  "appreciation"?    Distinguish 
between    "appreciation"    and    "comprehension."     (Compare    ITirn's 
distinction  with  that  made  by  Simmel.) 

39.  Upon  what  is  the  nature  of  suggestion  based  ?    How  do  you  define 
suggestion  ? 

40.  What  do  you  understand  by  Bechterew's  distinction  between  active 
perception  and  passive  perception? 

41.  Why  can  we  speak  of  suggestion  as  a  mental  automatism? 

42.  How  real  is  the  analogy  of  suggestion  to  an  infection  or  an  inocu- 
lation ? 

43.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  distinction  between  personal  con- 
sciousness and  general  consciousness  ? 

44.  What  is  the  significance  of  attention  in  determining  the  character  of 
suggestion  ? 

45.  What  is  the  relation  of  rapport  to  suggestion  ? 

46.  How  would  you  distinguish  suggestion  from  other  forms  of  stimulus 
and  response  ? 

47.  Is  suggestion  a  term  of  individual  or  of  social  psychology? 


434  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

48.  What  is  the  significance  of  the  case  of  Clever  Hans  for  the  interpreta- 
tion of  so-called  telepathy  ?  of  muscle  reading  ? 

49.  How  extensive,  would  you  say,  are  the  subtler  forms  of  suggestion  in 
normal  life  ?    What  illustrations  would  you  give  ? 

50.  What  is  the  r61e  of  social  contagion  in  mass  action  ? 

51.  What  do  you  understand  Bechterew  to  mean  by  "the  psychological 
processes  of  fusion"  ?    "spiritual  cohesion,"  etc.  ? 

52.  What  does  it  mean  to  say  that  historical  personages  "embody  in  them- 
selves the  emotions  and  the  desires  of  the  masses"  ? 

53.  What,  in  your  judgment,  are  the  differentiating  criteria  of  suggestion 
and  imitation  ? 

54.  What  do  you  understand  is  meant  by  speaking  of  imitation  and  sug- 
gestion as  mechanisms  of  interaction  ? 


CHAPTER  VII 
SOCIAL  FORCES 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.    Sources  of  the  Notion  of  Social  Forces 

The  concept  of  interaction  is  an  abstraction  so  remote  from 
ordinary  experience  that  it  seems  to  have  occurred  only  to  scientists 
and  philosophers.  The  idea  of  forces  behind  the  manifestations  of 
physical  nature  and  of  society  is  a  notion  which  arises  naturally  out 
of  the  experience  of  the  ordinary  man.  Historians,  social  reformers, 
and  students  of  community  life  have  used  the  term  in  the  language  of 
common  sense  to  describe  factors  in  social  situations  which  they 
recognized  but  did  not  attempt  to  describe  or  define.  Movements 
for  social  reform  have  usually  met  with  unexpected  obstacles.  Public 
welfare  programs  have  not  infrequently  been  received  with  popular 
antagonism  instead  of  popular  support.  Lack  of  success  has  led  to 
the  search  for  causes,  and  investigation  has  revealed  the  obstacles, 
as  well  as  the  aids,  to  reform  embodied  in  influential  persons,  "politi- 
cal bosses,"  "union  leaders,"  "the  local  magnate,"  and  in  powerful 
groups  such  as  party  organizations,  unions,  associations  of  commerce, 
etc.  Social  control,  it  appears,  is  resident,  not  in  individuals  as 
individuals,  but  as  members  of  communities  and  social  groups.  Can- 
did recognition  of  the  role  of  these  persons  and  groups  led  popular 
writers  on  social,  political,  and  economic  topics  to  give  them  the 
impersonal  designation  "social  forces." 

A  student  made  the  following  crude  and  yet  illuminating  analysis  of 
the  social  forces  in  a  small  community  where  he  had  lived :  the  community 
club,  "the  Davidson  clique,"  and  the  "Jones  clique"  (these  two  large  family 
groups  are  intensely  hostile  and  divide  village  life);  the  community 
Methodist  church;  the  Presbyterian  church  group  (no  church);  the  library; 
two  soft-drink  parlors  where  all  kinds  of  beverages  are  sold;  the  daily 
train;  the  motion- picture  show;  the  dance  hall;  a  gambling  clique;  sex 
attraction;  gossip;  the  "sporting"  impulse;  the  impulse  to  be  "decent." 

"The  result,"  he  states,  "  is  a  disgrace  to  our  modern  civilization.  It 
is  one  of  the  worst  communities  I  ever  saw." 

435 


436  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  most  significant  type  of  community  study  has  been  the  social 
survey,  with  a  history  which  antedates  its  recent  developments. 
Yet  the  survey  movement  from  the  Domesday  Survey,  initiated  hi 
1085  by  William  the  Conqueror,  to  the  recent  Study  of  Methods  oj 
Americanization  by  the  Carnegie  Corporation,  has  been  based  upon 
an  implicit  or  explicit  recognition  of  the  interrelations  of  the  commu- 
nity and  its  constituent  groups.  The  Domesday  Survey,  although 
undertaken  for  financial  and  political  purposes,  gives  a  picture  of  the 
English  nation  as  an  organization  of  isolated  local  units,  which  the 
Norman  Conquest  first  of  all  forced  into  closer  unity.  The  surveys 
of  the  Russell  Sage  Foundation  have  laid  insistent  emphasis  upon  the 
study  of  social  problems  and  of  social  institutions  in  their  context 
within  the  life  of  the  community.  The  central  theme  of  the  different 
divisions  of  the  Carnegie  Study  of  Methods  of  Americanization  is  the 
nature  and  the  degree  of  the  participation  of  the  immigrant  in  our 
national  and  cultural  life.  In  short,  the  survey,  wittingly  or  unwit- 
tingly, has  tended  to  penetrate  beneath  surface  observations  to  dis- 
cover the  interrelations  of  social  groups  and  institutions  and  has 
revealed  community  life  as  a  constellation  of  social  forces. 

2.    History  of  the  Concept  of  Social  Forces 

The  concept  of  social  forces  has  had  a  history  different  from  that 
of  interaction.  It  was  in  the  writings  of  the  historians  rather  than 
of  the  sociologists  that  the  term  first  gained  currency.  The  historians, 
in  their  description  and  interpretation  of  persons  and  events,  dis- 
cerned definite  motives  or  tendencies,  which  served  to  give  to  the 
mere  temporal  sequence  of  the  events  a  significance  which  they  did 
not  otherwise  possess.  These  tendencies  historians  called  "social 
forces." 

From  the  point  of  view  and  for  the  purposes  of  reformers  social 
forces  were  conceived  as  embodied  in  institutions.  For  the  purposes 
of  the  historian  they  are  merely  tendencies  which  combine  to  define 
the  general  trend  of  historical  change.  The  logical  motive,  which 
has  everywhere  guided  science  in  formulating  its  conceptions,  is  here 
revealed  in  its  most  naive  and  elementary  form.  Natural  science 
invariably  seeks  to  describe  change  in  terms  of  process,  that  is  to  say, 
in  terms  of  interaction  of  tendencies.  These  tendencies  are  what 
science  calls  forces. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  437 

For  the  purposes  of  an  adequate  description,  however,  it  is  neces- 
sary not  merely  to  conceive  change  in  terms  of  the  interplay  of  forces, 
but  to  think  of  these  forces  as  somehow  objectively  embodied,  as 
social  forces  are  conceived  to  be  embodied  in  institutions,  organi- 
zations, and  persons.  These  objects  in  which  the  forces  are,  or  seem 
to  be,  resident  are  not  forces  in  any  real  or  metaphysical  sense,  as  the 
physicists  tell  us.  They  are  mere  points  of  reference  which  enable  us 
to  visualize  the  direction  and  measure  the  intensity  of  change. 

Institutions  and  social  organizations  may,  hi  any  given  situation, 
be  regarded  as  social  forces,  but  they  are  not  ultimate  nor  elementary 
forces.  One  has  but  to  carry  the  analysis  of  the  community  a  little 
farther  to  discover  the  fact  that  institutions  and  organizations  may 
be  further  resolved  into  factors  of  smaller  and  smaller  denominations 
until  we  have  arrived  at  individual  men  and  women.  For  common 
sense  the  individual  is  quite  evidently  the  ultimate  factor  hi  every 
community  or  social  organization. 

Sociologists  have  carried  the  analysis  a  step  farther.  They  have 
sought  to  meet  the  problem  raised  by  two  facts:  (i)  the  same  indi- 
vidual may  be  a  member  of  different  societies,  communities,  and- 
social  groups  at  the  same  time;  (2)  under  certain  circumstances  his 
interests  as  a  member  of  one  group  may  conflict  with  his  interests  as 
a  member  of  another  group,  so  that  the  conflict  between  different 
social  groups  will  be  reflected  in  the  mental  and  moral  conflicts  of 
the  individual  himself.  Furthermore,  it  is  evident  that  the  indi- 
vidual is,  as  we  frequently  say,  "not  the  same  person"  at  different 
times  and  places.  The  phenomena  of  moods  and  of  dual  personality 
have  sociological  significance  in  just  this  connection. 

From  all  this  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  individual  is  not  ele- 
mentary in  a  sociological  sense.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  sociologists 
have  invariably  sought  the  sociological  element,  not  in  the  individual 
but  in  his  appetites,  desires,  wishes — the  human  motives  which  move 
him  to  action. 

3.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  readings  in  this  chapter  are  arranged  in  the  natural  order  of 
the  development  of  the  notion  of  social  forces.  They  were  first 
thought  of  by  historians  as  tendencies  and  trends.  Then  in  the 
popular  sociology  social  forces  were  identified  with  significant  social 
objects  in  which  the  factors  of  the  situations  under  consideration  were 


438          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

embodied.  This  was  a  step  in  the  direction  of  a  definition  of  the 
elementary  social  forces.  Later  the  terms  interests,  sentiments,  and 
attitudes  made  their  appearance  in  the  literature  of  economics,  social 
psychology,  and  sociology.  Finally  the  concept  of  the  wishes,  first 
vaguely  apprehended  by  sociologists  under  the  name  "desires,"  having 
gained  a  more  adequate  description  and  definition  in  the  use  made  of 
it  by  psychoanalysis,  has  been  reintroduced  into  sociology  by  W.  I. 
Thomas  under  the  title  of  the  "four  wishes."  This  brief  statement 
is  sufficient  to  indicate  the  motives  determining  the  order  of  the 
materials  included  under  "Social  Forces." 

In  the  list  of  social  forces  just  enumerated,  attitudes  are,  for  the 
purposes  of  sociology,  elementary.  They  are  elementary  because, 
being  tendencies  to  act,  they  are  expressive  and  communicable.  They 
present  us  human  motives  in  the  only  form  in  which  we  can  know 
them  objectively,  namely,  as  behavior.  Human  motives  become 
social  forces  only  so  far  as  they  are  communicable,  only  when  they 
are  communicated.  Because  attitudes  have  for  the  purposes  of 
sociology  this  elementary  character,  it  is  desirable  to  define  the  term 
"attitude"  before  attempting  to  define  its  relation  to  the  wishes 
and  sentiments. 

a)  The  social  element  defined. — What  is  an  attitude?  Attitudes 
are  not  instincts,  nor  appetites,  nor  habits,  for  these  refer  to  specific 
tendencies  to  act  that  condition  attitudes  but  do  not  define  them. 
Attitudes  are  not  the  same  as  emotions  or  sentiments  although 
attitudes  always  are  emotionally  toned  and  frequently  supported  by 
sentiments.  Opinions  are  not  attitudes.  An  opinion  is  rather  a 
statement  made  to  justify  and  make  intelligible  an  existing  attitude 
or  bias.  A  wish  is  an  inherited  tendency  or  instinct  which  has  been 
fixed  by  attention  directed  to  objects,  persons,  or  patterns  of 
behavior,  all  of  which  then  assume  the  character  of  values.  |An 
attitude  is  the  tendency  of  the  person  to  react  positively  or  nega- 
tively to  the  total  situation//  Accordingly,  attitudes  may  be  defined 
as  the  mobilization  of  the  will  of  the  person. 

Attitudes  are  as  many  and  as  varied  as  the  situations  to  which 
they  are  a  response.  It  is,  of  course,  not  to  be  gainsaid  that  instincts, 
appetites,  habits,  emotions,  sentiments,  opinions,  and  wishes  are 
involved  in  and  with  the  attitudes.  Attitudes  are  mobilizations  and 
organizations  of  the  wishes  with  reference  to  definite  situations.  My 


SOCIAL  FORCES  439 

wishes  may  be  very  positive  and  definite  in  a  given  situation,  but  my 
attitude  may  be  wavering  and  undetermined.  On  the  other  hand, 
my  attitude  may  be  clearly  denned  in  situations  where  my  wishes 
are  not  greatly  involved.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  so-called  aca- 
demic, as  distinguished  from  the  "practical"  and  emotional,  attitude 
that,  under  its  influence,  the  individual  seeks  to  emphasize  all  the 
factors  in  the  situation  and  thus  qualifies  and  often  weakens  the  will 
to  act.  The  wishes  enter  into  attitudes  as  components.  How  many, 
varied,  ill-defined,  and  conflicting  may  be  and  have  been  the  wishes 
that  have  determined  at  different  tunes  the  attitudes  and  the  senti- 
ments of  individuals  and  nations  toward  the  issues  of  war  and  peace  ? 
The  fundamental  wishes,  we  may  assume,  are  the  same  in  all  situ- 
ations. The  attitudes  and  sentiments,  however,  in  which  the  wishes 
of  the  individual  find  expression  are  determined  not  merely  by  these 
wishes,  but  by  other  factors  in  the  situation,  the  wishes  of  other 
individuals,  for  example.  The  desire  for  recognition  is  a  permanent 
and  universal  trait  of  human  nature,  but  in  the  case  of  an  egocentric 
personality,  this  wish  may  take  the  form  of  an  excessive  humility  or 
a  pretentious  boasting.  The  wish  is  the  same  but  the  attitudes  in 
which  it  finds  expression  are  different. 

The  attitudes  which  are  elementary  for  sociological  analysis  may 
be  resolved  by  psychological  analysis  into  smaller  factors  so  that  we 
may  think,  if  we  choose,  of  attitudes  as  representing  constellations 
of  smaller  components  which  we  call  wishes.  In  fact  it  has  been  one 
of  the  great  contributions  of  psychoanalysis  to  our  knowledge  of 
human  behavior  that  it  has  been  able  to  show  that  attitudes  may  be 
analyzed  into  still  more  elementary  components  and  that  these  com- 
ponents, like  the  attitudes,  are  involved  in  a  process  of  interaction 
among  themselves.  In  other  words  there  is  organization,  tension, 
and  change  in  the  constituent  elements  of  the  attitudes.  This 
accounts,  in  part,  for  their  mutability. 

b)  Attitudes  as  behavior  patterns. — If  the  attitude  may  be  said  to 
play  the  role  in  sociological  analysis  that  the  elementary  substances 
play  in  chemical  analysis,  then  the  role  of  the  wishes  may  be  com- 
pared to  that  of  the  electrons. 

The  clearest  way  to  think  of  attitudes  is  as  behavior  patterns  or 
units  of  behavior.  The  two  most  elementary  behavior  patterns  are  the 
tendency  to  approach  and  the  tendency  to  withdraw.  Translated 


440  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

into  terms  of  the  individual  organism  these  are  tendencies  to  expand 
and  to  contract.  As  the  self  expands  to  include  other  selves,  as 
in  sympathy  and  in  fellowship,  there  is  an  extension  of  self-feeling 
to  the  whole  group.  Self-consciousness  passes  over,  in  the  rapport 
thus  established,  into  group  consciousness.  In  the  expansive  move- 
ments characteristic  of  individuals  under  the  influence  of  crowd 
excitements  the  individual  is  submerged  in  the  mass. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  movements  of  withdrawal  or  of  recoil  from 
other  persons,  characteristic  of  fear  and  embarrassment,  there  is  a 
heightening  of  self-consciousness.  The  tendency  to  identify  one's  self 
with  other  selves,  to  lose  one's  self  in  the  ecstasy  of  psychic  union  with 
others,  is  essentially  a  movement  toward  contact;  while  the  inclina- 
tion to  differentiate  one's  self,  to  lead  a  self-sufficient  existence,  apart 
from  others,  is  as  distinctly  a  movement  resulting  in  isolation. 

The  simplest  and  most  fundamental  types  of  behavior  of  indi- 
viduals and  of  groups  are  represented  in  these  contrasting  tendencies 
to  approach  an  object  or  to  withdraw  from  it.  If  instead  of  thinking 
of  these  two  tendencies  as  unrelated,  they  are  thought  of  as  conflicting 
responses  to  the  same  situation,  where  the  tendency  to  approach  is 
modified  and  complicated  by  a  tendency  to  withdraw,  we  get  the 
phenomenon  of  social  distance.  There  is  the  tendency  to  approach, 
but  not  too  near.  There  is  a  feeling  of  interest  and  sympathy  of  A 
for  B,  but  only  when  B  remains  at  a  certain  distance.  Thus  the 
Negro  hi  the  southern  states  is  "all  right  in  his  place."  The  northern 
philanthropist  is  interested  in  the  advancement  of  the  Negro  but 
wants  him  to  remain  in  the  South.  At  least  he  does  not  want  him 
for  a  neighbor.  The  southern  white  man  likes  the  Negro  as  an  indi- 
vidual, but  he  is  not  willing  to  treat  him  as  an  equal.  The  northern 
white  man  is  willing  to  treat  the  Negro  as  an  equal  but  he  does  not 
want  him  too  near.  The  wishes  are  in  both  cases  essentially  the  same 
but  the  attitudes  are  -different. 

The  accommodations  between  conflicting  tendencies,  so  flagrantly 
displayed  in  the  facts  of  race  prejudice,  are  not  confined  to  the  relation 
of  white  men  and  black.  The  same  mechanisms  are  involved  hi  all 
the  subordinations,  exclusions,  privacies,  social  distances,  and  reserves 
which  we  seek  everywhere,  by  the  subtle  devices  of  taboo  and  social 
ritual,  to  maintain  and  defend.  Where  the  situation  calls  forth  rival 
or  conflicting  tendencies,  the  resulting  attitude  is  likely  to  be  an 


SOCIAL  FORCES  441 

accommodation,  in  which  what  has  been  described  as  distance  is  the 
determining  factor.  When  an  accommodation  takes  the  form  of  the 
domination  of  A  and  the  submission  of  B,  the  original  tendencies  of 
approach  and  withdrawal  are  transformed  into  attitudes  of  super- 
ordination  and  subordination.  If  primary  attitudes  of  expansion  and 
of  contraction  are  thought  of  in  terms  of  lateral  distance,  then  atti- 
tudes of  superiority  and  inferiority  may  be  charted  in  the  vertical 
plane  as  illustrated  by  the  following  diagram: 


A 

2  

A 

2     . 

t 

4.  . 

V 

* 

A 

B 

5 

->     ^ 

FIG.  4. — A  =  tendency  to  approach;  B  =  tendency  to  withdraw;  i,  z,  3,  4,  5  = 
distance  defining  levels  of  accommodation;  ^T=superordination;  F= subordination. 

This  polar  conception  of  attitudes,  in  which  they  are  conceived 
in  terms  of  movements  of  expansion  and  contraction,  of  approach  and 
withdrawal,  of  attraction  and  repulsion,  of  domination  and  sub- 
mission, may  be  applied  in  an  analysis  of  the  sentiments. 

A  sentiment,  as  denned  by  McDougall,  is  "an  organized  system 
of  emotional  dispositions  centered  about  the  idea  of  some  object." 
The  polarity  of  the  sentiments  is,  however,  one  of  its  evident  and 
striking  characteristics.  Love  and  hate,  affection  and  dislike, 
attachment  and  aversion,  self-esteem  and  humility  have  this  character 
of  polarity  because  each  pair  of  sentiments  and  attitudes  represents 
a  different  constellation  of  the  same  component  wishes. 

A  significant  feature  of  sentiments  and  attitudes  is  inner  tension 
and  consequent  tendency  to  mutation.  Love  changes  into  hate,  or 
dislike  is  transformed  into  affection,  or  humility  is  replaced  by  self- 
assertion.  This  mutability  is  explained  by  the  fact,  just  mentioned, 
that  the  sentiment-attitude  is  a  complex  of  wishes  and  desires  organ- 
ized around  a  person  or  object.  In  this  complex  one  motive — love, 


442  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

for  example — is  for  a  moment  the  dominant  component.  In  this  case 
components  which  tend  to  excite  repulsion,  hostility,  and  disgust  are 
for  the  moment  suppressed.  With  a  change  in  the  situation,  as  in  the 
distance,  these  suppressed  components  are  released  and,  gaining 
control,  convert  the  system  into  the  opposite  sentiment,  as  hate. 

c)  Attitudes  and  wi-shes. — The  wishes,  as  popularly  conceived,  are 
as  numerous  as  the  objects  or  values  toward  which  they  are  directed. 
As  there  are  positive  and  negative  values,  so  there  are  positive  and 
negative  wishes.  Fears  are  negative  wishes.  The  speculations  of 
the  Freudian  school  of  psychology  have  attempted  to  reduce  all 
wishes  to  one,  the  libido.  In  that  case,  the  wishes,  as  we  know  them 
and  as  they  present  themselves  to  us  in  consciousness,  are  to  be 
regarded  as  offshoots  or,  perhaps  better,  specifications  of  the  one 
wish.  As  the  one  wish  is  directed  to  this  or  that  object,  it  makes  of 
that  object  a  value  and  the  object  gives  its  name  to  the  wish.  In 
this  way  the  one  wish  becomes  many  wishes. 

Science  demands,  however,  not  a  theory  of  the  origin  of  the 
wishes  but  a  classification  based  on  fundamental  natural  differences; 
differences  which  it  is  necessary  to  take  account  of  in  explaining  human 
behavior.  Thomas'  fourfold  classification  fulfils  this  purpose.  The 
wish  for  security,  the  wish  for  new  experience,  the  wish  for  response, 
and  the  wish  for  recognition  are  the  permanent  and  fundamental 
unconscious  motives  of  the  person  which  find  expression  in  the  many 
and  changing  concrete  and  conscious  wishes.  As  wishes  find  expres- 
sion in  characteristic  forms  of  behavior  they  may  also  be  thought  of 
in  spatial  terms  as  tendencies  to  move  toward  or  away  from  their 
specific  objects.  The  wish  for  security  may  be  represented  by  posi- 
tion, mere  immobility;  the  wish  for  new  experience  by  the  greatest 
possible  freedom  of  movement  and  constant  change  of  position;  the 
wish  for  response,  by  the  number  and  closeness  of  points  of  contact; 
the  wish  for  recognition,  by  the  level  desired  or  reached  in  the  vertical 
plane  of  superordination  and  subordination. 

The  fundamental  value  for  social  research  of  the  classification 
inheres  in  the  fact  that  the  wishes  in  one  class  cannot  be  substituted 
for  wishes  in  another.  The  desire  for  response  and  affection  cannot 
be  satisfied  by  fame  and  recognition  or  only  partially  so.  The  whole- 
some individual  is  he  who  in  some  form  or  other  realizes  all  the  four 
fundamental  wishes.  The  security  and  permanence  of  any  society  or 


SOCIAL  FORCES 

association  depends  upon  the  extent  to  which  it  permits  the  indi- 
viduals who  compose  it  to  realize  their  fundamental  wishes.  The 
restless  individual  is  the  individual  whose  wishes  are  not  realized  even 
in  dreams. 

This  suggests  the  significance  of  the  classification  for  the  purposes 
of  social  science.  Human  nature,  and  personality  as  we  know  it, 
requires  for  its  healthy  growth  security,  new  experience,  response, 
and  recognition.  In  all  races  and  in  all  tunes  these  fundamental 
longings  of  human  nature  have  manifested  themselves;  the  particular 
patterns  in  which  the  wish  finds  expression  and  becomes  fixed  depends 
upon  some  special  experience  of  the  person,  is  influenced  by  individual 
differences  in  original  nature,  and  is  circumscribed  by  the  folkways, 
the  mores,  the  conventions,  and  the  culture  of  his  group. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      TRENDS,    TENDENCIES,  AND  PUBLIC  OPINION 
i.     Social  Forces  in  American  History1 

That  political  struggles  are  based  upon  economic  interests  is 
today  disputed  by  few  students  of  society.  The  attempt  has  been 
made  in  this  work  to  trace  the  various  interests  that  have  arisen  and 
struggled  in  each  social  stage  and  to  determine  the  influence  exercised 
by  these  contending  interests  in  the  creation  of  social  institutions. 

Back  of  every  political  party  there  has  always  stood  a  group  or 
class  which  expected  to  profit  by  the  activity  and  the  success  of  that 
party.  When  any  party  has  attained  to  power,  it  has  been  because 
it  has  tried  to  establish  institutions  or  to  modify  existing  ones  in  accord 
with  its  interests. 

Changes  in  the  industrial  basis  of  society — inventions,  new 
processes,  and  combinations  and  methods  of  producing  and  distribut- 
ing goods — create  new  interests  with  new  social  classes  to  represent 
them.  These  improvements  in  the  technique  of  production  are  the 
dynamic  element  that  brings  about  what  we  call  progress  in  society. 

In  this  work  I  have  sought  to  begin  at  the  origin  of  each  line  of 
social  progress.  I  have  first  endeavored  to  describe  the  steps  in 

1  Adapted  from  A.  M.  Simons,  in  the  Preface  to  Social  Forces  in  American 
History,  pp.  vii-viii.  (Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1912.  Reprinted  by 
permission.) 


444  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

mechanical  progress,  then  the  social  classes  brought  into  prominence 
by  the  mechanical  changes,  then  the  struggle  by  which  these  new 
classes  sought  to  gain  social  power,  and,  finally,  the  institutions 
which  were  created  or  the  alterations  made  in  existing  institutions  as  a 
consequence  of  the  struggle  or  as  a  result  of  the  victory  of  a  new  class. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  that  these  underlying  social  forces  are  of  more 
importance  than  the  individuals  that  were  forced  to  the  front  in  the 
process  of  these  struggles,  or  even  than  the  laws  that  were  estab- 
lished to  record  the  results  of  the  conflict.  In  short,  I  have  tried 
to  describe  the  dynamics  of  history  rather  than  to  record  the  accom- 
plished facts,  to  answer  the  question,  "Why  did  it  happen?"  as  well 
as,  "What  happened?" 

An  inquiry  into  causes  is  manifestly  a  greater  task  than  the  record- 
ing of  accomplished  facts.  To  determine  causes  it  is  necessary  to 
spend  much  time  in  the  study  of  "original  documents" — the  news- 
papers, magazines,  and  pamphlet  literature  of  each  period.  In 
these,  rather  than  in  the  "musty  documents"  of  state,  do  we  find 
history  in  the  making.  Here  we  can  see  the  clash  of  contending 
interests  before  they  are  crystallized  into  laws  and  institutions. 

2.     Social  Tendencies  as  Social  Forces1 

The  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century  viewed  external  nature 
as  the  principal  thing  to  be  considered  in  a  study  of  society,  and  not 
society  itself.  The  great  force  in  society  was  extraneous  to  society. 
But  according  to  the  philosophy  of  our  times,  the  chief  forces  working 
in  society  are  truly  social  forces,  that  is  to  say,  they  are  immanent  in 
society  itself. 

Let  us  briefly  examine  the  social  forces  which  are  at  work,  either 
concentrating  or  diffusing  the  ownership  of  wealth.  If  it  is  true  that, 
necessarily,  there  is  going  forward  a  concentration  of  property,  that 
the  rich  are  necessarily  becoming  richer,  that  wealth  is  passing  into 
fewer  and  fewer  hands,  this  gives  a  strong  reason  for  believing  that 
those  are  right  who  hold  to  the  fact  that  every  field  of  production  must 
soon  be  controlled  by  monopoly.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  find  that 
the  forces  which  make  for  diffusion  are  dominant,  we  may  believe 
that  it  is  quite  possible  for  society  to  control  the  forces  of  production. 

1  Adapted  from  Richard  T.  Ely,  Evolution  of  Industrial  Society,  pp.  456-84. 
(Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1903.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  445 

a)  Forces  operating  in  the  direction  of  concentration  of  wealth: 
(i)  The  unearned  increment  of  land,  especially  in  cities,  is  no  doubt 
a  real  force.     (2)  The  trust  movement  is  operating  in  its  earlier 
phases,  at  least,  in  the  direction  of  concentration.     (3)  In  the  third 
place,  war,  whenever  it  comes,  carries  with  it  forces  which  bring 
wealth  to  the  few  rather  than  to  the  many.     (4)  Arrangements  of  one 
kind  and  another  may  be  mentioned  by  means  of  various  trust  devices 
to  secure  the  ends  of  primogeniture  and  entail.     (5)  Another  force 
operating  to  concentrate  the  ownership  of  wealth  may  be  called 
economic  inertia.     According  to  the  principle  of  inertia,  forces  con- 
tinue to  operate  until  they  are  checked  by  other  forces  coming  into 
contact  with  them. 

b)  Forces  which  operate  to  diffuse  wealth:  (i)  Education,  broadly 
considered,  should  be  mentioned  first  of  all.     (2)  Next,  mention 
must  be  made  of  the  public  control  of  corporations.     (3)  Changes  in 
taxation  are  the  third  item  in  this  enumeration  of  forces.     (4)  The 
development  of  the  idea  of  property  as  a  trust  is  next  mentioned. 
(5)   Profit-sharing  and  co-operation.     (6)  Sound   currency  is  next 
mentioned.     (7)  Public  ownership  of  public  utilities  is  a  further 
force.     (8)  Labor  organizations.     (9)  Institutions,  especially  in  the 
interest  of  the  wage-earning  and  economically  weaker  elements  in 
the  community.     (10)  Savings  institutions  and  insurance. 

3.     Public  Opinion:  School  of  Thought  and  Legislation  in  England1 

Public  legislative  opinion,  as  it  has  existed  in  England  during  the 
nineteenth  century,  presents  several  noteworthy  aspects  or  charac- 
teristics. They  may  conveniently  be  considered  under  five  heads:  the 
existence  at  any  given  period  of  a  predominant  public  opinion; 
the  origin  of  such  opinion;  the  development  and  continuity  thereof; 
the  checks  imposed  on  such  opinion  by  the  existence  of  counter- 
currents  and  cross-currents  of  opinion;  the  action  of  laws  themselves 
as  the  creators  of  legislative  opinion. 

First,  there  exists  at  any  given  time  a  body  of  beliefs,  convictions, 
sentiments,  accepted  principles,  or  firmly  rooted  prejudices,  which, 
taken  together,  make  up  the  public  opinion  of  a  particular  era,  or 
what  we  may  call  the  reigning  or  predominant  current  of  opinion, 

1  Adapted  from  A.  V.  Dicey,  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in  England,  pp.  19-41. 
(Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1905.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


446  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and,  as  regards  at  any  rate  the  last  three  or  four  centuries,  and  espe- 
cially the  nineteenth  century,  the  influence  of  this  dominant  current 
of  opinion  has,  in  England,  if  we  look  at  the  matter  broadly,  deter- 
mined, directly  or  indirectly,  the  course  of  legislation. 

Second,  the  opinion  which  affects  the  development  of  the  law  has, 
in  modern  England  at  least,  often  originated  with  some  single  thinker 
or  school  of  thinkers.  No  doubt  it  is  at  times  allowable  to  talk  of 
a  prevalent  belief  or  opinion  as  "  being  in  the  air,"  by  which  expression 
is  meant  that  a  particular  way  of  looking  at  things  has  become  the 
common  possession  of  all  the  world.  But  though  a  belief,  when  it 
prevails,  may  at  last  be  adopted  by  the  whole  of  a  generation,  it  rarely 
happens  that  a  widespread  conviction  has  grown  up  spontaneously 
among  the  multitude.  "The  initiation,"  it  has  been  said,  "of  all 
wise  or  noble  things  comes,  and  must  come,  from  individuals; 
generally  at  first  from  some  one  individual,"  to  which  it  ought  surely 
to  be  added  that  the  origination  of  a  new  folly  or  of  a  new  form  of 
baseness  comes,  and  must  in  general  come,  at  first  from  individuals 
or  from  some  one  individual.  The  peculiarity  of  individuals,  as 
contrasted  with  the  crowd,  lies  neither  in  virtue  nor  in  wickedness  but 
in  originality.  It  is  idle  to  credit  minorities  with  all  the  good  with- 
out ascribing  to  them  most,  at  least,  of  the  evils  due  to  that  rarest 
of  all  human  qualities — inventiveness. 

The  course  of  events  in  England  may  often,  at  least,  be  thus 
described :  A  new  and,  let  us  assume,  a  true  idea  presents  itself  to  some 
one  man  of  originality  or  genius;  the  discoverer  of  the  new  conception, 
or  some  follower  who  has  embraced  it  with  enthusiasm,  preaches 
it  to  his  friends  or  disciples,  they  in  their  turn  become  impressed  with 
its  importance  and  its  truth,  and  gradually  a  whole  school  accepts  the 
new  creed.  These  apostles  of  a  new  faith  are  either  persons  endowed 
with  special  ability  or,  what  is  quite  as  likely,  they  are  persons  who, 
owing  to  their  peculiar  position,  are  freed  from  a  bias,  whether  moral 
or  intellectual,  in  favor  of  prevalent  errors.  At  last  the  preachers  of 
truth  make  an  impression,  either  directly  upon  the  general  public 
or  upon  some  person  of  eminence,  say  a  leading  statesman,  who  stands 
in  a  position  to  impress  ordinary  people  and  thus  to  win  the  support 
of  the  nation.  Success,  however,  in  converting  mankind  to  a  new 
faith,  whether  religious  or  economical  or  political,  depends  but  slightly 
on  the  strength  of  the  reasoning  by  which  the  faith  can  be  defended, 


SOCIAL  FORCES  447 

or  even  on  the  enthusiasm  of  its  adherents.  A  change  of  belief  arises, 
in  the  main,  from  the  occurrence  of  circumstances  which  incline  the 
majority  of  the  world  to  hear  with  favor  theories  which,  at  one  time, 
men  of  common  sense  derided  as  absurdities  or  distrusted  as  paradoxes. 
The  doctrine  of  free  trade,  for  instance,  has  in  England  for  about  half 
a  century  held  the  field  as  an  unassailable  dogma  of  economic  policy, 
but  a  historian  would  stand  convicted  of  ignorance  or  folly  who  should 
imagine  that  the  fallacies  of  protection  were  discovered  by  the  intuitive 
good  sense  of  the  people,  even  if  the  existence  of  such  a  quality  as  the 
good  sense  of  the  people  be  more  than  a  political  fiction.  The  principle 
of  free  trade  may,  as  far  as  Englishmen  are  concerned,  be  treated  as 
the  doctrine  of  Adam  Smith.  The  reasons  in  its  favor  never  have 
been,  nor  will,  from  the  nature  of  things,  be  mastered  by  the  majority 
of  any  people.  The  apology  for  freedom  of  commerce  will  always 
present,  from  one  point  of  view,  an  air  of  paradox.  Every  man 
feels  or  thinks  that  protection  would  benefit  his  own  business,  and  it 
is  difficult  to  realize  that  what  may  be  a  benefit  for  any  man  taken 
alone  may  be  of  no  benefit  to  a  body  of  men  looked  at  collectively. 
The  obvious  objections  to  free  trade  may,  as  free  traders  conceive, 
be  met;  but  then  the  reasoning  by  which  these  objections  are  met  is 
often  elaborate  and  subtle  and  does  not  carry  conviction  to  the  crowd. 
It  is  idle  to  suppose  that  belief  in  freedom  of  trade — or  indeed  in  any 
other  creed — ever  won  its  way  among  the  majority  of  converts  by  the 
mere  force  of  reasoning.  The  course  of  events  was  very  different. 
The  theory  of  free  trade  won  by  degrees  the  approval  of  statesmen 
of  special  insight,  and  adherents  to  the  new  economic  religion  were 
one  by  one  gained  among  persons  of  intelligence.  Cobden  and 
Bright  finally  became  potent  advocates  of  truths  of  which  they  were 
in  no  sense  the  discoverers.  This  assertion  in  no  way  detracts  from 
the  credit  due  to  these  eminent  men.  They  performed  to  admiration 
the  proper  function  of  popular  leaders;  by  prodigies  of  energy  and 
by  seizing  a  favorable  opportunity,  of  which  they  made  the  very  most 
use  that  was  possible,  they  gained  the  acceptance  by  the  English 
people  of  truths  which  have  rarely,  in  any  country  but  England, 
acquired  popularity.  Much  was  due  to  the  opportuneness  of  the 
time.  Protection  wears  its  most  offensive  guise  when  it  can  be 
identified  with  a  tax  on  bread,  and  therefore  can,  without  patent 
injustice,  be  described  as  the  parent  of  famine  and  starvation.  The 


448  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

unpopularity,  moreover,  inherent  in  a  tax  on  corn  is  all  but  fatal  to 
a  protective  tariff  when  the  class  which  protection  enriches  is  com- 
paratively small,  whilst  the  class  which  would  suffer  keenly  from 
dearness  of  bread  and  would  obtain  benefit  from  free  trade  is  large, 
and,  having  already  acquired  much,  is  certain  soon  to  acquire  more 
political  power.  Add  to  all  this  that  the  Irish  famine  made  the 
suspension  of  the  corn  laws  a  patent  necessity.  It  is  easy,  then,  to 
see  how  great  in  England  was  the  part  played  by  external  circum- 
stances— one  might  almost  say  by  accidental  conditions — in  deter- 
mining the  overthrow  of  protection.  A  student  should  further  remark 
that  after  free  trade  became  an  established  principle  of  English  policy, 
the  majority  of  the  English  people  accepted  it  mainly  on  authority. 
Men  who  were  neither  land-owners  nor  farmers  perceived  with  ease 
the  obtrusive  evils  of  a  tax  on  corn,  but  they  and  their  leaders  were 
far  less  influenced  by  arguments  against  protection  generally  than  by 
the  immediate  and  almost  visible  advantage  of  cheapening  the  bread 
of  artisans  and  laborers.  What,  however,  weighed  with  most  English- 
men, above  every  other  consideration,  was  the  harmony  of  the  doctrine 
that  commerce  ought  to  be  free,  with  that  disbelief  in  the  benefits  of 
state  intervention  which  in  1846  had  been  gaining  ground  for  more 
than  a  generation. 

It  is  impossible,  indeed,  to  insist  too  strongly  upon  the  con- 
sideration that  whilst  opinion  controls  legislation,  public  opinion  is 
itself  far  less  the  result  of  reasoning  or  of  argument  than  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  men  are  placed.  Between  1783  and  1861  negro 
slavery  was  abolished — one  might  almost  say  ceased  of  itself  to  exist — 
in  the  northern  states  of  the  American  Republic;  in  the  South,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  maintenance  of  slavery  developed  into  a  fixed 
policy,  and  before  the  War  of  Secession  the  "peculiar  institution" 
had  become  the  foundation  stone  of  the  social  system.  But  the 
religious  beliefs  and,  except  as  regards  the  existence  of  slavery,  the 
political  institutions  prevalent  throughout  the  whole  of  the  United 
States  were  the  same.  The  condemnation  of  slavery  in  the  North, 
and  the  apologies  for  slavery  in  the  South,  must  therefore  be  referred 
to  difference  of  circumstances.  Slave  labor  was  obviously  out  of 
place  in  Massachusetts,  Vermont,  or  New  York;  it  appeared  to  be, 
even  if  in  reality  it  was  not,  economically  profitable  in  South  Carolina. 
An  institution,  again,  which  was  utterly  incompatible  with  the  social 


SOCIAL  FORCES  449 

condition  of  the  northern  states  harmonized,  or  appeared  to  harmonize, 
with  the  social  conditions  of  the  southern  states.  The  arguments 
against  the  peculiar  institution  were  in  themselves  equally  strong 
in  whatever  part  of  the  Union  they  were  uttered,  but  they  carried 
conviction  to  the  white  citizens  of  Massachusetts,  whilst,  even  when 
heard  or  read,  they  did  not  carry  conviction  to  the  citizens  of  South 
Carolina.  Belief,  and,  to  speak  fairly,  honest  belief,  was  to  a  great 
extent  the  result,  not  of  argument,  nor  even  of  direct  self-interest, 
but  of  circumstances.  What  was  true  in  this  instance  holds  good  in 
others.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  in  1830  the  squires  of 
England  were  less  patriotic  than  the  manufacturers,  or  less  capable 
of  mastering  the  arguments  in  favor  of  or  against  the  reform  of 
Parliament.  But  everyone  knows  that,  as  a  rule,  the  country 
gentlemen  were  Tories  and  anti-reformers,  whilst  the  manufacturers 
were  Radicals  and  reformers.  Circumstances  are  the  creators  of 
most  men's  opinions. 

Third,  the  development  of  public  opinion  generally,  and  therefore 
of  legislative  opinion,  has  been  in  England  at  once  gradual,  or  slow, 
and  continuous.  The  qualities  of  slowness  and  continuity  may 
conveniently  be  considered  together,  and  are  closely  interconnected, 
but  they  are  distinguishable  and  essentially  different. 

Legislative  public  opinion  generally  changes  in  England  with 
unexpected  slowness.  Adam  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations  was  published 
in  1776;  the  policy  of  free  exchange  was  not  completely  accepted  by 
England  till  1846.  All  the  strongest  reasons  in  favor  of  Catholic 
emancipation  were  laid  before  the  English  world  by  Burke  between 
1760  and  1797 ;  the  Roman  Catholic  Relief  Act  was  not  carried  till  1829. 

The  opinion  which  changes  the  law  is  in  one  sense  the  opinion 
of  the  time  when  the  law  is  actually  altered;  in  another  sense  it  has 
often  been  in  England  the  opinion  prevalent  some  twenty  or  thirty 
years  before  that  time;  it  has  been  as  often  as  not  in  reality  the 
opinion,  not  of  today,  but  of  yesterday. 

Legislative  opinion  must  be  the  opinion  of  the  day,  because, 
when  laws  are  altered,  the  alteration  is  of  necessity  carried  into  effect 
by  legislators  who  act  under  the  belief  that  the  change  is  an  amend- 
ment; but  this  law-making  opinion  is  also  the  opinion  of  yesterday, 
because  the  beliefs  which  have  at  last  gained  such  hold  on  the  legisla- 
ture as  to  produce  an  alteration  in  the  law  have  generally  been 


450  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

created  by  thinkers  or  writers  who  exerted  their  influence  long  before 
the  change  in  the  law  took  place.  Thus  it  may  well  happen  that  an 
innovation  is  carried  through  at  a  time  when  the  teachers  who  supplied 
the  arguments  in  its  favor  are  in  their  graves,  or  even — and  this  is 
well  worth  noting — when  in  the  world  of  speculation  a  movement 
has  already  set  in  against  ideas  which  are  exerting  their  full  effect 
in  the  world  of  action  and  of  legislation. 

Law-making  in  England  is  the  work  of  men  well  advanced  in 
life;  the  politicians  who  guide  the  House  of  Commons,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  peers  who  lead  the  House  of  Lords,  are  few  of  them  below 
thirty,  and  most  of  them  are  above  forty,  years  of  age.  They  have 
formed  or  picked  up  their  convictions,  and,  what  is  of  more  con- 
sequence, their  prepossessions,  in  early  manhood,  which  is  the  one 
period  of  life  when  men  are  easily  impressed  with  new  ideas.  Hence 
English  legislators  retain  the  prejudices  or  modes  of  thinking  which 
they  acquired  in  their  youth;  and  when,  late  in  life,  they  take  a  share 
in  actual  legislation,  they  legislate  in  accordance  with  the  doctrines 
which  were  current,  either  generally  or  in  the  society  to  which  the 
law-givers  belonged,  in  the  days  of  their  early  manhood.  The  law- 
makers, therefore,  of  1850  may  give  effect  to  the  opinions  of  1830, 
whilst  the  legislators  of  1880  are  likely  enough  to  impress  upon  the 
statute  book  the  beliefs  of  1860,  or  rather  the  ideas  which  in  the  one 
case  attracted  the  young  men  of  1830  and  in  the  other  the  youth  of 
1860.  We  need  not  therefore  be  surprised  to  find  that  a  current  of 
opinion  may  exert  its  greatest  legislative  influence  just  when  its  force 
is  beginning  to  decline.  The  tide  turns  when  at  its  height;  a  school 
of  thought  or  feeling  which  still  governs  law-makers  has  begun  to 
lose  its  authority  among  men  of  a  younger  generation  who  are  not 
yet  able  to  influence  legislation. 

Fourth,  the  reigning  legislative  opinion  of  the  day  has  never,  at 
any  rate  during  the  nineteenth  century,  exerted  absolute  or  despotic 
authority.  Its  power  has  always  been  diminished  by  the  existence 
of  counter-currents  or  cross-currents  of  opinion  which  were  not  in 
harmony  with  the  prevalent  opinion  of  the  time. 

A  counter-current  here  means  a  body  of  opinion,  belief,  or  senti- 
ment more  or  less  directly  opposed  to  the  dominant  opinion  of  a 
particular  era.  Counter-currents  of  this  kind  have  generally  been 
supplied  by  the  survival  of  ideas  or  convictions  which  are  gradually 


SOCIAL  FORCES  451 

losing  their  hold  upon  a  given  generation,  and  particularly  the  youth- 
ful part  thereof.  This  kind  of  "conservatism"  which  prompts  men 
to  retain  convictions  which  are  losing  their  hold  upon  the  mass  of  the 
world  is  found,  it  should  be  remarked,  as  much  among  the  adherents 
of  one  religious  or  political  creed  as  of  another.  Any  Frenchman 
who  clung  to  Protestantism  during  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth; 
any  north-country  squire  who  in  the  England  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury adhered  to  the  Roman  Catholicism  of  his  fathers;  Samuel 
Johnson,  standing  forth  as  a  Tory  and  a  High  Churchman  amongst 
Whigs  and  Free  Thinkers;  the  Abbe  Gregoire,  retaining  in  1830  the 
attitude  and  the  beliefs  of  a  bishop  of  that  constitutional  church  of 
France  whereof  the  claims  have  been  repudiated  at  once  by  the  Church 
and  by  the  State;  James  Mill,  who,  though  the  leader  in  1832  of 
philosophic  Radicals,  the  pioneers  as  they  deemed  themselves  of 
democratic  progress,  was  in  truth  the  last  "of  the  eighteenth  century  " 
— these  are  each  and  all  of  them  examples  of  that  intellectual  and 
moral  conservatism  which  everywhere,  and  especially  in  England, 
has  always  been  a  strong  force.  The  past  controls  the  present. 

Counter-currents,  again,  may  be  supplied  by  new  ideals  which 
are  beginning  to  influence  the  young.  The  hopes  or  dreams  of  the 
generation  just  coming  into  the  field  of  public  life  undermine  the 
energy  of  a  dominant  creed. 

Counter-currents  of  opinion,  whatever  their  source,  have  one 
certain  and  one  possible  effect.  The  certain  effect  is  that  a  check  is 
imposed  upon  the  action  of  the  dominant  faith. 

Fifth,  laws  foster  or  create  law-making  opinion.  This  assertion 
may  sound,  to  one  who  has  learned  that  laws  are  the  outcome  of 
public  opinion,  like  a  paradox;  when  properly  understood,  it  is  nothing 
but  an  undeniable,  though  sometimes  neglected,  truth. 

B.      INTERESTS,  SENTIMENTS,  AND  ATTITUDES 
i.     Social  Forces  and  Interaction1 

We  must  guard  at  the  outset  against  an  illusion  that  has  exerted 
a  confusing  influence.  There  are  no  social  forces  which  are  not  at 
the  same  time  forces  lodged  in  individuals,  deriving  their  energy  from 
individuals  and  operating  in  and  through  individuals.  There  are  no 

'Adapted  from  Albion  W.  Small,  General  Sociology,  pp.  532-36.  (The  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  Press,  1905.) 


452  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

social  forces  that  lurk  in  the  containing  ether,  and  affect  persons  with- 
out the  agency  of  other  persons.  There  are,  to  be  sure,  all  the  physical 
conditions  that  affect  persons  just  as  they  affect  all  other  forms  of 
matter.  So  far,  these  are  not  social  forces  at  all.  They  do  not  get 
to  be  social  forces  until  they  get  into  persons,  and  in  these  persons 
they  take  the  form  of  feelings  which  impel  them  to  react  upon  other 
persons.  Persons  are  thus  transmuters  of  physical  forces  into  social 
forces;  but  all  properly  designated  social  forces  are  essentially 
personal.  They  are  within  some  persons,  and  stimulate  them  to  act 
upon  other  persons;  or  they  are  in  other  persons,  and  exert  themselves 
as  external  stimuli  upon  otherwise  inert  persons.  In  either  case 
social  forces  are  personal  influences  passing  from  person  to  person 
and  producing  activities  that  give  content  to  the  association. 

The  conception  of  social  forces  was  never  challenged  so  long  as  it 
was  merely  an  everyday  commonplace.  When  it  passed  into  tech- 
nical forms  of  expression,  doubts  began  to  be  urged.  If  anyone  in 
the  United  States  had  questioned  the  existence  of  Mrs.  Grundy 
fifty  years  ago,  he  would  have  been  pitied  and  ignored  as  a  harmless 
"natural."  Social  forces  in  the  form  of  gossip,  and  personified  in 
Mrs.  Grundy,  were  real  to  everybody.  But  the  particular  species 
of  social  forces  which  Mrs.  Grundy  represented  were  neither  more 
nor  less  real  than  the  other  social  forces  which  had  no  name  in  folk- 
lore. Persons  incessantly  influence  persons.  The  modes  of  this 
influence  are  indescribably  varied.  They  are  conscious  and  uncon- 
scious, accidental  and  momentary,  or  deliberate  and  persistent;  they 
are  conventional  and  continuous,  the  result  of  individual  habit,  or  of 
customs  crystallized  into  national  or  racial  institutions. 

The  simple  fact  which  the  concept  "social  forces"  stands  for  is 
that  every  individual  acts  and  is  acted  upon  in  countless  ways  by 
the  other  persons  with  whom  he  associates.  These  modes  of  action 
and  reaction  between  persons  may  be  classified,  and  the  more  obvious 
and  recurrent  among  them  may  be  enumerated.  More  than  this, 
the  action  of  these  social  forces  may  be  observed,  and  the  results  of 
observation  may  be  organized  into  social  laws.  Indeed,  there  would 
be  only  two  alternatives,  if  we  did  not  discover  the  presence  and 
action  of  social  forces.  On  the  one  hand,  social  science  would  at  most 
be  a  subdivision  of  natural  science;  on  the  other  hand,  the  remaining 
alternative  would  be  the  impossibility  of  social  science  altogether. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  453 

But  social  forces  are  just  as  distinctly  discernible  as  chemical 
forces.  The  fact  that  we  are  not  familiar  with  them  no  more  makes 
against  their  existence  and  their  importance  than  general  ignorance 
of  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  takes  that  phenomenon  out  of  the 
physical  world.  They  are  not  only  the  atmosphere  but  they  are  a 
very  large  part  of  the  moral  world  in  general.  If  we  could  compose 
a  complete  account  of  the  social  forces,  we  should  at  the  same  time 
have  completed,  from  one  point  of  attention  at  least,  a  science  of 
everything  involved  in  human  society. 

"All  beings  which  can  be  said  to  perform  actions  do  so  in  obedience 
to  those  mental  states  which  are  denominated  desires."  But  we  have 
gone  back  a  step  beyond  the  desires  and  have  found  it  necessary  to 
assume  the  existence  of  underlying  interests.  These  have  to  desires 
very  nearly  the  relation  of  substance  to  attribute,  or,  in  a  different 
figure,  of  genus  to  species.  Our  interests  may  be  beyond  or  beneath 
our  ken;  our  desires  are  strong  and  clear.  I  may  not  be  conscious 
of  my  health  interests  hi  any  deep  sense,  but  the  desires  that  my 
appetites  assert  are  specific  and  concrete  and  real.  The  implicit 
interests,  of  which  we  may  be  very  imperfectly  aware,  move  us  to 
desires  which  may  correspond  well  or  ill  with  the  real  content  of  the 
interests.  At  all  events,  it  is  these  desires  which  make  up  the  active 
social  forces,  whether  they  are  more  or  less  harmonious  with  the  inter- 
ests from  which  they  spring.  The  desires  that  the  persons  associating 
actually  feel  are  practically  the  elemental  forces  with  which  we  have 
to  reckon.  They  are  just  as  real  as  the  properties  of  matter.  They 
have  their  ratios  of  energy,  just  as  certainly  as  though  they  were 
physical  forces.  They  have  their  peculiar  modes  of  action,  which 
may  be  formulated  as  distinctly  as  the  various  modes  of  chemical 
action. 

Every  desire  that  any  man  harbors  is  a  force  making  or  marring, 
strengthening  or  weakening,  the  structure  and  functions  of  the  society 
of  which  he  is  a  part.  What  the  human  desires  are,  what  their  rela- 
tions are  to  each  other,  what  their  peculiar  modifications  are  under 
different  circumstances — these  are  questions  of  detail  which  must  be 
answered  in  general  by  social  psychology,  and  in  particular  by 
specific  analysis  of  each  social  situation.  The  one  consideration  to 
be  urged  at  this  point  is  that  the  concept  "social  forces"  has  a  real 
content.  It  represents  reality.  There  are  social  forces.  They  are 


454  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  desires  of  persons.  They  range  in  energy  from  the  vagrant 
whim  that  makes  the  individual  a  temporary  discomfort  to  his  group, 
to  the  inbred  feelings  that  whole  races  share.  It  is  with  these  subtle 
forces  that  social  arrangements  and  the  theories  of  social  arrangements 
have  to  deal. 

2.    Interests1 

During  the  past  generation,  the  conception  of  the  "atom"  has 
been  of  enormous  use  in  physical  discovery.  Although  no  one  has 
ever  seen  an  atom,  the  supposition  that  there  are  ultimate  particles 
of  matter  in  which  the  "promise  and  potency"  of  all  physical  prop- 
erties and  actions  reside  has  served  as  a  means  of  investigation 
during  the  most  intensive  period  of  research  in  the  history  of  thought. 
Without  the  hypothesis  of  the  atom,  physics  and  chemistry,  and  in 
a  secondary  sense  biology,  would  have  lacked  chart  and  compass 
upon  their  voyages  of  exploration.  Although  the  notion  of  the  atom 
is  rapidly  changing,  and  the  tendency  of  physical  science  is  to  construe 
physical  facts  in  terms  of  motion  rather  than  of  the  traditional  atom, 
it  is  probably  as  needless  as  it  is  useless  for  us  to  concern  ourselves 
as  laymen  with  this  refinement.  Although  we  cannot  avoid  speaking 
of  the  smallest  parts  into  which  matter  can  be  divided,  and  although 
we  cannot  imagine,  on  the  other  hand,  how  any  portions  of  matter 
can  exist  and  not  be  divisible  into  parts,  we  are  probably  quite  as 
incapable  of  saving  ourselves  from  paradox  by  resort  to  the  vortex 
hypothesis  in  any  form.  That  is,  these  subtleties  are  too  wonderful 
for  most  minds.  Without  pushing  analysis  too  far,  and  without 
resting  any  theory  upon  analogy  with  the  atom  of  physical  theory, 
it  is  necessary  to  find  some  starting-place  from  which  to  trace  up  the 
composition  of  sentient  beings,  just  as  the  physicists  assumed  that 
they  found  their  starting-place  in  the  atom.  The  notion  of  interests 
is  accordingly  serving  the  same  purpose  in  sociology  which  the  notion 
of  atoms  has  served  in  physical  science.  Interests  are  the  stuff  that 
men  are  made  of.  More  accurately  expressed,  the  last  elements  to 
which  we  can  reduce  the  actions  of  human  beings  are  units  which  we 
may  conveniently  name  "interests."  It  is  merely  inverting  the  form 
of  expression  to  say:  Interests  are  the  simplest  modes  of  motion  which 
we  can  trace  in  the  conduct  of  human  beings. 

1  Adapted  from  Albion  W.  Small,  General  Sociology,  pp.  425-36.  (The  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  Press,  1005.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  455 

To  the  psychologist  the  individual  is  interesting  primarily  as  a 
center  of  knowing,  feeling,  and  willing.  To  the  sociologist  the  indi- 
vidual begins  to  be  interesting  when  he  is  thought  as  knowing,  feeling, 
and  willing  something.  In  so  far  as  a  mere  trick  of  emphasis  may  serve 
to  distinguish  problems,  this  ictus  indicates  the  sociological  starting- 
point.  The  individual  given  in  experience  is  thought  to  the  point 
at  which  he  is  available  for  sociological  assumption,  when  he  is  recog- 
nized as  a  center  of  activities  which  make  for  something  outside 
of  the  psychical  series  in  which  volition  is  a  term.  These  activities 
must  be  referred  primarily  to  desires,  but  the  desires  themselves 
may  be  further  referred  to  certain  universal  interests.  In  this  char- 
acter the  individual  becomes  one  of  the  known  or  assumed  terms  of 
sociology.  The  individual  as  a  center  of  active  interests  may  be 
thought  both  as  the  lowest  term  in  the  social  equation  and  as  a  com- 
posite term  whose  factors  must  be  understood.  These  factors  are 
either  the  more  evident  desires,  or  the  more  remote  interests  which 
the  individual's  desires  in  some  way  represent.  At  the  same  time, 
we  must  repeat  the  admission  that  these  assumed  interests  are  like 
the  atom  of  physics.  They  are  the  metaphysical  recourse  of  our  minds 
in  accounting  for  concrete  facts.  We  have  never  seen  or  touched 
them.  They  are  the  hypothetical  substratum  of  those  regularities 
of  conduct  which  the  activities  of  individuals  display. 

We  may  start  with  the  familiar  popular  expressions,  "  the  farm- 
ing interest,"  "the  railroad  interest,"  "the  packing  interest,"  "the 
milling  interest,"  etc.,  etc.  Everyone  knows  what  the  expressions 
mean.  Our  use  of  the  term  "interest"  is  not  co-ordinate  with  these, 
but  it  may  be  approached  by  means  of  them.  All  the  "interests" 
that  are  struggling  for  recognition  in  business  and  in  politics  are  highly 
composite.  The  owner  of  a  flour  mill,  for  example,  is  a  man  before 
he  is  a  miller.  He  becomes  a  miller  at  last  because  he  is  a  man;  i.e., 
because  he  has  interests — hi  a  deeper  sense  than  that  of  the  popular 
expressions — which  impel  him  to  act  in  order  to  gain  satisfactions. 
The  clue  to  all  social  activity  is  in  this  fact  of  individual  interests. 
Every  act  that  every  man  performs  is  to  be  traced  back  to  an  interest. 
We  eat  because  there  is  a  desire  for  food;  but  the  desire  is  set  in 
motion  by  a  bodily  interest  in  replacing  exhausted  force.  We  sleep 
because  we  are  tired;  but  the  weariness  is  a  function  of  the 
bodily  interest  in  rebuilding  used-up  tissue.  We  play  because  there 


456  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

is  a  bodily  interest  in  use  of  the  muscles.  We  study  because  there 
is  a  mental  interest  in  satisfying  curiosity.  We  mingle  with  our 
fellow-men  because  there  is  a  mental  interest  in  matching  our  per- 
sonality against  that  of  others.  We  go  to  market  to  supply  an 
economic  interest,  and  to  war  because  of  some  social  interest  of 
whatever  mixed  or  simple  form. 

With  this  introduction,  we  may  venture  an  extremely  abstract 
definition  of  our  concept  "interest."  In  general,  an  interest  is  an 
unsatisfied  capacity,  corresponding  to  an  unrealized  condition,  and  it  is 
predisposition  to  such  rearrangement  as  would  tend  to  realize  the  indicated 
condition.  Human  needs  and  human  wants  are  incidents  in  the 
series  of  events  between  the  latent  existence  of  human  interest  and 
the  achievement  of  partial  satisfaction.  Human  interests,  then,  are 
the  ultimate  terms  of  calculation  in  sociology.  The  whole  life-process, 
so  far  as  we  know  it,  whether  viewed  in  its  individual  or  in  its  social 
phase,  is  at  last  the  process  of  developing,  adjusting,  and  satisfying 
interests. 

No  single  term  is  of  more  constant  use  in  recent  sociology  than  this 
term  "interests."  We  use  it  hi  the  plural  partly  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
tinguishing it  from  the  same  term  in  the  sense  which  has  become  so 
familiar  in  modern  pedagogy.  The  two  uses  of  the  term  are  closely 
related,  but  they  are  not  precisely  identical.  The  pedagogical 
emphasis  is  rather  on  the  voluntary  attitude  toward  a  possible  object 
of  attention.  The  sociological  emphasis  is  on  attributes  of  persons 
which  may  be  compared  to  the  chemical  affinities  of  different  ele- 
ments. 

To  distinguish  the  pedagogical  from  the  sociological  use  of  the 
term  "interest,"  we  may  say  pedagogically  of  a  supposed  case: 
"The  boy  has  no  interest  in  physical  culture,  or  in  shop  work,  or  in 
companionship  with  other  boys,  or  hi  learning,  or  in  art,  or  in  moral- 
ity." That  is,  attention  and  choice  are  essential  elements  of  interest 
in  the  pedagogical  sense.  On  the  other  hand,  we  may  say  of  the 
same  boy,  in  the  sociological  sense:  "He  has  not  discovered  his 
health,  wealth,  sociability,  knowledge,  beauty,  and  Tightness  inter- 
ests." We  thus  imply  that  interests,  in  the  sociological  sense,  are 
not  necessarily  matters  of  attention  and  choice.  They  are  affinities, 
latent  hi  persons,  pressing  for  satisfaction,  whether  the  persons  are 
conscious  of  them  either  generally  or  specifically,  or  not;  they  are 


SOCIAL  FORCES  457 

indicated  spheres  of  activity  which  persons  enter  into  and  occupy  in 
the  course  of  realizing  their  personality. 

Accordingly,  we  have  virtually  said  that  interests  are  merely 
specifications  in  the  makeup  of  the  personal  units.  We  have  several 
times  named  the  most  general  classes  of  interests  which  we  find 
serviceable  in  sociology,  viz.:  health,  wealth,  sociability,  knowledge, 
beauty,  and  Tightness. 

We  need  to  emphasize,  in  addition,  several  considerations  about 
these  interests  which  are  the  motors  of  all  individual  and  social  action. 
First,  there  is  a  subjective  and  an  objective  aspect  of  them  all.  It 
would  be  easy  to  use  terms  of  these  interests  in  speculative  arguments 
in  such  a  way  as  to  shift  the  sense  fallaciously  from  the  one  aspect 
to  the  other;  e.g.,  moral  conduct,  as  an  actual  adjustment  of  the 
person  in  question  with  other  persons,  is  that  person's  "interest," 
in  the  objective  sense.  On  the  other  hand,  we  are  obliged  to  think 
of  something  in  the  person  himself  impelling  him,  however  uncon- 
sciously, toward  that  moral  conduct,  i.e.,  interest  as  "unsatisfied  capa- 
city" in  the  subjective  sense.  So  with  each  of  the  other  interests.  The 
fact  that  these  two  senses  of  the  term  are  always  concerned  must  never 
be  ignored;  but,  until  we  reach  refinements  of  analysis  which  demand 
use  for  these  discriminations,  they  may  be  left  out  of  sight.  Second, 
human  interests  pass  more  and  more  from  the  latent,  subjective, 
unconscious  state  to  the  active,  objective,  conscious  form.  That  is, 
before  the  baby  is  self-conscious,  the  baby's  essential  interest  in 
bodily  well-being  is  operating  in  performance  of  the  organic  functions. 
A  little  later  the  baby  is  old  enough  to  understand  that  certain  regula- 
tion of  his  diet,  certain  kinds  of  work  or  play,  will  help  to  make  and 
keep  him  well  and  strong.  Henceforth  there  is  in  him  a  co-operation 
of  interest  in  the  fundamental  sense,  and  interest  in  the  derived, 
secondary  sense,  involving  attention  and  choice.  If  we  could  agree 
upon  the  use  of  terms,  we  might  employ  the  word  "desire"  for  this 
development  of  interest;  i.e.,  physiological  performance  of  function  is, 
strictly  speaking,  the  health  interest;  the  desires  which  men  actually 
pursue  within  the  realm  of  bodily  function  may  be  normal  or  per- 
verted, hi  an  infinite  scale  of  variety.  So  with  each  of  the  other  inter- 
ests. Third,  with  these  qualifications  provided  for,  resolution  of 
human  activities  into  pursuit  of  differentiated  interests  becomes 
the  first  clue  to  the  combination  that  unlocks  the  mysteries  of  society. 


458  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

For  our  purposes  in  this  argument  we  need  not  trouble  ourselves 
very  much  about  nice  metaphysical  distinctions  between  the  aspects 
of  interest,  because  we  have  mainly  to  do  with  interests  in  the  same 
sense  in  which  the  man  of  affairs  uses  the  term.  The  practical 
politician  lodks  over  the  lobby  at  Washington  and  he  classifies  the 
elements  that  compose  it.  He  says:  "Here  is  the  railroad  interest, 
the  sugar  interest,  the  labor  interest,  the  army  interest,  the  canal 
interest,  the  Cuban  interest,  etc."  He  uses  the  term  "interest" 
essentially  in  the  sociological  sense  but  in  a  relatively  concrete  form, 
and  he  has  in  mind  little  more  than  variations  of  the  wealth  interest. 
He  would  explain  the  legislation  of  a  given  session  as  the  final  balance 
between  these  conflicting  pecuniary  interests.  He  is  right,  in  the 
main;  and  every  social  action  is,  hi  the  same  way,  an  accommoda- 
tion of  the  various  interests  which  are  represented  in  the  society 
concerned. 

3.     Social  Pressures1 

The  phenomena,  of  government  are  from  start  to  finish  phenomena 
of  force.  But  force  is  an  objectionable  word.  I  prefer  to  use  the 
word  pressure  instead  of  force,  since  it  keeps  the  attention  closely 
directed  upon  the  groups  themselves,  instead  of  upon  any  mystical 
"realities"  assumed  to  be  underneath  and  supporting  them,  and 
since  its  connotation  is  not  limited  to  the  narrowly  "physical."  We 
frequently  talk  of  "bringing  pressure  to  bear"  upon  someone,  and 
we  can  use  the  word  here  with  but  slight  extension  beyond  this 
common  meaning. 

Pressure,  as  we  shall  use  it,  is  always  a  group  phenomenon.  It 
indicates  the  push  and  resistance  between  groups.  The  balance  of 
the  group  pressures  is  the  existing  state  of  society.  Pressure  is 
broad  enough  to  include  all  forms  of  the  group  influence  upon  group, 
from  battle  and  riot  to  abstract  reasoning  and  sensitive  morality.  It 
takes  up  into  itself  "moral  energy"  and  the  finest  discriminations 
of  conscience  as  easily  as  bloodthirsty  lust  of  power.  It  allows  for 
humanitarian  movements  as  easily  as  for  political  corruption.  The 
tendencies  to  activity  are  pressures,  as  well  as  the  more  visible 
activities. 

'Adapted  from  Arthur  F.  Bentley,  The  Process  of  Government,  pp.  258-381. 
(The  University  of  Chicago  Press,  1908.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  459 

All  phenomena  of  government  are  phenomena  of  groups  pressing 
one  another,  forming  one  another,  and  pushing  out  new  groups  and 
group  representatives  (the  organs  or  agencies  of  government)  to 
mediate  the  adjustments.  It  is  only  as  we  isolate  these  group  activi- 
ties, determine  their  representative  values,  and  get  the  whole  process 
stated  in  terms  of  them  that  we  approach  to  a  satisfactory  knowledge 
of  government. 

When  we  take  such  an  agency  of  government  as  a  despotic  ruler, 
we  cannot  possibly  advance  to  an  understanding  of  him  except  in 
terms  of  the  group  activities  of  his  society  which  are  most  directly 
represented  through  him,  along  with  those  which  almost  seem  not 
ta  be  represented  through  him  at  all,  or  to  be  represented  to  a  different 
degree  or  in  a  different  manner.  And  it  is  the  same  with  democracies, 
even  in  their  "purest"  and  simplest  forms,  as  well  as  in  their  most 
complicated  forms.  We  cannot  fairly  talk  of  despotisms  or  of 
democracies  as  though  they  were  absolutely  distinct  types  of  govern- 
ment to  be  contrasted  offhand  with  each  other  or  with  other  types.  All 
depends  for  each  despotism  and  each  democracy  and  each  other  form  of 
government  on  the  given  interests,  their  relations,  and  their  methods 
of  interaction.  The  interest  groups  create  the  government  and 
work  through  it;  the  government,  as  activity,  works  "for"  the  groups; 
the  government,  from  the  viewpoint  of  certain  of  the  groups,  may 
at  times  be  their  private  tool;  the  government,  from  the  viewpoint 
of  others  of  the  groups,  seems  at  times  their  deadly  enemy;  but  the 
process  is  all  one,  and  the  joint  participation  is  always  present, 
however  it  may  be  phrased  in  public  opinion  or  clamor. 

It  is  convenient  most  of  the  time  in  studying  government  to  talk 
of  these  groups  as  interests.  But  I  have  already  indicated  with  suffi- 
cient clearness  that  the  interest  is  nothing  other  than  the  group 
activity  itself.  The  words  by  which  we  name  the  interests  often 
give  the  best  expression  to  the  value  of  the  group  activities  in  terms 
of  other  group  activities:  if  I  may  be  permitted  that  form  of  phras- 
ing, they  are  more  qualitative  than  quantitative  in  their  implications. 
But  that  is  sometimes  a  great  evil  as  well  as  sometimes  an  advantage. 
We  must  always  remember  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  interests 
purely  because  of  themselves  and  that  we  can  depend  on  them  only 
as  they  stand  for  groups  which  are  acting  or  tending  toward  activity 
or  pressing  themselves  along  in  their  activity  with  other  groups. 


460          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

When  we  get  the  group  activities  on  the  lower  planes  worked  out 
and  show  them  as  represented  in  various  forms  of  higher  groups, 
culminating  in  the  political  groups,  then  we  make  progress  in  our 
interpretations.  Always  and  everywhere  our  study  must  be  a  study 
of  the  interests  that  work  through  government;  otherwise  we  have 
not  got  down  to  facts.  Nor  will  it  suffice  to  take  a  single  interest 
group  and  base  our  interpretation  upon  it,  not  even  for  a  special  time 
and  a  special  place.  No  interest  group  has  meaning  except  with 
reference  to  other  interest  groups;  and  those  other  interest  groups 
are  pressures;  they  count  in  the  government  process.  The  lowest 
of  despised  castes,  deprived  of  rights  to  the  protection  of  property 
and  even  life,  will  still  be  found  to  be  a  factor  in  the  government,  if 
only  we  can  sweep  the  whole  field  and  measure  the  caste  in  its  true 
degree  of  power,  direct  or  represented,  in  its  potentiality  of  harm  to 
the  higher  castes,  and  in  its  identification  with  them  for  some  impor- 
tant purposes,  however  deeply  hidden  from  ordinary  view.  No  slaves, 
not  the  worst  abused  of  all,  but  help  to  form  the  government.  They 
are  an  interest  group  within  it. 

Tested  by  the  interest  groups  that  function  through  them,  legisla- 
tures are  of  two  general  types.  First  are  those  which  represent  one 
class  or  set  of  classes  in  the  government  as  opposed  to  some  other 
class,  which  is  usually  represented  in  a  monarch.  Second  are  those 
which  are  not  the  exclusive  stronghold  of  one  class  or  set  of  classes, 
but  are  instead  the  channel  for  the  functioning  of  all  groupings  of  the 
population.  The  borders  between  the  two  types  are  of  course  indis- 
tinct, but  they  approximate  closely  to  the  borders  between  a  society 
with  class  organization  and  one  with  classes  broken  down  into  freer 
and  more  changeable  group  interests. 

Neither  the  number  of  chambers  in  the  legislative  body  nor  the 
constitutional  relations  of  the  legislature  to  the  executive  can  serve 
to  define  the  two  types.  The  several  chambers  may  represent  several 
classes,  or  again  the  double-chamber  system  may  be  in  fact  merely 
a  technical  division,  with  the  same  interests  present  in  both  chambers. 
The  executive  may  be  a  class  representative,  or  merely  a  co-ordinate 
organ,  dividing  with  the  legislature  the  labor  of  providing  channels 
through  which  the  same  lot  of  manifold  interest  groups  can  work. 

It  lies  almost  on  the  surface  that  a  legislature  which  is  a  class 
agency  will  produce  results  in  accordance  with  the  class  pressure 


SOCIAL  FORCES  461 

behind  it.  Its  existence  has  been  established  by  struggle,  and  its 
life  is  a  continual  struggle  against  the  representatives  of  the  opposite 
class.  Of  course  there  will  be  an  immense  deal  of  argument  to  be 
heard  on  both  sides,  and  the  argument  will  involve  the  setting  forth 
of  "reasons"  in  limitless  number.  It  is  indeed  because  of  the  advan- 
tages (in  group  terms,  of  course)  of  such  argument  as  a  technical 
means  of  adjustment  that  the  legislative  bodies  survive.  Argument 
under  certain  conditions  is  a  greater  labor-saver  than  blows,  and  in 
it  the  group  interests  more  fully  unfold  themselves.  But  beneath  all 
the  argument  lies  the  strength.  The  arguments  go  no  farther  than 
the  strength  goes.  What  the  new  Russian  duma  will  get,  if  it  sur- 
vives, will  be  what  the  people  it  solidly  represents  are  strong  enough 
to  make  it  get,  and  no  more  and  no  less,  with  bombs  and  finances, 
famine  and  corruption  funds  alike  in  the  scale. 

But  the  farther  we  advance  among  legislatures  of  the  second 
type,  and  the  farther  we  get  away  from  the  direct  appeal  to  muscle 
and  weapon,  the  more  difficult  becomes  the  analysis  of  the  group 
components,  the  greater  is  the  prominence  that  falls  to  the  process  of 
argumentation,  the  more  adroitly  do  the  group  forces  mask  themselves 
in  morals,  ideals,  and  phrases,  the  more  plausible  becomes  the  inter- 
pretation of  the  legislature's  work  as  a  matter  of  reason,  not  of  pressure, 
and  the  more  common  it  is  to  hear  condemnations  of  those  portions 
of  the  process  at  which  violence  shows  through  the  reasoning  as  though 
they  were  per  se  perverted,  degenerate,  and  the  bearers  of  ruin. 
There  is,  of  course,  a  strong,  genuine  group  opposition  to  the  tech- 
nique of  violence,  which  is  an  important  social  fact;  but  a  statement 
of  the  whole  legislative  process  in  terms  of  the  discussion  forms  used 
by  that  anti-violence  interest  group  is  wholly  inadequate. 

4.    Idea-Forces1 

The  principle  that  I  assume  at  the  outset  is  that  every  idea  tends 
to  act  itself  out.  If  it  is  an  isolated  idea,  or  if  it  is  not  counter- 
balanced by  a  stronger  force,  its  realization  must  take  place.  Thus 
the  principle  of  the  struggle  for  existence  and  of  selection,  taking 
the  latter  word  in  its  broadest  sense,  is  in  my  opinion  as  applicable 
to  ideas  as  to  individuals  and  living  species;  a  selection  takes  place 

'Adapted  from  Alfred  Fouillee,  Education  from  a  National  Standpoint, 
pp.  10-16.  (D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1897.) 


462  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

in  the  brain  to  the  advantage  of  the  strongest  and  most  exclusive 
idea,  which  is  thus  able  to  control  the  whole  organism.  In  particular, 
the  child's  brain  is  an  arena  of  conflict  for  ideas  and  the  impulses  they 
include;  in  the  brain  the  new  idea  is  a  new  force  which  encounters 
the  ideas  already  installed,  and  the  impulses  already  developed  therein. 
Assume  a  mind,  as  yet  a  blank,  and  suddenly  introduce  into  it  the 
representation  of  any  movement,  the  idea  of  any  action — such  as 
raising  the  arm.  This  idea  being  isolated  and  unopposed,  the  wave 
of  disturbance  arising  in  the  brain  will  take  the  direction  of  the  arm, 
because  the  nerves  terminating  in  the  arm  are  disturbed  by  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  arm.  The  arm  will  therefore  be  lifted.  Before  a 
movement  begins,  we  must  think  of  this;  now  no  movement  that  has 
taken  place  is  lost;  it  is  necessarily  communicated  from  the  brain  to 
the  organs  if  unchecked  by  any  other  representation  or  impulse. 
The  transmission  of  the  idea  to  the  limbs  is  inevitable  as  long  as  the 
idea  is  isolated  or  unopposed.  This  I  have  called  the  law  of  idea- 
forces,  and  I  think  I  have  satisfactorily  explained  the  curious  facts  in 
connection  with  the  impulsive  actions  of  the  idea. 

The  well-known  experiments  of  Chevreul  on  the  "pendule  explora- 
teur,"  and  on  the  divining  rod,  show  that  if  we  represent  to  ourselves 
a  movement  in  a  certain  direction,  the  hand  will  finally  execute  this 
movement  without  our  consciousness,  and  so  will  transmit  it  to  the 
instrument.  Table-turning  is  the  realization  of  the  expected  move- 
ment by  means  of  the  unconscious  motion  of  the  hands.  Thought- 
reading  is  the  interpretation  of  imperceptible  movements,  in  which 
the  thought  of  the  subject  betrays  itself,  even  without  his  being 
conscious  of  it.  In  the  process  that  goes  on  when  we  are  fascinated 
or  on  the  point  of  fainting,  a  process  more  obvious  in  children  than 
in  adults,  there  is  an  inchoate  movement  which  the  paralysis  of  the 
will  fails  to  check.  When  I  was  a  lad,  I  was  once  running  over  a  plank 
across  the  weir  of  a  river,  it  never  entering  my  head  that  I  ran  any 
risk  of  falling;  suddenly  this  idea  came  into  play  like  a  force  obliquely 
compounded  with  the  straight  course  of  thought  which  had  up  to  that 
moment  been  guiding  my  footsteps.  I  felt  as  if  an  invisible  arm  had 
seized  me  and  was  dragging  me  down.  I  shrieked  and  stood  trembling 
above  the  foaming  water  until  assistance  came.  Here  the  mere  idea 
of  vertigo  produced  vertigo.  A  plank  on  the  ground  may  be  crossed 
without  arousing  any  idea  of  falling;  but  if  it  is  above  a  precipice, 


SOCIAL  FORCES  463 

and  we  think  of  the  distance  below,  the  impulse  to  fall  is  very  strong. 
Even  when  we  are  in  perfect  safety  we  may  feel  what  is  known  as 
the  "fascination"  of  a  precipice.  The  sight  of  the  gulf  below,  becom- 
ing a  fixed  idea,  produces  a  resultant  inhibition  on  all  other  ideas. 
Temptation,  which  is  always  besetting  a  child  because  everything 
is  new  to  it,  is  nothing  but  the  power  of  an  idea  and  its  motor  impulse. 

The  power  of  an  idea  is  the  greater,  the  more  prominently  it  is 
singled  out  from  the  general  content  of  consciousness.  This  selec- 
tion of  an  idea,  which  becomes  so  exclusive  that  the  whole  conscious- 
ness is  absorbed  in  it,  is  called  mono'ideism.  This  state  is  precisely 
that  of  a  person  who  has  been  hypnotized.  What  is  called  hypnotic 
suggestion  is  nothing  but  the  artificial  selection  of  one  idea  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  others,  so  that  it  passes  into  action.  Natural  somnam- 
bulism similarly  exhibits  the  force  of  ideas ;  whatever  idea  is  conceived 
by  the  somnambulist,  he 'carries  into  action.  The  kind  of  dream  in 
which  children  often  live  is  not  without  analogy  to  somnambulism. 
The  fixed  idea  is  another  instance  of  the  same  phenomenon,  which  is 
produced  in  the  waking  state,  and  which,  when  exaggerated,  becomes 
monomania,  a  kind  of  morbid  monoiideism;  children,  having  very 
few  ideas,  would  very  soon  acquire  fixed  ideas,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
mobility  of  attention  which  the  ceaseless  variation  of  the  surrounding 
world  produces  in  them.  Thus  all  the  facts  grouped  nowadays  under 
the  name  of  auto-suggestion  may,  in  my  opinion,  be  explained.  Here 
we  shall  generalize  the  law  in  this  form:  every  idea  conceived  by  the 
mind  is  an  auto-suggestion,  the  selective  effect  of  which  is  only  counter- 
balanced by  other  ideas  producing  a  different  auto-suggestion.  This 
is  especially  noticeable  in  the  young,  who  so  rapidly  carry  into  action 
what  is  passing  through  their  minds. 

The  philosophers  of  the  seventeenth  century,  with  Descartes  and 
Pascal,  considered  sentiments  and  passions  as  indistinct  thoughts,  as 
''thoughts,  as  it  were,  in  process  of  precipitation."  This  is  true. 
Beneath  all  our  sentiments  lies  a  totality  of  imperfectly  analyzed  ideas, 
a  swelling  stream  of  crowded  and  indistinct  reasons  by  the  momentum 
of  which  we  are  carried  away  and  swept  along.  Inversely,  sentiments 
underlie  all  our  ideas;  they  smoulder  in  the  dying  embers  of  abstrac- 
tions. Even  language  has  a  power  because  it  arouses  all  the  senti- 
ments which  it  condenses  in  a  formula;  the  mere  names  "honor" 
and  "duty"  arouse  infinite  echoes  in  the  consciousness.  At  the  name 


464  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  "honor"  alone,  a  legion  of  images  is  on  the  point  of  surging  up; 
vaguely,  as  with  eyes  open  in  the  dark,  we  see  all  the  possible  witnesses 
of  our  acts,  from  father  and  mother  to  friends  and  fellow-countrymen; 
further,  if  our  imagination  is  vivid  enough,  we  can  see  those  great 
ancestors  who  did  not  hesitate  under  similar  circumstances.  "We 
must;  forward!"  We  feel  that  we  are  enrolled  in  an  army  of  gallant 
men;  the  whole  race,  in  its  most  heroic  representatives,  is  urging 
us  on.  There  is  a  social  and  even  a  historical  element  beneath 
moral  ideas.  Besides,  language,  a  social  product,  is  also  a  social  force. 
The  pious  mind  goes  farther  still;  duty  is  personified  as  a  being — 
the  living  Good  whose  voice  we  hear. 

Some  speak  of  lifeless  formulas;  of  these  there  are  very  few.  A 
word,  an  idea,  is  a  formula  of  possible  action  and  of  sentiments  ready 
to  pass  into  acts;  they  are  "verbs."  Now,  every  sentiment,  every 
impulse  which  becomes  formulated  with,  as  it  were,  a  fiat,  acquires 
by  this  alone  a  new  and  quasi-creative  force;  it  is  not  merely  rendered 
visible  by  its  own  light  to  itself  but  it  is  defined,  specified,  and  selected 
from  the  rest,  and  ipso  facto  directed  in  its  course.  That  is  why 
formulas  relative  to  action  are  so  powerful  for  good  or  evil;  a  child 
feels  a  vague  temptation,  a  tendency  for  which  it  cannot  account. 
Pronounce  in  its  hearing  the  formula,  change  the  blind  impulse  into 
the  luminous  idea,  and  this  will  be  a  new  suggestion  which  may,  per- 
haps, cause  it  to  fall  in  the  direction  to  which  it  was  already  inclined. 
On  the  other  hand,  some  formulas  of  generous  sentiments  will  carry 
away  a  vast  audience  immediately  they  are  uttered.  The  genius  is 
often  the  man  who  translates  the  aspirations  of  his  age  into  ideas; 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice  a  whole  nation  is  moved.  Great  moral, 
religious,  and  social  revolutions  ensue  when  the  sentiments,  long 
restrained  and  scarcely  conscious  of  their  own  existence,  become 
formulated  into  ideas  and  words;  the  way  is  then  opened,  the  means 
and  the  goal  are  visible  alike,  selection  takes  place,  all  the  volitions 
are  simultaneously  guided  in  the  same  direction,  like  a  torrent  which 
has  found  the  weakest  point  in  the  dam. 

5.    Sentiments1 

We  seldom  experience  the  primary  emotions  in  the  pure  or  unmixed 
forms  in  which  they  are  commonly  manifested  by  the  animals.  Our 

1  Adapted  from  William  McDougall,  An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology, 
pp.  121-64.  (John  W.  Luce  &  Co.,  1916.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  465 

emotional  states  commonly  arise  from  the  simultaneous  excitement 
of  two  or  more  of  the  instinctive  dispositions;  and  the  majority  of 
the  names  currently  used  to  denote  our  various  emotions  are  the 
names  of  such  mixed,  secondary,  or  complex  emotions.  That  the  great 
variety  of  our  emotional  states  may  be  properly  regarded  as  the 
result  of  the  compounding  of  a  relatively  small  number  of  primary 
or  simple  emotions  is  no  new  discovery.  Descartes,  for  example, 
recognized  only  six  primary  emotions,  or  passions  as  he  termed  them, 
namely — admiration,  love,  hatred,  desire,  joy,  and  sadness,  and  he 
wrote,  "All  the  others  are  composed  of  some  out  of  these  six  and 
derived  from  them."  He  does  not  seem  to  have  formulated  any 
principles  for  the  determination  of  the  primaries  and  the  distinction 
of  them  from  the  secondaries. 

The  compounding  of  the  primary  emotions  is  largely,  though  not 
wholly,  due  to  the  existence  of  sentiments,  and  some  of  the  complex 
emotional  processes  can  only  be  generated  from  sentiments.  Before 
going  on  to  discuss  the  complex  emotions,  we  must  therefore  try  to 
understand  as  clearly  as  possible  the  nature  of  a  sentiment. 

The  word  "sentiment"  is  still  used  in  several  different  senses. 
M.  Ribot  and  other  French  authors  use  its  French  equivalent  as 
covering  all  the  feelings  and  emotions,  as  the  most  general  name  for 
the  affective  aspect  of  mental  processes.  We  owe  to  Mr.  A.  F.  Shand 
the  recognition  of  features  of  our  mental  constitution  of  a  most 
important  kind  that  have  been  strangely  overlooked  by  other  psy- 
chologists, and  the  application  of  the  word  "sentiments"  to  denote 
features  of  this  kind.  Mr.  Shand  points  out  that  our  emotions,  or, 
more  strictly  speaking,  our  emotional  dispositions,  tend  to  become 
organized  in  systems  about  the  various  objects  and  classes  of  objects 
that  excite  them.  Such  an  organized  system  of  emotional  tendencies 
is  not  a  fact  or  mode  of  experience,  but  is  a  feature  of  the  complexly 
organized  structure  of  the  mind  that  underlies  all  our  mental  activity. 
To  such  an  organized  system  of  emotional  tendencies  centered  about 
some  object  Mr.  Shand  proposes  to  apply  the  name  "sentiment." 
This  application  of  the  word  is  in  fair  accordance  with  its  usage  in 
popular  speech,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  will  rapidly  be 
adopted  by  psychologists. 

The  organization  of  the  sentiments  in  the  developing  mind  is 
determined  by  the  course  of  experience;  that  is  to  say,  the  sentiment 


466  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

is  a  growth  in  the  structure  of  the  mind  that  is  not  natively  given  in 
the  inherited  constitution.  This  is  certainly  true  in  the  main,  though 
the  maternal  sentiment  might  almost  seem  to  be  innate;  but  we  have 
to  remember  that  in  the  human  mother  this  sentiment  may,  and 
generally  does,  begin  to  g*ow  up  about  the  idea  of  its  object,  before 
the  child  is  born. 

The  growth  of  the  sentiments  is  of  the  utmost  importance  for  the 
character  and  conduct  of  individuals  and  of  societies;  it  is  the  organi- 
zation of  the  affective  and  conative  life.  In  the  absence  of  sentiments 
our  emotional  life  would  be  a  mere  chaos,  without  order,  consistency, 
or  continuity  of  any  kind;  and  all  our  social  relations  and  conduct, 
being  based  on  the  emotions  and  their  impulses,  would  be  corre- 
spondingly chaotic,  unpredictable,  and  unstable.  It  is  only  through 
the  systematic  organization  of  the  emotional  dispositions  in  sentiments 
that  the  volitional  control  of  the  immediate  promptings  of  the  emo- 
tions is  rendered  possible.  Again,  our  judgments  of  value  and  of 
merit  are  rooted  in  our  sentiments;  and  our  moral  principles  have 
the  same  source,  for  they  are  formed  by  our  judgments  of  moral  value. 

The  sentiments  may  be  classified  according  to  the  nature  of  their 
objects;  they  then  fall  into  three  main  classes:  the  concrete  particular, 
the  concrete  general,  and  the  abstract  sentiments — e.g.,  the  sentiment 
of  love  for  a  child,  of  love  for  children  in  general,  of  love  for  justice  or 
virtue.  Their  development  in  the  individual  follows  this  order,  the 
concrete  particular  sentiments  being,  of  course,  the  earliest  and  most 
easily  acquired.  The  number  of  sentiments  a  man  may  acquire, 
reckoned  according  to  the  number  of  objects  in  which  they  are  cen- 
tered, may,  of  course,  be  very  large;  but  almost  every  man  has  a 
small  number  of  sentiments — perhaps  one  only — that  greatly  surpass 
all  the  rest  in  strength  and  as  regards  the  proportion  of  his  conduct 
that  springs  from  them. 

Each  sentiment  has  a  life-history,  like  every  other  vital  organi- 
zation. It  is  gradually  built  up,  increasing  in  complexity  and  strength 
and  may  continue  to  grow  indefinitely,  or  may  enter  upon  a  period  of 
decline,  and  may  decay  slowly  or  rapidly,  partially  or  completely. 

When  any  one  of  the  emotions  is  strongly  or  repeatedly  excited 
by  a  particular  object,  there  is  formed  the  rudiment  of  a  sentiment. 
Suppose  that  a  child  is  thrown  into  the  company  of  some  person  given 
to  frequent  outbursts  of  violent  anger,  say,  a  violent-tempered  father 


SOCIAL  FORCES  467 

who  is  otherwise  indifferent  to  the  child  and  takes  no  further  notice 
of  him  than  to  threaten,  scold,  and,  perhaps,  beat  him.  At  first  the 
child  experiences  fear  at  each  exhibition  of  violence,  but  repetition 
of  these  incidents  very  soon  creates  the  habit  of  fear,  and  in  the 
presence  of  his  father,  even  in  his  mildest  moods,  the  child  is  timorous; 
that  is  to  say,  the  mere  presence  of  the  father  throws  the  child's  fear- 
disposition  into  a  condition  of  sub-excitement,  which  increases  on 
the  slightest  occasion  until  it  produces  all  the  subjective  and  objective 
manifestations  of  fear.  As  a  further  stage,  the  mere  idea  of  the  father 
becomes  capable  of  producing  the  same  effects  as  his  presence;  this 
idea  has  become  associated  with  the  emotion;  or,  in  stricter  language, 
the  psychophysical  disposition  whose  excitement  involves  the  rise  to 
consciousness  of  this  idea,  has  become  associated  or  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  psychophysical  disposition  whose  excitement  produces 
the  bodily  and  mental  symptoms  of  fear.  Such  an  association  con- 
stitutes a  rudimentary  sentiment  that  we  can  only  call  a  sentiment 
of  fear. 

In  a  similar  way,  a  single  act  of  kindness  done  by  A  to  B  may 
evoke  in  B  the  emotion  of  gratitude ;  and  if  A  repeats  his  kindly  acts, 
conferring  benefits  on  B,  the  gratitude  of  B  may  become  habitual, 
may  become  an  enduring  emotional  attitude  of  B  towards  A — a 
sentiment  of  gratitude.  Or,  in  either  case,  a  single  act — one  evoking 
very  intense  fear  or  gratitude — may  suffice  to  render  the  association 
more  or  less  durable  and  the  attitude  of  fear,  or  gratitude,  of  B  toward 
A  more  or  less  permanent. 

6.     Social  Attitudes1 

"Consciousness,"  says  Jacques  Loeb,  "is  only  a  metaphysical 
term  for  phenomena  which  are  determined  by  associative  memory. 
By  associative  memory  I  mean  that  mechanism  by  which  a  stimulus 
brings  about  not  only  the  effects  which  its  nature  and  the  specific 
structure  of  the  irritable  organ  call  for,  but  by  which  it  brings  about 
also  the  effects  of  other  stimuli  which  formerly  acted  upon  the  organism 
almost  or  quite  simultaneously  with  the  stimulus  in  question.  If  an 
animal  can  be  trained,  if  it  can  learn,  it  possesses  associative  memory." 
In  short,  because  we  have  memories  we  are  able  to  profit  by  experi- 
ences. 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  Principles  of  Human  Behavior,  pp.  18-34.  (The 
Zalaz  Corporation,  1915.) 


468  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  the  memories  that  determine,  on  the  whole,  what  objects 
shall  mean  to  us,  and  how  we  shall  behave  toward  them.  We  cannot 
say,  hov/ever,  that  a  perception  or  an  object  is  ever  wholly  without 
meaning  to  us.  The  flame  to  which  the  child  stretches  out  its  hand 
means,  even  before  he  has  any  experience  of  it,  "something  to  be 
reached  for,  something  to  be  handled."  After  the  first  experience  of 
touching  it,  however,  it  means  "something  naturally  attractive  but  still 
to  be  avoided."  Each  new  experience,  so  far  as  it  is  preserved  in 
memory,  adds  new  meanings  to  the  objects  with  which  it  is  associated. 

Our  perceptions  and  our  ideas  embody  our  experiences  of  objects 
and  so  serve  as  signs  of  what  we  may  expect  of  them.  They  are  the 
means  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  control  our  behavior  toward  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  lose  our  memories,  either  temporarily  or 
permanently,  we  lose  at  the  same  time  our  control  over  our  actions 
and  are  still  able  to  respond  to  objects,  but  only  in  accordance  with  our 
inborn  tendencies.  After  all  our  memories  are  gone,  we  still  have 
our  original  nature  to  fall  back  upon. 

There  is  a  remarkable  case  reported  by  Sidis  and  Goodhart  which 
illustrates  the  role  that  memory  plays  in  giving  us  control  over  our 
inherited  tendencies.  It  is  that  of  Rev.  Thomas  C.  Hanna,  who, 
while  attempting  to  alight  from  a  carriage,  lost  his  footing,  fell  to  the 
ground  and  was  picked  up  unconscious.  When  he  awoke  it  was  found 
that  he  had  not  only  lost  the  faculty  of  speech  but  he  had  lost  all 
voluntary  control  of  his  limbs.  He  had  forgotten  how  to  walk.  He 
had  not  lost  his  senses.  He  could  feel  and  see,  but  he  was  not  able  to 
distinguish  objects.  He  had  no  sense  of  distance.  He  was  in  a  state 
of  complete  "mental  blindness."  At  first  he  did  not  distinguish 
between  his  own  movements  and  those  of  other  objects.  "He  was  as 
much  interested  in  the  movements  of  his  own  limbs  as  in  that  of 
external  things."  He  had  no  conception  of  time.  "  Seconds,  minutes, 
and  hours  were  alike  to  him."  He  felt  hunger  but  he  did  not  know 
how  to  interpret  the  feeling  and  had  no  notion  of  how  to  satisfy  it. 
When  food  was  offered  him  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it.  In 
order  to  get  him  to  swallow  food  it  had  to  be  placed  far  back  in  his 
throat,  in  order  to  provoke  reflex  swallowing  movements.  In  their 
report  of  the  case  the  authors  say: 

Like  an  infant,  he  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  simplest  words, 
nor  did  he  understand  the  use  of  language.  Imitation  was  the  factor  in 


SOCIAL  FORCES  469 

his  first  education.  He  learned  the  meaning  of  words  by  imitating  definite 
articulate  sounds  made  in  connection  with  certain  objects  and  activities. 
The  pronunciation  of  words  and  their  combination  into  whole  phrases  he 
acquired  in  the  same  imitative  way.  At  first  he  simply  repeated  any  word 
and  sentence  heard,  thinking  that  this  meant  something  to  others.  This 
manner  of  blind  repetition  and  unintelligent  imitation  was,  however,  soon 
given  up,  and  he  began  systematically  to  learn  the  meaning  of  words  in 
connection  with  the  objective  content  they  signified.  As  in  the  case  of 
children  who,  in  their  early  developmental  stage,  use  one  word  to  indicate 
many  objects  different  in  their  nature,  but  having  some  common  point  of 
superficial  resemblance,  so  was  it  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Hanna:  the  first  word 
he  acquired  was  used  by  him  to  indicate  all  the  objects  he  wanted. 

The  first  word  he  learned  was  "apple"  and  for  a  time  apple  was 
the  only  word  he  knew.  At  first  he  learned  only  the  names  of  par- 
ticular objects.  He  did  not  seem  able  to  learn  words  with  an  abstract 
or  general  significance.  But  although  he  was  reduced  to  a  state  of 
mental  infancy,  his  "intelligence"  remained,  and  he  learned  with 
astonishing  rapidity.  "His  faculty  of  judgment,  his  power  of  reason- 
ing, were  as  sound  and  vigorous  as  ever,"  continues  the  report.  "The 
content  of  knowledge  seemed  to  have  been  lost,  but  the  form  of  knowl- 
edge remained  as  active  as  before  the  accident  and  was  perhaps  even 
more  precise  and  definite." 

One  reason  why  man  is  superior  to  the  brutes  is  probably  that  he 
has  a  better  natural  memory.  Another  reason  is  that  there  are  more 
things  that  he  can  do,  and  so  he  has  an  opportunity  to  gain  a  wider  and 
more  varied  experience.  Consider  what  a  man  can  do  with  his  hands! 
To  this  he  has  added  tools  and  machinery,  which  are  an  extension  of 
the  hand  and  have  multiplied  its  powers  enormously.  It  is  now 
pretty  well  agreed,  however,  that  the  chief  advantage  which  mankind 
has  over  the  brutes  is  in  the  possession  of  speech  by  which  he  can 
communicate  his  ideas.  In  comparatively  recent  times  he  has  supple- 
mented this  means  of  communication  by  the  invention  of  the  printing 
press,  the  telegraph,  and  the  telephone.  In  this  way  he  has  been 
able  not  only  to  communicate  his  experiences  but  to  fund  and  trans- 
mit them  from  one  generation  to  another. 

As  soon  as  man  began  to  point  out  objects  and  associate  them 
with  vocal  sounds,  he  had  obtained  possession  of  a  symbol  by  which 
he  was  able  to  deliberately  communicate  his  desires  and  his  intentions 


470          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  other  men  in  a  more  precise  and  definite  way  than  he  had  been  able 
to  do  through  the  medium  of  spontaneous  emotional  expression. 

The  first  words,  we  may  suppose,  were  onomatopoetic,  that  is  to 
say,  vocal  imitations  of  the  objects  to  which  they  referred.  At  any 
rate  they  arose  spontaneously  in  connection  with  the  situation  that 
inspired  them.  They  were  then  imitated  by  others  and  thus  became 
the  common  and  permanent  possession  of  the  group.  Language 
thus  assumed  for  the  group  the  role  of  perception  in  the  individual. 
It  became  the  sign  and  symbol  of  those  meanings  which  were  the 
common  possession  of  the  group. 

As  the  number  of  such  symbols  was  relatively  small  in  com- 
parison to  the  number  of  ideas,  words  inevitably  came  to  have  dif- 
ferent meanings  in  different  contexts.  In  the  long  run  the  effect  of  this 
was  to  detach  the  words  from  the  particular  contexts  in  which  they 
arose  and  loosen  their  connections  with  the  particular  sentiments  and 
attitudes  with  which  they  were  associated.  They  came  to  have  thus 
a  more  distinctively  symbolic  and  formal  character.  It  was  thus  pos- 
sible to  give  them  more  precise  definitions,  to  make  of  them  abstrac- 
tions and  mental  toys,  which  the  individual  could  play  with  freely  and 
disinterestedly.  Like  the  child  who  builds  houses  with  blocks,  he  was 
able  to  arrange  them  in  orders  and  systems,  create  ideal  structures, 
like  the  constructions  of  mathematics,  which  he  was  then  able  to 
employ  as  means  of  ordering  and  systematizing  his  more  concrete 
experiences. 

All  this  served  to  give  the  individual  a  more  complete  control 
over  his  own  experience  and  that  of  the  group.  It  made  it  possible 
to  analyze  and  classify  his  own  experiences  and  compare  them  with 
those  of  his  fellows  and  so,  eventually,  to  erect  the  vast  structure  of 
formal  and  scientific  knowledge  on  the  basis  of  which  men  are  able 
to  live  and  work  together  in  co-operation  upon  the  structure  of  a 
common  civilization. 

The  point  is  that  the  breadth  of  the  experience  over  which  man 
has  control  and  the  disinterestedness  with  which  he  is  able  to  view  it 
is  the  basis  of  the  Intellectual  attainment  of  the  individual,  as  of  the 
race. 

If  human  beings  were  thoroughly  rational  creatures,  we  may 
presume  that  they  would  act,  at  every  instant,  on  the  basis  of  all 
their  experience  and  all  the  knowledge  that  they  were  able  to  obtain 


SOCIAL  FORCES  471 

from  the  experience  of  others.  The  truth  is,  however,  that  we  are 
never  able,  at  any  one  time,  to  mobilize,  control,  and  use  all  the 
experience  and  all  the  knowledge  that  we  no^  possess  and  which,  if 
we  were  less  human  than  we  are,  might  serve  to  guide  and  control 
our  actions.  It  is  precisely  the  function  of  science  to  collect,  organize, 
and  make  available  for  our  practical  uses  the  fund  of  experience  and 
of  knowledge  we  do  possess. 

Not  only  do  we  already  have  more  knowledge  than  we  can  use, 
but  much  of  our  personal  and  individual  experience  drops  out  and  is 
lost  in  the  course  of  a  lifetime.  Meanwhile,  later  experiences  are 
constantly  adding  themselves  to  the  earlier  ones.  In  this  way  the 
meaning  of  the  world  is  constantly  changing  for  us,  much  as  the  surface 
of  the  earth  is  constantly  under  the  influence  of  the  weather. 

The  actual  constellation  of  our  memories  and  ideas  is  determined 
at  any  given  moment  not  merely  by  processes  of  association  but  also 
by  processes  of  dissociation.  Practical  interests,  sentiments,  and 
emotional  outbursts — love,  fear,  and  anger — are  constantly  inter- 
rupting the  logical  and  constructive  processes  of  the  mind.  These 
forces  tend  to  dissolve  established  connections  between  ideas  and 
disintegrate  our  memories  so  that  they  rarely  function  as  a  whole 
or  as  a  unit,  but  rather  as  more  or  less  dissociated  systems. 

The  mere  act  of  attention,  for  example,  so  far  as  it  focuses  the 
activities  upon  a  single  object,  tends  to  narrow  the  range  of  associ- 
ations, check  deliberation,  and,  by  isolating  one  idea  or  system  of 
ideas,  prepares  us  to  act  in  accordance  with  them  without  regard  to 
the  demands  of  other  ideas  in  the  wider  but  now  suppressed  context 
of  our  experience.  The  isolation  of  one  group  of  ideas  implies  the 
suppression  of  other  groups  which  are  inconsistent  with  them  or 
hinder  the  indicated  action. 

When  the  fundamental  instinct-emotions  are  aroused,  they 
invariably  have  the  effect  of  isolating  the  ideas  with  which  they  are 
associated  and  of  inhibiting  the  contrary  emotions.  This  is  the 
explanation  of  war.  When  the  fighting  instincts  are  stirred,  men 
lose  the  fear  of  death  and  the  horror  of  killing. 

When  an  idea,  particularly  one  that  is  associated  with  some 
original  tendency  of  human  nature,  is  thus  isolated  in  conscious- 
ness, the  tendency  is  to  respond  to  it  automatically,  just  as  one 
would  respond  to  a  simple  reflex.  This  explains  the  phenomena  of 


472  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

suggestion.  A  state  of  suggestibility  is  always  a  pre-condition  of 
suggestion,  and  suggestibility  means  just  such  an  isolation  and 
dissociation  of  the  suggested  idea  as  has  been  described.  Hypnotic 
trance  may  be  denned  as  a  condition  of  abnormal  suggestibility,  in 
which  the  subject  tends  to  carry  out  automatically  the  commands  of 
the  experimenter,  "as  if,"  as  the  familiar  phrase  puts  it,  "he  had  no 
will  of  his  own,"  or  rather,  as  if  the  will  of  the  experimenter  had 
been  substituted  for  that  of  the  subject.  In  fact  the  phenomena 
of  auto-suggestion,  in  which  one  obeys  his  own  suggestion,  seems  to 
differ  from  other  forms  of  the  same  phenomena  only  in  the  fact  that 
the  subject  obeys  his  own  commands  instead  of  those  of  the  experi- 
menter. Not  only  suggestion  and  auto-suggestion,  but  imitation, 
which  is  nothing  more  than  another  form  of  suggestion,  are  made 
possible  by  the  existence  of  mental  mechanisms  created  by  dissociation. 

Hypnotism  represents  an  extreme  but  temporary  form  of  dis- 
sociation of  the  memories,  artificially  produced.  Fascination  and 
abstraction  (absent-mindness)  are  milder  forms  of  the  same  phe- 
nomena with  this  difference,  that  they  occur  "in  nature"  and  without 
artificial  stimulation. 

A  more  permanent  dissociation  is  represented  in  moods.  The 
memories  which  connect  themselves  with  moods  are  invariably  such 
as  will  support  the  dominant  emotion.  At  the  same  time  memories 
which  tend  in  any  way  to  modify  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  mood 
are  spontaneously  suppressed. 

It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  persons  whose  occupations  or  whose 
mode  of  life  brings  them  habitually  into  different  worlds,  so  that  the 
experiences  in  one  have  little  or  nothing  in  common  with  those  of 
the  other,  inevitably  develop  something  akin  to  a  dual  personality. 
The  business  man,  for  example,  is  one  person  in  the  city  and  another 
at  his  home  in  the  suburbs. 

The  most  striking  and  instructive  instances  of  dissociation,  how- 
ever, are  the  cases  of  dual  or  multiple  personality  in  which  the  same 
individual  lives  successively  or  simultaneously  two  separate  lives, 
each  of  which  is  wholly  oblivious  of  the  other.  The  classic  instance 
of  this  kind  is  the  case  of  the  Rev.  Ansel  Bourne  reported  by  William 
James  in  his  Principles  of  Psychology.  Ansel  Bourne  was  an  itinerant 
preacher  living  at  Greene,  Rhode  Island.  On  January  19,  1887,  he 
drew  $551.00  from  a  bank  in  Providence  and  entered  a  Pawtucket 


SOCIAL  FORCES  473 

horse  car  and  disappeared.  He  was  advertised  as  missing,  foul  play 
being  suspected. 

On  the  morning  of  March  24,  at  Norristown,  Pennsylvania,  a 
man  calling  himself  A.  J.  Brown  awoke  in  a  fright  and  called  on  the 
people  of  the  house  to  tell  him  who  he  was.  Later  he  said  he  was 
Ansel  Bourne.  Nothing  was  known  of  him  in  Norristown  except 
that  six  weeks  before  he  had  rented  a  small  shop,  stocked  it  with 
stationery,  confectionery,  and  other  small  articles,  and  was  carrying 
on  a  quiet  trade  "without  seeming  to  anyone  unnatural  or  eccentric." 
At  first  it  was  thought  he  was  insane,  but  his  story  was  confirmed 
and  he  was  returned  to  his  home.  It  was  then  deemed  that  he  had 
lost  all  memory  of  the  period  which  had  elapsed  since  he  boarded  the 
Pawtucket  car.  What  he  had  done  or  where  he  had  been  between 
the  time  he  left  Providence  and  arrived  in  Norristown,  no  one  had 
the  slightest  information. 

In  1890  he  was  induced  by  William  James  to  submit  to  hypnotism 
in  order  to  see  whether  in  his  trance  state  his  "Brown"  memories 
would  come  back.  The  experiment  was  so  successful  that,  as  James 
remarks,  "it  proved  quite  impossible  to  make  him,  while  in  hypnosis, 
remember  any  of  the  facts  of  his  normal  life."  The  report  continues: 

He  had  heard  of  Ansel  Bourne,  but  "didn't  know  as  he  had  ever  met 
the  man."  When  confronted  with  Mrs.  Bourne  he  said  that  he  had  "never 
seen  the  woman  before,"  etc.  On  the  other  hand,  he  told  of  his  peregrina- 
tions during  the  lost  fortnight,  and  gave  all  sorts  of  details  about  the 
Norristown  episode.  The  whole  thing  was  prosaic  enough;  and  the  Brown- 
personality  seems  to  be  nothing  but  a  rather  shrunken,  dejected,  and 
amnesic  extract  of  Mr.  Bourne  himself.  He  gave  no  motive  for  the  wan- 
dering except  that  there  was  "trouble  back  there"  and  he  "wanted  rest." 
During  the  trance  he  looks  old,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  are  drawn  down, 
his  voice  is  slow  and  weak,  and  he  sits  screening  his  eyes  and  trying  vainly 
to  remember  what  lay  before  and  after  the  two  months  of  the  Brown 
experience.  "I'm  all  hedged  in,"  he  says,  "I  can't  get  out  at  either  end. 
I  don't  know  what  set  me  down  in  that  Pawtucket  horse-car,  and  I  don't 
know  how  I  ever  left  that  store  or  what  became  of  it."  His  eyes  are  prac- 
tically normal,  and  all  his  sensibilities  (save  for  tardier  response)  about 
the  same  in  hypnosis  as  in  waking.  I  had  hoped  by  suggestion  to  run  the 
two  personalities  into  one,  and  make  the  memories  continuous,  but  no 
artifice  would  avail  to  accomplish  this,  and  Mr.  Bourne's  skull  today  still 
covers  two  distinct  personal  selves. 


474  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

An  interesting  circumstance  with  respect  to  this  case  and  others 
is  that  the  different  personalities,  although  they  inhabit  the  same 
body  and  divide  between  them  the  experiences  of  a  single  individual, 
not  only  regard  themselves  as  distinct  and  independent  persons  but 
they  exhibit  marked  differences  in  character,  temperament,  and 
tastes,  and  frequently  profess  for  one  another  a  decided  antipathy. 
The  contrasts  in  temperament  and  character  displayed  by  these 
split-off  personalities  are  illustrated  in  the  case  of  Miss  Beauchamp, 
to  whose  strange  and  fantastic  history  Morton  Prince  has  devoted  a 
volume  of  nearly  six  hundred  pages. 

In  this  case,  the  source  of  whose  morbidity  was  investigated 
by  means  of  hypnotism,  not  less  than  three  distinct  personalities  in 
addition  to  that  of  the  original  and  real  Miss  Beauchamp  were 
evolved.  Each  one  of  these  was  distinctly  different  and  decidedly 
antipathetic  to  the  others. 

Pierre  Janet's  patient,  Madam  B,  however,  is  the  classic  illustra- 
tion of  this  dissociated  personality.  From  the  time  she  was  sixteen 
years  of  age,  Leonie,  as  she  was  called,  had  been  so  frequently  hyp- 
notized and  subjected  to  so  much  clinical  experimentation  that  a 
well-organized  secondary  personality  was  elaborated,  which  was 
designated  as  Leontine.  Leonie  was  a  poor  peasant  woman,  serious, 
timid,  and  melancholy.  Leontine  was  gay,  noisy,  restless,  and  ironi- 
cal. Leontine  did  not  recognize  that  she  had  any  relationship  with 
Leonie,  whom  she  referred  to  as  "that  good  woman,"  "the  other," 
who  "is  not  I,  she  is  too  stupid."  Eventually  a  third  personality, 
known  as  Leonore,  appeared  who  did  not  wish  to  be  mistaken  for 
either  that  "good  but  stupid  woman"  Leonie,  nor  for  the  "foolish 
babbler"  Leontine. 

Of  these  personalities  Leonie  possessed  only  her  own  memories, 
Leontine  possessed  the  memories  of  Leonie  and  her  own,  while  the 
memories  of  Leonore,  who  was  superior  to  them  both,  included 
Madam  B's  whole  life. 

What  is  particularly  interesting  in  connection  with  this  phenome- 
non of  multiple  personality  is  the  fact  that  it  reveals  in  a  striking  way 
the  relation  of  the  subconscious  to  the  conscious.  The  term  sub- 
conscious, as  it  occurs  in  the  literature  of  psychology,  is  a  word  of 
various  meanings.  In  general,  however,  we  mean  by  subconscious  a 
region  of  consciousness  in  which  the  dissociated  memories,  the 


SOCIAL  FORCES  475 

"suppressed  complexes,"  as  they  are  called,  maintain  some  sort  of 
conscious  existence  and  exercise  an  indirect  though  very  positive 
influence  upon  the  ideas  in  the  focus  of  consciousness,  and  so  upon  the 
behavior  of  the  individual.  The  subconscious,  in  short,  is  the  region 
of  the  suppressed  memories.  They  are  suppressed  because  they  have 
come  into  conflict  with  the  dominant  complex  in  consciousness  which 
represents  the  personality  of  the  individual. 

"Emotional  conflicts"  have  long  been  the  theme  of  literary 
analysis  and  discussion.  In  recent  years  they  have  become  the  sub- 
ject of  scientific  investigation.  In  fact  a  new  school  of  medical  psy- 
chology with  a  vast  literature  has  grown  up  around  and  out  of  the 
investigations  of  the  effects  of  the  suppression  of  a  single  instinct — 
the  sexual  impulse.  A  whole  class  of  nervous  disorders,  what  are 
known  as  psychoneuroses,  are  directly  attributed  by  Dr.  Sigmund 
Freud  and  the  psychoanalytic  school,  as  it  is  called,  to  these  suppres- 
sions, many  of  which  consist  of  memories  that  go  back  to  the  period 
of  early  childhood  before  the  sexual  instinct  had  attained  the  form  that 
it  has  in  adults. 

The  theory  of  Freud,  stated  briefly,  amounts  to  this:  As  a  result 
of  emotional  conflicts  considerable  portions  of  the  memories  of  certain 
individuals,  with  the  motor  impulses  connected  with  them,  are  thrust 
into  the  background  of  the  mind,  that  is  to  say,  the  subconscious. 
Such  suppressed  memories,  with  the  connected  motor  dispositions, 
he  first  named  "suppressed  complexes."  Now  it  is  found  that  these 
suppressed  complexes,  which  no  longer  respond  to  stimulations  as 
they  would  under  normal  conditions,  may  still  exercise  an  indirect 
influence  upon  the  ideas  which  are  in  the  focus  of  consciousness. 
Under  certain  conditions  they  may  not  get  into  consciousness  at  all 
but  manifest  themselves,  for  example,  in  the  form  of  hysterical  tics, 
twitchings,  and  muscular  convulsions. 

Under  other  circumstances  the  ideas  associated  with  the  sup- 
pressed complexes  tend  to  have  a  dominating  and  controlling  place 
in  the  life  of  the  individual.  All  our  ideas  that  have  a  sentimental 
setting  are  of  this  character.  We  are  all  of  us  a  little  wild  and  insane 
upon  certain  subjects  or  in  regard  to  certain  persons  or  objects.  In 
such  cases  a  very  trivial  remark  or  even  a  gesture  will  fire  one  of  these 
loaded  ideas.  The  result  is  an  emotional  explosion,  a  sudden  burst 
of  weeping,  a  gust  of  violent,  angry,  and  irrelevant  emotion,  or,  in 


476  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

case  the  feelings  are  more  under  control,  merely  a  bitter  remark  or  a 
chilling  and  ironical  laugh.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  a  jest  may 
serve  as  well  to  give  expression  to  the  "feelings"  as  an  expletive  or 
any  other  emotional  expression.  All  forms  of  fanaticism,  fixed  ideas, 
phobias,  ideals,  and  cherished  illusions  may  be  explained  as  the  effects 
of  mental  mechanisms  created  by  the  suppressed  complexes. 

From  what  has  been  said  we  are  not  to  assume  that  there  is  any 
necessary  and  inevitable  conflict  among  ideas.  In  our  dreams  and 
day-dreams,  as  in  fairyland,  our  memories  come  and  go  in  the  most 
disorderly  and  fantastic  way,  so  that  we  may  seem  to  be  in  two  places 
at  the  same  time,  or  we  may  even  be  two  persons,  ourselves  and  some- 
one else.  Everything  trips  lightly  along,  in  a  fantastic  pageant 
without  rhyme  or  reason.  We  discover  something  of  the  same  free- 
dom when  we  sit  down  to  speculate  about  any  subject.  All  sorts 
of  ideas  present  themselves;  we  entertain  them  for  a  moment,  then 
dismiss  them  and  turn  our  attention  to  some  other  mental  picture 
which  suits  our  purpose  better.  At  such  times  we  do  not  observe 
any  particular  conflict  between  one  set  of  ideas  and  another.  The 
lion  and  the  lamb  lie  down  peacefully  together,  and  even  if  the  lamb 
happens  to  be  inside  we  are  not  particularly  disturbed. 

Conflict  arises  between  memories  when  our  personal  interests  are 
affected,  when  our  sentiments  are  touched,  when  some  favorite 
opinion  is  challenged.  Conflict  arises  between  our  memories  when 
they  are  connected  with  some  of  our  motor  dispositions,  that  is  to 
say,  when  we  begin  to  act.  Memories  which  are  suppressed  as  a 
result  of  emotional  conflicts,  memories  associated  with  established 
motor  dispositions,  inevitably  tend  to  find  some  sort  of  direct  or  sym- 
bolic expression.  In  this  way  they  give  rise  to  the  symptoms  which 
we  meet  in  hysteria  and  psychasthenia — fears,  phobias,  obsessions, 
and  tics,  like  stammering. 

The  suppressed  complexes  do  not  manifest  themselves  in  the 
pathological  forms  only,  but  neither  do  the  activities  of  the  normal 
complexes  give  any  clear  and  unequivocal  evidence  of  themselves  in 
ordinary  consciousness.  We  are  invariably  moved  to  act  by  motives 
of  which  we  are  only  partially  conscious  or  wholly  unaware.  Not 
only  is  this  true,  but  the  accounts  we  give  to  ourselves  and  others  of 
the  motives  upon  which  we  acted  are  often  wholly  fictitious,  although 
they  may  be  given  in  perfect  good  faith. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  477 

•  A  simple  illustration  will  serve,  however,  to  indicate  how  this  can 
be  effected.  In  what  is  called  post-hypnotic  suggestion  we  have  an 
illustration  of  the  manner  in  which  the  waking  mind  may  be  influenced 
by  impulses  of  whose  origin  and  significance  the  subject  is  wholly 
unaware.  In  a  state  of  hypnotic  slumber  the  suggestion  is  given  that 
after  awaking  the  subject  will,  upon  a  certain  signal,  rise  and  open  the 
window  or  turn  out  the  light.  He  is  accordingly  awakened  and,  at 
the  signal  agreed  upon  while  he  was  in  the  hypnotic  slumber  but  of 
which  he  is  now  wholly  unconscious,  he  will  immediately  carry  out 
the  command  as  previously  given.  If  the  subject  is  then  asked  why 
he  opened  the  window  or  turned  out  the  light,  he  will,  in  evident 
good  faith,  make  some  ordinary  explanation,  as  that  "it  seemed  too 
hot  in  the  room,"  or  that  he  "thought  the  light  in  the  room  was 
disagreeable."  In  some  cases,  when  the  command  given  seems  too 
absurd,  the  subject  may  not  carry  it  out,  but  he  will  then  show  signs 
of  restlessness  and  discomfort,  just  for  instance  as  one  feels  when  he 
is  conscious  that  he  has  left  something  undone  which  he  intended  to 
do,  although  he  can  no  longer  recall  what  it  was.  Sometimes  when 
the  subject  is  not  disposed  to  carry  out  the  command  actually  given, 
he  will  perform  some  other  related  act  as  a  substitute,  just  as  persons 
who  have  an  uneasy  conscience,  while  still  unwilling  to  make  restitu- 
tion or  right  the  wrong  which  they  have  committed,  will  perform  some 
other  act  by  way  of  expiation. 

Our  moral  sentiments  and  social  attitudes  are  very  largely  fixed 
and  determined  by  our  past  experiences  of  which  we  are  only  vaguely 
conscious. 

"This  same  principle,"  as  Morton  Prince  suggests,  "underlies 
what  is  called  the  'social  conscience,'  the  'civic'  and  'national 
conscience,'  'patriotism,'  'public  opinion,'  what  the  Germans  call 
'  Sittlichkeit,'  the  war  attitude  of  mind,  etc.  All  these  mental 
attitudes  may  be  reduced  to  common  habits  of  thought  and  conduct 
derived  from  mental  experiences  common  to  a  given  community  and 
conserved  as  complexes  in  the  unconscious  of  the  several  individuals 
of  the  community." 

Sentiments  were  first  defined  and  distinguished  from  the  emotions 
by  Shand,  who  conceived  of  them  as  organizations  of  the  emotions 
about  some  particular  object  or  type  of  object.  Maternal  love,  for 
example,  includes  the  emotions  of  .fear,  anger,  joy,  or  sorrow,  all 


478          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

organized  about  the  child.  This  maternal  love  is  made  up  of  innate 
tendencies  but  is  not  itself  a  part  of  original  nature.  It  is  the  mother's 
fostering  care  of  the  child  which  develops  her  sentiments  toward  it, 
and  the  sentiment  attaches  to  any  object  that  is  bound  up  with  the 
life  of  the  child.  The  cradle  is  dear  to  the  mother  because  it  is  con- 
nected with  her  occupation  in  caring  for  the  child.  The  material 
fears  for  its  welfare,  her  joy  in  its  achievements,  her  anger  with  those 
who  injure  or  even  disparage  it,  are  all  part  of  the  maternal  sentiment. 

The  mother's  sentiment  determines  her  attitude  toward  her  child, 
toward  other  children,  and  toward  children  in  general.  Just  as  back 
of  every  sensation,  perception,  or  idea  there  is  some  sort  of  motor 
disposition,  so  our  attitudes  are  supported  by  our  sentiments.  Back 
of  every  political  opinion  there  is  a  political  sentiment  and  it  is  the 
sentiment  which  gives  force  and  meaning  to  the  opinion. 

Thus  we  may  think  of  opinions  merely  as  representative  of 
a  psycho-physical  mechanism,  which  we  may  call  the  sentiment- 
attitude.  These  sentiment-attitudes  are  to  be  regarded  in  turn  as 
organizations  of  the  original  tendencies,  the  instinct-emotions,  about 
some  memory,  idea,  or  object  which  is,  or  once  was,  the  focus  and  the 
end  for  which  the  original  tendencies  thus  organized  exist.  In  this 
way  opinions  turn  out,  in  the  long  run,  to  rest  on  original  nature, 
albeit  original  nature  modified  by  experience  and  tradition. 

c.    THE  FOUR  WISHES:  A  CLASSIFICATION  OF  SOCIAL  FORCES 
i.    The  Wish,  the  Social  Atom1 

The  Freudian  psychology  is  based  on  the  doctrine  of  the  "wish," 
just  as  physical  science  is  based,  today,  on  the  concept  of  function. 
Both  of  these  are  what  may  be  called  dynamic  concepts,  rather  than 
static;  they  envisage  natural  phenomena  not  as  things  but  as  processes 
and  largely  to  this  fact  is  due  their  pre-eminent  explanatory  value. 
Through  the  "wish"  the  "thing"  aspect  of  mental  phenomena,  the 
more  substantive  "content  of  consciousness,"  becomes  somewhat 
modified  and  reinterpreted.  This  "wish."  which  as  a  concept  Freud 
does  not  analyze,  includes  all  that  would  commonly  be  so  classed, 
and  also  whatever  would  be  called  impulse,  tendency,  desire,  purpose, 

'Adapted  from  Edwin  B.  Holt,  The  Freudian  Wish  and  Us  Place  in  Ethics, 
PP-  3-S6-  (Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1915.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  479 

attitude,  and  the  like,  not  including,  however,  any  emotional  compo- 
nents thereof.  Freud  also  acknowledges  the  existence  of  what  he 
calls  "negative  wishes,"  and  these  are  noc  fears  but  negative  purposes. 
An  exact  definition  of  the  "wish"  is  that  it  is  a  course  of  action  which 
some  mechanism  of  the  body  is  set  to  carry  out,  whether  it  actually 
does  so  or  does  not.  All  emotions,  as  well  as  the  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  displeasure,  are  separable  from  the  "wishes,"  and  this  precludes 
any  thought  of  a  merely  hedonistic  psychology.  The  wish  is  any 
purpose  or  project  for  a  course  of  action,  whether  it  is  being  merely 
entertained  by  the  mind  or  is  being  actually  executed — a  distinction 
which  is  really  of  little  importance.  We  shall  do  well  if  we  consider 
this  to  be,  as  in  fact  it  is,  dependent  on  a  motor  attitude  of  the  physical 
body,  which  goes  over  into  overt  action  and  conduct  when  the  wish 
is  carried  into  execution. 

It  is  this  "wish"  which  transforms  the  principal  doctrines  of 
psychology  and  recasts  the  science,  much  as  the  "atomic  theory" 
and  later  the  "ionic  theory"  have  reshaped  earlier  conceptions  of 
chemistry.  This  so-called  "wish"  becomes  the  unit  of  psychology, 
replacing  the  older  unit  commonly  called  "sensation,"  which  latter, 
it  is  to  be  noted,  was  a  content  of  consciousness  unit,  whereas  the 
"wish"  is  a  more  dynamic  affair. 

Unquestionably  the  mind  is  somehow  "embodied"  in  the  body. 
But  how?  Well,  if  the  unit  of  mind  and  character  is  a  "wish,"  it  is 
easy  enough  to  perceive  how  it  is  incorporated.  It  is,  this  "wish," 
something  which  the  body  as  a  piece  of  mechanism  can  do — a  course 
of  action  with  regard  to  the  environment  which  the  machinery  of  the 
body  is  capable  of  carrying  out.  This  capacity  resides  clearly  in  the 
parts  of  which  the  body  consists  and  in  the  way  in  which  these  are 
put  together,  not  so  much  in  the  matter  of  which  the  body  is  com- 
posed, as  in  the  forms  which  this  matter  assumes  when  organized. 

In  order  to  look  at  this  more  closely  we  must  go  a  bit  down  the 
evolutionary  series  to  the  fields  of  biology  and  physiology.  Here  we 
find  much  talk  of  nerves  and  muscles,  sense-organs,  reflex  arcs,  stimu- 
lation, and  muscular  response,  and  we  feel  that  somehow  these  things 
do  not  reach  the  core  of  the  matter,  and  that  they  never  can;  that 
spirit  is  not  nerve  or  muscle;  and  that  intelligent  conduct,  to  say 
nothing  of  conscious  thought,  can  never  be  reduced  to  reflex  arcs  and 
the  like — just  as  a  printing  press  is  not  merely  wheels  and  rollers,  and 


480  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

still  less  is  it  chunks  of  iron.  The  biologist  has  only  himself  to  thank 
if  he  has  overlooked  a  thing  which  lay  directly  under  his  nose.  He 
has  overlooked  the  form  of  organization  of  these  his  reflex  arcs,  has  left 
out  of  account  that  step  which  assembles  wheels  and  rollers  into  a 
printing  press,  and  that  which  organizes  reflex  arcs,  as  we  shall  pres- 
ently see,  into  an  intelligent,  conscious  creature.  Evolution  took 
this  important  little  step  of  organization  ages  ago,  and  thereby  pro- 
duced the  rudimentary  "wish." 

Now  in  the  reflex  arc  a  sense-organ  is  stimulated  and  the  energy 
of  stimulation  is  transformed  into  nervous  energy,  which  then  passes 
along  an  afferent  nerve  to  the  central  nervous  system,  passes  through 
this  and  out  by  an  efferent  or  motor  nerve  to  a  muscle,  where  the 
energy  is  again  transformed  and  the  muscle  contracts.  Stimulation 
at  one  point  of  the  animal  organism  produces  contraction  at  another. 
The  principles  of  irritability  and  of  motility  are  involved,  but  all 
further  study  of  this  process  will  lead  us  only  to  the  physics  and 
chemistry  of  the  energy  transformations — will  lead  us,  that  is,  in  the 
direction  of  analysis.  If,  however,  we  inquire  in  what  way  such 
reflexes  are  combined  or  "  integrated  "  into  more  complicated  processes, 
we  shall  be  led  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction,  that  of  synthesis,  and 
here  we  soon  come,  as  is  not  surprising,  to  a  synthetic  novelty.  This 
is  specific  response  or  behavior. 

In  this  single  reflex  something  is  done  to  a  sense-organ  and  the 
process  within  the  organ  is  comparable  to  the  process  in  any  unstable 
substance  when  foreign  energy  strikes  it;  it  is  strictly  a  chemical 
process,  and  so  for  the  conducting  nerve,  likewise  for  the  contracting 
muscle.  It  happens,  as  a  physiological  fact,  that  in  this  process  stored 
energy  is  released  so  that  a  reflex  contraction  is  literally  comparable 
to  the  firing  of  a  pistol.  But  the  reflex  arc  is  not  "aware"  of  any- 
thing, and  indeed  there  is  nothing  more  to  say  about  the  process 
unless  we  should  begin  to  analyze  it.  But  even  two  such  processes 
going  on  together  in  one  organism  are  a  very  different  matter.  Two 
such  processes  require  two  sense-organs,  two  conduction  paths,  and 
two  muscles;  and  since  we  are  considering  the  result  of  the  two  in 
combination,  the  relative  anatomical  location  of  these  six  members  is 
of  importance.  For  simplicity  I  will  take  a  hypothetical  but  strictly 
possible  case.  A  small  water  animal  has  an  eyespot  located  on  each 
side  of  its  anterior  end;  each  spot  is  connected  by  a  nerve  with  a 


SOCIAL  FORCES  481 

vibratory  silium  or  fin  on  the  side  of  the  posterior  end;  the  thrust 
exerted  by  each  fin  is  toward  the  rear.  If,  now,  light  strikes  one  eye, 
say  the  right,  the  left  fin  is  set  in  motion  and  the  animal's  body  is 
set  rotating  toward  the  right  like  a  rowboat  with  one  oar.  This  is 
all  that  one  such  reflex  arc  could  do  for  the  animal.  Since,  however, 
there  are  now  two,  when  the  animal  comes  to  be  turned  far  enough 
toward  the  right  so  that  some  of  the  light  strikes  the  second  eyespot 
(as  will  happen  when  the  animal  comes  around  facing  the  light),  the 
second  fin,  on  the  right  side,  is  set  in  motion,  and  the  two  together 
propel  the  animal  forward  in  a  straight  line.  The  direction  of  this 
line  will  be  that  in  which  the  animal  lies  when  its  two  eyes  receive 
equal  amounts  of  light.  In  other  words,  by  the  combined  operation 
of  two  reflexes  the  animal  swims  toward  the  light,  while  either  reflex 
alone  would  only  have  set  it  spinning  like  a  top.  It  now  responds 
specifically  in  the  direction  of  the  light,  whereas  before  it  merely 
spun  when  lashed. 

Suppose,  now,  that  it  possess  a  third  reflex  arc — a  "heat  spot" 
so  connected  with  the  same  or  other  fins  that  when  stimulated  by  a 
certain  intensity  of  heat  it  initiates  a  nervous  impulse  which  stops 
the  forward  propulsion.  The  animal  is  still  "lashed,"  but  neverthe- 
less no  light  can  force  it  to  swim  "blindly  to  its  death"  by  scalding. 
It  has  the  rudiments  of  "  intelligence."  But  so  it  had  before.  For  as 
soon  as  two  reflex  arcs  capacitate  it  mechanically  to  swim  toward  light, 
it  was  no  longer  exactly  like  a  pin  wheel;  it  could  respond  specifically 
toward  at  least  one  thing  in  its  environment. 

It  is  this  objective  reference  of  a  process  of  release  that  is  signifi- 
cant. The  mere  reflex  does  not  refer  to  anything  beyond  itself;  if 
it  drives  an  organism  in  a  certain  direction,  it  is  only  as  a  rocket 
ignited  at  random  shoots  off  in  some  direction,  depending  on  how  it 
happened  to  lie.  But  specific  response  is  not  merely  in  some  random 
direction,  it  is  toward  an  object,  and  if  this  object  is  moved,  the  respond- 
ing organism  changes  its  direction  and  still  moves  after  it.  And  the 
objective  reference  is  that  the  organism  is  moving  with  reference  to 
some  object  or  fact  of  the  environment.  For  the  organism,  while  a 
very  interesting  mechanism  in  itself,  is  one  whose  movements  turn 
on  objects  outside  of  itself,  much  as  the  orbit  of  the  earth  turns  upon 
the  sun;  and  these  external,  and  sometimes  very  distant,  objects  are 
as  much  constituents  of  the  behavior  process  as  is  the  organism  which 


482  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

does  the  turning.    It  is  this  pivotal  outer  object,  the  object  of  specific 
response,  which  seems  to  me  to  have  been  overneglected. 

It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  in  animals  as  highly  organized 
reflexly  as  are  many  of  the  invertebrates,  even  though  they  should 
possess  no  other  principle  of  action  than  that  of  specific  response,  the 
various  life-activities'  should  present  an  appearance  of  considerable 
intelligence.  And  I  believe  that  in  fact  this  intelligence  is  solely  the 
product  of  accumulated  specific  responses.  Our  present  point  is  that 
the  specific  response  and  the  "wish"  as  Freud  uses  the  term,  are  one 
and  the  same  thing. 

2.    The  Freudian  Wish1 

"  If  wishes  were  horses,  beggars  would  ride  "  is  a  nursery  saw  which, 
in  the  light  of  recent  developments  in  psychology,  has  come  to  have  a 
much  more  universal  application  than  it  was  formerly  supposed  to 
have.  If  the  followers  of  the  Freudian  school  of  psychologists  can 
be  believed — and  there  are  many  reasons  for  believing  them — all  of 
us,  no  matter  how  apparently  contented  we  are  and  how  well  we 
are  supplied  with  the  good  things  of  the  earth,  are  "beggars,"  because 
at  one  time  or  another  and  in  one  way  or  another  we  are  daily  betray- 
ing the  presence  of  unfulfilled  wishes.  Many  of  these  wishes  are  of 
such  a  character  that  we  ourselves  cannot  put  them  into  words. 
Indeed,  if  they  were  put  into  words  for  us,  we  should  straightway 
deny  that  such  a  wish  is  or  was  ever  harbored  by  us  in  our  waking 
moments.  But  the  stretch  of  time  indicated  by  "waking  moments" 
is  only  a  minor  part  of  the  twenty-four  hours.  Even  during  the  time 
we  are  not  asleep  we  are  often  abstracted,  day-dreaming,  letting 
moments  go  by  in  reverie.  Only  during  a  limited  part  of  our  waking 
moments  are  we  keenly  and  alertly  "all  there"  in  the  possession  of 
our  faculties.  There  are  thus,  even  apart  from  sleep,  many  unguarded 
moments  when  these  so-called  "repressed  wishes"  may  show  them- 
selves. 

In  waking  moments  we  wish  only  for  the  conventional  things 
which  will  not  run  counter  to  our  social  traditions  or  code  of  living. 
But  these  open  and  above-board  wishes  are  not  very  interesting  to 
the  psychologist.  Since  they  are  harmless  and  call  for  the  kinds  of 
things  that  everybody  in  our  circle  wishes  for,  we  do  not  mind  admit- 

1  Adapted  from  John  B.  Watson,  "The  Psychology  of  Wish  Fulfillment,"  in 
the  Scientific  Monthly,  III  (1916),  479-86. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  483 

ting  them  and  talking  about  them.  Open  and  uncensored  wishes 
are  best  seen  in  children  (though  children  at  an  early  age  begin  to 
show  repressions).  Only  tonight  I  heard  a  little  girl  of  nine  say: 
"I  wish  I  were  a  boy  and  were  sixteen  years  old — I'd  marry  Ann"  (her 
nine-year  old  companion).  And  recently  I  heard  a  boy  of  eight  say 
to  his  father:  "  I  wish  you  would  go  away  forever;  then  I  could  marry 
mother."  The  spontaneous  and  uncensored  wishes  of  children  gradu- 
ally disappear  as  the  children  take  on  the  speech  conventions  of  the 
adult.  But  even  though  the  crassness  of  the  form  of  expression  of 
the  wish  disappears  with  age,  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
human  organism  ever  gets  to  the  point  where  wishes  just  as  uncon- 
ventional as  the  above  do  not  rise  to  trouble  it.  Such  wishes,  though, 
are  immediately  repressed;  we  never  harbor  them  nor  do  we  express 
them  clearly  to  ourselves  in  our  waking  moments. 

The  steps  by  which  repression  takes  place  in  the  simpler  cases  are 
not  especially  difficult  to  understand.  When  the  child  wants  some- 
thing it  ought  not  to  have,  its  mother  hands  it  something  else  and 
moves  the  object  about  until  the  child  reaches  out  for  it.  When  the 
adult  strives  for  something  which  society  denies  him,  his  environment 
offers  him,  if  he  is  normal,  something  which  is  "almost  as  good," 
although  it  may  not  wholly  take  the  place  of  the  thing  he  originally 
strove  for.  This  in  general  is  the  process  of  substitution  or  sublima- 
tion. It  is  never  complete  from  the  first  moment  of  childhood. 
Consequently  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  many  of  the  things  which 
have  been  denied  us  should  at  times  beckon  to  us.  But  since  they  are 
banned  they  must  beckon  in  devious  ways.  These  sometime  grim 
specters  both  of  the  present  and  of  the  past  cannot  break  through 
the  barriers  of  our  staid  and  sober  waking  moments,  so  they  exhibit 
themselves,  at  least  to  the  initiated,  in  shadowy  form  in  reverie,  and 
in  more  substantial  form  in  the  slips  we  make  in  conversation  and  in 
writing,  and  in  the  things  we  laugh  at;  but  clearest  of  all  in  dreams. 
I  say  the  meaning  is  clear  to  the  initiated  because  it  does  require 
special  training  and  experience  to  analyze  these  seemingly  nonsensical 
slips  of  tongue  and  pen,  these  highly  elaborated  and  apparently 
meaningless  dreams,  into  the  wishes  (instinct  and  habit  impulses) 
which  gave  them  birth.  It  is  fortunate  for  us  that  we  are  protected 
in  this  way  from  having  to  face  openly  many  of  our  own  wishes  and 
the  wishes  of  our  friends. 


484  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

We  get  our  clue  to  the  dream  as  being  a  wish  fulfilment  by  taking 
the  dreams  of  children.  Their  dreams  are  as  uncensored  as  is  their 
conversation.  Before  Christmas  my  own  children  dreamed  nightly 
that  they  had  received  the  things  they  wanted  for  Christmas.  The 
dreams  were  clear,  logical,  and  open  wishes.  Why  should  the 
dreams  of  adults  be  less  logical  and  less  open  unless  they  are  to 
act  as  concealers  of  the  wish?  If  the  dream  processes  in  the 
child  run  in  an  orderly  and  logical  way,  would  it  indeed  not  be 
curious  to  find  the  dream  processes  of  the  adult  less  logical  and  full 
of  meaning  ? 

This  argument  gives  us  good  a  priori  grounds  for  supposing  that 
the  dreams  of  adults  too  are  full  of  meaning  and  are  logical;  that 
there  is  a  wish  in  every  dream  and  that  the  wish  is  fulfilled  in  the 
dream.  The  reason  dreams  appear  illogical  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
if  the  wish  were  to  be  expressed  in  its  logical  form  it  would  not  square 
with  our  everyday  habits  of  thought  and  action.  We  should  be  dis- 
inclined to  admit  even  to  ourselves  that  we  have  such  dreams.  Imme- 
diately upon  waking  only  so  much  of  the  dream  is  remembered,  that  is, 
put  into  ordinary  speech,  as  will  square  with  our  life  at  the  time. 
The  dream  is  "censored,"  in  other  words. 

The  question  immediately  arises,  who  is  the  censor  or  what  part 
of  us  does  the  censoring?  The  Freudians  have  made  more  or  less 
of  a  "metaphysical  entity"  out  of  the  censor.  They  suppose  that 
when  wishes  are  repressed,  they  are  repressed  into  the  "unconscious," 
and  that  this  mysterious  censor  stands  at  the  trapdoor  lying 
between  the  conscious  and  the  unconscious.  Many  of  us  do  not 
believe  in  a  world  of  the  unconscious  (a  few  of  us  even  have  grave 
doubts  about  the  usefulness  of  the  term  consciousness),  hence  we 
try  to  explain  censorship  along  ordinary  biological  lines.  We  believe 
that  one  group  of  habits  can  "down"  another  group  of  habits — or 
instincts.  In  this  case  our  ordinary  system  of  habits — those  which 
we  call  expressive  of  our  "real  selves" — inhibit  or  quench  (keep 
inactive  or  partially  inactive)  those  habits  and  instinctive  tendencies 
which  belong  largely  in  the  past. 

This  conception  of  the  dream  as  having  both  censored  and  un- 
censored features  has  led  us  to  divide  the  dream  into  its  specious  or 
manifest  content  (face  value,  which  is  usually  nonsensical)  and  its 


SOCIAL  FORCES  485 

latent  or  logical  content.  We  should  say  that  while  the  manifest 
content  of  the  dream  is  nonsensical,  its  true  or  latent  content  is 
usually  logical  and  expressive  of  some  wish  that  has  been  suppressed 
in  the  waking  state. 

On  examination  the  manifest  content  of  dreams  is  found  to  be 
full  of  symbols.  As  long  as  the  dream  does  not  have  to  be  put  into 
customary  language,  it  is  allowed  to  stand  as  it  is  dreamed — the 
symbolic  features  are  uncensored.  Symbolism  is  much  more  common 
than  is  ordinarily  supposed.  All  early  language  was  symbolic. 
The  language  of  children  and  of  savages  abounds  in  symbolism. 
Symbolic  modes  of  expression  both  in  art  and  in  literature  are  among 
the  earliest  forms  of  treating  difficult  situations  in  delicate  and  inoffen- 
sive ways.  In  other  words,  symbols  in  art  are  a  necessity  and  serve 
the  same  purpose  as  does  the  censor  in  the  dreams.  Even  those  of 
us  who  have  not  an  artistic  education,  however,  have  become  familiar 
with  the  commoner  forms  of  symbolism  through  our  acquaintance 
with  literature.  In  the  dream,  when  the  more  finely  controlled 
physiological  processes  are  in  abeyance,  there  is  a  tendency  to  revert 
to  the  symbolic  modes  of  expression.  This  has  its  use,  because  on 
awaking  the  dream  does  not  shock  us,  since  we  make  no  attempt  to 
analyze  or  trace  back  in  the  dream  the  symbol's  original  meaning. 
Hence  we  find  that  the  manifest  content  is  often  filled  with  symbols 
which  occasionally  give  us  the  clue  to  the  dream  analysis. 

The  dream  then  brings  surcease  from  our  maladjustments:  If 
we  are  denied  power,  influence,  or  love  by  society  or  by  individuals, 
we  can  obtain  these  desiderata  in  our  dreams.  We  can  possess  in 
dreams  the  things  which  we  cannot  have  by  day.  In  sleep  the  poor 
man  becomes  a  Midas,  the  ugly  woman  handsome,  the  childless 
woman  surrounded  by  children,  and  those  who  in  daily  life  live  upon 
a  crust  in  their  dreams  dine  like  princes  (after  living  upon  canned 
goods  for  two  months  in  the  Dry  Tortugas,  the  burden  of  my  every 
dream  was  food).  Where  the  wished-for  things  are  compatible  with 
our  daily  code,  they  are  remembered  on  awaking  as  they  were  dreamed. 
Society,  however,  will  not  allow  the  unmarried  woman  to  have 
children,  however  keen  her  desire  for  them.  Hence  her  dreams  in 
which  the  wish  is  gratified  are  remembered  in  meaningless  words  and 
symbols. 


486  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Long  before  the  time  Freud's  doctrine  saw  the  light  of  day, 
William  James  gave  the  key  to  what  I  believed  to  be  the  true  explana- 
tion of  the  wish.  Thirty  years  ago  he  wrote: 

I  am  often  confronted  by  the  necessity  of  standing  by  one  of  my  selves 
and  relinquishing  the  rest.  Not  that  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  be  both 
handsome  and  fat  and  well  dressed,  and  a  great  athlete,  and  make  a  million 
a  year,  be  a  wit,  a  bon  vivant,  and  a  lady-killer,  as  well  as  a  philospher,  a 
philanthropist,  a  statesman,  a  warrior,  and  African  explorer,  as  well  as  a 
"tone-poet"  and  a  saint.  But  the  thing  is  simply  impossible.  The 
millionaire's  work  would  run  counter  to  the  saint's;  the  bon  vivant  and  the 
philanthropist  would  trip  each  other  up;  the  philosopher  and  the  lady- 
killer  could  not  well  keep  house  in  the  same  tenement  of  clay.  Such 
different  characters  may  conceivably  at  the  outset  of  life  be  alike  possible 
to  a  man.  But  to  make  any  one  of  them  actual,  the  rest  must  more  or 
less  be  suppressed. 

What  James  is  particularly  emphasizing  here  is  that  the  human 
organism  is  instinctively  capable  of  developing  along  many  different 
lines,  but  that  due  to  the  stress  of  civilization  some  of  these  instinc- 
tive capacities  must  be  thwarted.  In  addition  to  these  impulses 
which  are  instinctive,  and  therefore  hereditary,  there  are  many 
habit  impulses  which  are  equally  strong  and  which  for  similar  reasons 
must  be  given  up.  The  systems  of  habits  we  form  (i.e.,  the  acts  we 
learn  to  perform)  at  four  years  of  age  will  not  serve  us  when  we  are 
twelve,  and  those  formed  at  the  age  of  twelve  will  not  serve  us  when 
we  become  adults.  As  we  pass  from  childhood  to  man's  estate,  we 
are  constantly  having  to  give  up  thousands  ol  activities  which  our 
nervous  and  muscular  systems  have  a  tendency  to  perform.  Some  of 
these  instinctive  tendencies  born  with  use  are  poor  heritages;  some 
of  the  habits  we  early  develop  are  equally  poor  possessions.  But, 
whether  they  are  "good"  or  "bad,"  they  must  give  way  as  we  put 
on  the  habits  required  of  adults.  Some  of  them  yield  with  difficulty 
and  we  often  get  badly  twisted  in  attempting  to  put  them  away,  as 
every  psychiatric  clinic  can  testify.  It  is  among  these  frustrated 
impulses  that  I  would  find  the  biological  basis  of  the  unfulfilled  wish. 
Such  "wishes"  need  never  have  been  "conscious"  and  need  never 
have  been  suppressed  into  Fretid's  realm  of  the  unconscious.  It  may 
be  inferred  from  this  that  there  is  no  particular  reason  for  applying 
the  term  "wish"  to  such  tendencies.  What  we  discover  then  in 


SOCIAL  FORCES  487 

dreams  and  in  conversational  slips  and  other  lapses  are  really  at 
heart  "reaction  tendencies" — tendencies  which  we  need  never  have 
faced  nor  put  into  words  at  any  time.  On  Freud's  theory  these 
"wishes"  have  at  one  time  been  faced  and  put  into  words  by  the 
individual,  and  when  faced  they  were  recognized  as  not  squaring  with 
his  ethical  code.  They  were  then  immediately  "repressed  into  the 
unconscious." 

A  few  illustrations  may  help  in  understanding  how  thwarted 
tendencies  may  lay  the  basis  for  the  so-called  unfulfilled  wish  which 
later  appears  in  the  dream.  One  individual  becomes  a  psychologist 
in  spite  of  his  strong  interest  in  becoming  a  medical  man,  because  at 
the  time  it  was  easier  for  him  to  get  the  training  along  psychological 
lines.  Another  pursues  a  business  career,  when,  if  he  had  had  his 
choice,  he  would  have  become  a  writer  of  plays.  Sometimes  on 
account  of  the  care  of  a  mother  or  of  younger  brothers  and  sisters, 
a  young  man  cannot  marry,  even  though  the  mating  instinct  is  normal; 
such  a  course  of  action  necessarily  leaves  unfulfilled  wishes  and  frus- 
trated impulses  in  its  train.  Again  a  young  man  will  marry  and 
settle  down  when  mature  consideration  would  show  that  his  career 
would  advance  much  more  rapidly  if  he  were  not  burdened  with  a 
family.  Again,  an  individual  marries  and  without  even  admitting 
to  himself  that  his  marriage  is  a  failure  he  gradually  shuts  himself 
off  from  any  emotional  expression — protects  himself  from  the  married 
state  by  sublimating  his  natural  domestic  ties,  usually  in  some  kind  of 
engrossing  work,  but  often  in  questionable  ways — by  hobbies,  speed 
manias,  and  excesses  of  various  kinds.  In  connection  with  this  it  is 
interesting  to  note  that  the  automobile,  quite  apart  from  its  utilitarian 
value,  is  coming  to  be  a  widely  used  means  of  repression  or  wish 
sublimation.  I  have  been  struck  by  the  enormously  increasing 
number  of  women  drivers.  Women  in  the  present  state  of  society 
have  not  the  same  access  to  absorbing  kinds  of  works  that  men  have 
(which  will  shortly  come  to  be  realized  as  a  crime  far  worse  than  that 
of  the  Inquisition).  Hence  their  chances  of  normal  sublimation  are 
limited.  For  this  reason  women  seek  an  outlet  by  rushing  to  the 
war  as  nurses,  in  becoming  social  workers,  pursuing  aviation,  etc. 
Now  if  I  am  right  in  this  analysis  these  unexercised  tendencies  to 
do  things  other  than  we  are  doing  are  never  quite  got  rid  of.  We 
cannot  get  rid  of  them  unless  we  could  build  ourselves  over  again  so 


488  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

that  our  organic  machinery  would  work  only  along  certain  lines  and 
only  for  certain  occupations.  Since  we  cannot  completely  live  these 
tendencies  down,  we  are  all  more  or  less  "  unadjusted"  and  ill  adapted. 
These  maladjustments  are  exhibited  whenever  the  brakes  are  off, 
that  is,  whenever  our  higher  and  well-developed  habits  of  speech  and 
action  are  dormant,  as  in  sleep,  in  emotional  disturbances,  etc. 

Many  but  not  all  of  these  "wishes"  can  be  traced  to  early  child- 
hood or  to  adolescence,  which  is  a  time  of  stress  and  strain  and  a 
period  of  great  excitement.  In  childhood  the  boy  often  puts  himself 
in  his  father's  place;  he  wishes  that  he  were  grown  like  his  father  and 
could  take  his  father's  place,  for  then  his  mother  would  notice  him 
more  and  he  would  not  have  to  feel  the  weight  of  authority.  The 
girl  likewise  often  becomes  closely  attached  to  her  father  and  wishes 
her  mother  would  die  (which  in  childhood  means  to  disappear  or  go 
away)  so  that  she  could  be  all  in  all  to  her  father.  These  wishes, 
from  the  standpoint  of  popular  morality,  are  perfectly  innocent; 
but  as  the  children  grow  older  they  are  told  that  such  wishes  are 
wrong  and  that  they  should  not  speak  in  such  a  "dreadful"  way. 
Such  wishes  are,  then,  gradually  suppressed — replaced  by  some  other 
mode  of  expression.  But  the  replacement  is  often  imperfect.  The 
apostle's  saying,  "When  we  become  men  we  put  away  childish 
things"  was  written  before  the  days  of  psychoanalysis. 

3.    The  Person  and  His  Wishes1 

The  human  being  has  a  great  variety  of  "wishes,"  ranging  from 
the  desire  to  have  food  to  the  wish  to  serve  humanity. 

Anything  capable  of  being  appreciated  (wished  for)  is  a  "value." 
Food,  money,  a  poem,  a  political  doctrine,  a  religious  creed,  a  member 
of  the  other  sex,  etc.,  are  values. 

There  are  also  negative  values — things  which  exist  but  which 
the  individual  does  not  want,  which  he  may  even  despise.  Liquor 
or  the  Yiddish  language  may  be  a  positive  value  for  one  person  and  a 
negative  value  for  another. 

'A  restatement  from  a  paper  by  William  I.  Thomas,  "The  Persistence  of 
Primary-Group  Norms  in  Present-Day  Society,"  in  Jennings,  Watson,  Meyer, 
and  Thomas,  Suggestions  of  Modern  Science  Concerning  Education.  (Published  by 
The  Macmillan  Co.,  1917.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  489 

The  state  of  mind  of  the  individual  toward  a  value  is  an  "atti- 
tude." Love  of  money,  desire  for  fame,  appreciation  of  a  given 
poem,  reverence  for  God,  hatred  of  the  Jew,  are  attitudes. 

We  divide  wishes  into  four  classes:  (i)  the  desire  for  new  experi- 
ence; (2)  the  desire  for  security;  (3)  the  desire  for  recognition; 
(4)  the  desire  for  response. 

1.  The  desire  for  new  experience  is  seen  in  simple  forms  in  the 
prowling  and  meddling  activities  of  the  child,  and  the  love  of  adven- 
ture and  travel  in  the  boy  and  the  man.     It  ranges  in  moral  quality 
from  the  pursuit  of  game  and  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  to  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge  and  the  pursuit  of  ideals.     It  is  found  equally  in  the 
vagabond   and   the   scientific   explorer.    Novels,    theaters,   motion 
pictures,  etc.,  are  means  of  satisfying  this  desire  vicariously,  and  their 
popularity  is  a  sign  of  the  elemental  force  of  this  desire. 

In  its  pure  form  the  desire  for  new  experience  implies  motion, 
change,  danger,  instability,  social  irresponsibility.  The  individual 
dominated  by  it  shows  a  tendency  to  disregard  prevailing  standards 
and  group  interests.  He  may  be  a  complete  failure,  on  account  of 
his  instability;  or  a  conspicuous  success,  if  he  converts  his  experiences 
into  social  values — puts  them  in  the  form  of  a  poem,  makes  of  them  a 
contribution  to  science,  etc. 

2.  The  desire  for  security  is  opposed  to  the  desire  for  new  experi 
ence.     It  implies  avoidance  of  danger  and   death,   caution,   con- 
servatism.    Incorporation  in  an  organization  (family,  community, 
state)  provides  the  greatest  security.     In  certain  animal  societies 
(e.g.,  the  ants)  the  organization  and  co-operation  are  very  rigid. 
Similarly  among  the  peasants  of  Europe,  represented  by  our  immi- 
grant groups,  all  lines  of  behavior  are  predetermined  for  the  individual 
by  tradition.     In  such  a  group  the  individual  is  secure  as  long  as  the 
group  organization  is  secure,  but  evidently  he  shows  little  originality 
or  creativeness. 

3.  The  desire  for  recognition  expresses  itself  in  devices  for  securing 
distinction  in  the  eyes  of  the  public.     A  list  of  the  different  modes  of 
seeking  recognition  would  be  very  long.     It  would  include  courageous 
behavior,  showing  off  through  ornament  and  dress,  the  pomp  of  kings, 
the  display  of  opinions  and  knowledge,   the  possession  of  special 
attainments — in  the  arts,  for  example.     It  is  expressed  alike  in 
arrogance  and  in  humility,  even  in  martyrdom.     Certain  modes  of 


4QO  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

seeking  recognition  we  define  as  "vanity,"  others  as  "ambition." 
The  "will  to  power"  belongs  here.  Perhaps  there  has  been  no  spur 
to  human  activity  so  keen  and  no  motive  so  naively  avowed  as  the 
desire  for  "undying  fame,"  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  estimate  the 
role  the  desire  for  recognition  has  played  in  the  creation  of  social 
values. 

4.  The  desire  for  response  is  a  craving,  not  for  the  recognition  of 
the  public  at  large,  but  for  the  more  intimate  appreciation  of  indi- 
viduals. It  is  exemplified  in  mother-love  (touch  plays  an  important 
role  in  this  connection),  in  romantic  love,  family  affection,  and  other 
personal  attachments.  Homesickness  and  loneliness  are  expressions 
of  it.  Many  of  the  devices  for  securing  recognition  are  used  also  in 
securing  response. 

Apparently  these  four  classes  comprehend  all  the  positive  wishes. 
Such  attitudes  as  anger,  fear,  hate,  and  prejudice  are  attitudes  toward 
those  objects  which  may  frustrate  a  wish. 

Our  hopes,  fears,  inspirations,  joys,  sorrows  are  bound  up  with 
these  wishes  and  issue  from  them.  There  is,  of  course,  a  kaleido- 
scopic mingling  of  wishes  throughout  life,  and  a  single  given  act  may 
contain  a  plurality  of  them.  Thus  when  a  peasant  emigrates  to 
America  he  may  expect  to  have  a  good  time  and  learn  many  things 
(new  experience),  to  make  a  fortune  (greater  security),  to  have  a 
higher  social  standing  on  his  return  (recognition),  and  to  induce 
a  certain  person  to  marry  him  (response). 

The  "character"  of  the  individual  is  determined  by  the  nature 
of  the  organization  of  his  wishes.  The  dominance  of  any  one  of  the 
four  types  of  wishes  is  the  basis  of  our  ordinary  judgment  of  his  char- 
acter. Our  appreciation  (positive  or  negative)  of  the  character  of 
the  individual  is  based  on  his  display  of  certain  wishes  as  against 
others,  and  on  his  modes  of  seeking  their  realization. 

The  individual's  attitude  toward  the  totality  of  his  attitudes 
constitutes  his  conscious  "personality."  The  conscious  personality 
represents  the  conception  of  self,  the  individual's  appreciation  of  his 
own  character. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  491 

El.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 

Literature  on  the  concept  of  social  forces  falls  under  four  heads: 
(i)  popular  notions  of  social  forces;  (.2)  social  forces  and  history; 
(3)  interests,  sentiments,  and  attitudes  as  social  forces;  and  (4) 
wishes  as  social  forces. 

i.  Popular  Notions  of  Social  Forces 

The  term  " social  forces"  first  gained  currency  in  America  with 
the  rise  of  the  "reformers,"  so  called,  and  with  the  growth  of  popular 
interest  in  the  problems  of  city  life;  that  is,  labor  and  capital,  munici- 
pal reform  and  social  welfare,  problems  of  social  politics. 

In  the  rural  community  the  individual  had  counted;  in  the  city 
he  is  likely  to  be  lost.  It  was  this  declining  weight  of  the  individual 
in  the  life  of  great  cities,  as  compared  with  that  of  impersonal  social 
organizations,  the  parties,  the  unions,  and  the  clubs,  that  first  sug- 
gested, perhaps,  the  propriety  of  the  term  social  forces.  In  1897 
Washington  Gladden  published  a  volume  entitled  Social  Facts  and 
Forces:  the  Factory,  the  Labor  Union,  the  Corporation,  the  Railway,  the 
City,  the  Church.  The  term  soon  gained  wide  currency  and  general 
acceptance. 

At  the  twenty-eighth  annual  National  Conference  of  Charities 
and  Correction,  at  Washington,  D.C.,  Mary  E.  Richmond  read  a 
paper  upon  "Charitable  Co-operation"  in  which  she  presented  a 
diagram  and  a  classification  of  the  social  forces  of  the  community  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  social  worker,1  given  on  page  492. 

Beginning  hi  October,  1906,  there  appeared  for  several  years 
in  the  journal  of  social  workers,  Charities  and  Commons,  now  The 
Survey,  editorial  essays  upon  social,  industrial,  and  civic  questions 
under  the  heading  "Social  Forces."  In  the  first  article  E.  T.  Devine 
made  the  following  statement:  "In  this  column  the  editor  intends  to 
have  his  say  from  month  to  month  about  the  persons,  books,  and 

events  which  have  significance  as  social  forces Not  all  the 

social  forces  are  obviously  forces  of  good,  although  they  are  all  under 
the  ultimate  control  of  a  power  which  makes  for  righteousness." 

Ten  years  later  a  group  of  members  in  the  National  Conference 
of  Social  Work  formed  a  division  under  the  title  "The  Organization 

1  Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of  Charities  and  Correction,  1901,  p.  300. 


492 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


DIAGRAM  OF  FORCES  WITH  WHICH  THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
MAY  CO-OPERATE 


A.— Family  Forces. 

Capacity  of  each  member  for 

Affection 

Training 

Endeavor 

Social  development. 
B. — Personal  Forcet. 

Kindred. 

Friends. 
C. — Neighborhood  Forces. 

Neighbors,  landlords,  tradesmen. 

Former  and  present  employers. 

Clergymen,  Sunday-school  teachers,  fel- 
low church  members. 

Doctors. 

Trade-unions,  fraternal  and  benefit  soci- 
eties, social  clubs,  fellow-workmen. 

Libraries,     educational     clubs,     classes, 
settlements,  etc 

Thrift  agencies,  savings-banks,   stamp- 
savings,  building  and  loan  associations. 
D. — Civic  Ponti. 

School-teachers,  truant  officers. 

Police,    police    magistrates,    probation 

officers,  reformatories. 


Health  department,  sanitary  inspectors, 

factory  inspectors. 
Postmen. 
Parks,  baths,  etc. 
£. — Private  Charitable  Forces. 

Charity  organization  society. 

Church  of  denomination  to  which  family 

belongs. 

Benevolent  individuals. 
National,    special,    and    general    relief 

societies. 
Charitable    employment    agencies    and 

work-rooms. 
Fresh-air  society,  children's  aid  society, 

society    for    protection    of    children, 

children's  homes,  etc. 
District  nurses,  sick -diet  kitchens,  dispen- 
saries, hospitals,  etc. 
Society  for  suppression  of  vice,  prisoner's 

aid  society,  etc. 
P.— Public  Relief  Forces. 
Ahnshouses. 

Outdoor  poor  department. 
Public  hospitals  and  dispensaries. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  493 

of  the  Social  Forces  of  the  Community."  The  term  community,  in 
connection  with  that  of  social  forces,  suggests  that  every  community 
may  be  conceived  as  a  definite  constellation  of  social  forces.  In 
this  form  the  notion  has  been  fruitful  in  suggesting  a  more  abstract, 
intelligible,  and,  at  the  same  time,  sounder  conception  of  the  com- 
munity life. 

Most  of  the  social  surveys  made  in  recent  years  are  based  upon 
this  conception  of  the  community  as  a  complex  of  social  forces  em- 
bodied in  institutions  and  organizations.  It  is  the  specific  task  of 
every  community  survey  to  reveal  the  community  in  its  separated  and 
often  isolated  organs.  The  references  to  the  literature  on  the  com- 
munity surveys  at  the  conclusion  of  chapter  iii,  "Society  and  the 
Group,"1  will  be  of  service  in  a  further  study  of  the  application  of  the 
concept  of  social  forces  to  the  study  of  the  community. 

2.    Social  Forces  and  History 

Historians,  particularly  in  recent  years,  have  frequently  used  the 
expression  "social  forces"  although  they  have  nowhere  defined  it. 
Kuno  Francke,  in  the  Preface  of  his  book  entitled  A  History  of  German 
Literature  as  Determined  by  Social  Forces,  states  that  it  "is  an  honest 
attempt  to  analyze  the  social,  religious,  and  moral  forces  which 
determined  the  growth  of  German  literature  as  a  whole."  Taine  in 
the  Preface  to  The  Ancient  Regime  says:  "Without  taking  any  side, 
curiosity  becomes  scientific  and  centres  on  the  secret  forces  which 
direct  the  wonderful  process.  These  forces  consist  of  the  situations, 
the  passions,  the  ideas,  and  the  wills  of  each  group  of  actors,  and 
which  can  be  defined  and  almost  measured."3 

It  is  in  the  writings  of  historians,  like  Taine  in  France,  Buckle  in 
England,  and  Karl  Lamprecht  in  Germany,  who  started  out  with  the 
deliberate  intention  of  writing  history  as  if  it  were  natural  history, 
that  we  find  the  first  serious  attempts  to  use  the  concept  of  social 
forces  in  historical  analysis.  Writers  of  this  school  are  quite  as  much 
interested  in  the  historical  process  as  they  are  in  historical  fact,  and 
there  is  a  constant  striving  to  treat  the  individual  as  representative 
of  the  class,  and  to  define  historical  tendencies  in  general  and  abstract 
terms. 

1  See  p.  219. 

*  H.  A.  Taine,  The  Ancient  Regime,  Preface,  p.  viii.     (New  York,  1891.) 


494  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

But  history  conceived  in  those  terras  tends  to  become  sociology. 
"History,"  says  Lamprecht,  "is  a  socio-psychological  science.  In  the 
conflict  between  the  old  and  the  new  tendencies  in  historical  investi- 
gation, the  main  question  has  to  do  with  social-psychic,  as  compared 
and  contrasted  with  individual-psychic  factors;  or  to  speak  some- 
what generally,  the  understanding  on  the  one  hand  of  conditions,  on 
the  other  of  heroes,  as  the  motive  powers  in  the  course  of  history."1 
It  was  Carlyle — whose  conception  of  history  is  farthest  removed 
from  that  of  Lamprecht — who  said,  "Universal  history  is  at  bottom 
the  history  of  great  men." 

The  criticism  of  history  by  historians  and  the  attempts,  never 
quite  successful,  to  make  history  positive  furnish  further  interesting 
comment  on  this  topic.2 

3.    Interest,  Sentiments,  and  Attitudes  as  Social  Forces 

More  had  been  written,  first  and  last,  about  human  motives  than 
any  other  aspect  of  human  life.  Only  in  very  recent  years,  however, 
have  psychologists  and  social  psychologists  had  either  a  point  of  view 
or  methods  of  investigation  which  enabled  them  to  analyze  and  ex- 
plain the  facts.  The  tendency  of  the  older  introspective  psychology 
was  to  refer  hi  general  terms  to  the  motor  tendencies  and  the  will, 
but  in  the  analysis  of  sensation  and  the  intellectual  processes,  will 
disappeared. 

The  literature  on  this  subject  covers  all  that  has  been  written 
by  the  students  of  animal  behavior  and  instinct,  Lloyd  Morgan, 
Thoradike,  Watson,  and  Loeb.  It  includes  the  interesting  studies 
of  human  behavior  by  Bechterew,  Pavlow,  and  the  so-called  objective 
school  of  psychology  in  Russia.  It  should  include  likewise  writers 
like  Graham  Wallas  in  England,  Carleton  Parker  and  Ordway  Tead 
in  America,  who  are  seeking  to  apply  the  new  science  of  human  nature 
to  the  problems  of  society.3 

Every  social  science  has  been  based  upon  some  theory,  implicit 
or  explicit,  of  human  motives.  Economics,  political  science,  and 
ethics,  before  any  systematic  attempt  had  been  made  to  study  the 
matter  empirically,  had  formulated  theories  of  human  nature  to 
justify  their  presuppositions  and  procedures. 

'Karl  Lamprecht,  What  Is  History?  p.  3.     (New  York,  1905.) 
*  See  chap,  i,  "Sociology  and  the  Social  Sciences,"  pp.  6-12. 
J  See  references,  chap,  ii,  "Human  Nature,"  p.  149. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  495 

In  classical  political  economy  the  single  motive  of  human  action 
was  embodied  in  the  abstraction  "the  economic  man."  The  utili- 
tarian school  of  ethics  reduced  all  human  motives  to  self-interest. 
Disinterested  conduct  was  explained  as  enlightened  self-interest.  This 
theory  was  criticized  as  reducing  the  person  to. "an  intellectual  cal- 
culating machine."  The  theory  of  evolution  suggested  to  Herbert 
Spencer  a  new  interpretation  of  human  motives  which  reasserted  their 
individualistic  origin,  but  explained  altruistic  sentiments  as  the  slowly 
accumulated  products  of  evolution.  Altruism  to  Spencer  was  the 
enlightened  self-interest  of  the  race. 

It  was  the  English  economists  of  the  eighteenth  century  who 
gave  us  the  first  systematic  account  of  modern  society  in  deter- 
ministic terms.  The  conception  of  society  implicit  in  Adam  Smith's 
Wealth  of  Nations  reflects  at  once  the  temper  of  the  English  people 
and  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived.1  The  eighteenth  century  was  the 
age  of  individualism,  laissez  faire  and  freedom.  Everything  was  in 
process  of  emancipation  except  woman. 

The  attention  of  economists  at  this  time  was  directed  to  that 
region  of  social  life  in  which  the  behavior  of  the  individual  is  most 
individualistic  and  least  controlled,  namely,  the  market  place.  The 
economic  man,  as  the  classical  economists  conceived  him,  is  more 
completely  embodied  in  the  trader  in  the  auction  pit,  than  in  any 
other  figure  in  any  other  situation  in  society.  And  the  trader  in 
that  position  performs  a  very  important  social  function.2 

1  For  a  discussion  of  the  philosophical  background  of  Adam  Smith's  political 
philosophy  see  Wilhelm  Hasbach,  Untersuchungen  iiber  Adam  Smith.  (Leipzig, 
1891.) 

a"The  science  of  Political  Economy  as  we  have  it  in  England  may  be  de- 
fined as  the  science  of  business,  such  as  business  is  in  large  productive  and 
trading  communities.  It  is  an  analysis  of  that  world  so  familiar  to  many  English- 
men— the  'great  commerce'  by  which  England  has  become  rich.  It  assumes  the 
principal  facts  which  make  that  commerce  possible,  and  as  is  the  way  of  an  abstract 
science  it  isolates  and  simplifies  them:  it  detaches  them  from  the  confusion  with 
which  they  are  mixed  in  fact.  And  it  deals  too  with  the  men  who  carry  on  that 
commerce,  and  who  make  it  possible.  It  assumes  a  sort  of  human  nature  such  as 
we  see  everywhere  around  us,  and  again  it  simplifies  that  human  nature;  it  looks 
at  one  part  of  it  .only.  Dealing  with  matters  of  'business,'  it  assumes  that  man  is 
actuated  only  by  motives  of  business.  It  assumes  that  every  man  who  makes 
anything,  makes  it  for  money,  that  he  always  makes  that  which  brings  him  in 
most  at  least  cost,  and  that  he  will  make  it  in  the  way  that  will  produce  most  and 


496          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

There  are,  however,  other  social  situations  which  have  created 
other  social  types,  and  the  sociologists  have,  from  the  very  first, 
directed  their  attention  to  a  very  different  aspect  of  social  life,  namely, 
its  unity  and  solidarity.  Comte  conceived  humanity  in  terms  of  the 
family,  and  most  sociologists  have  been  disposed  to  take  the  family 
as  representative  of  the  type  of  relations  they  are  willing  to  call 
social.  Not  the  auction  pit  but  the  family  has  been  the  basis  of  the 
sociological  conception  of  society.  Not  competition  but  control  has 
been  the  central  fact  and  problem  of  sociology. 

Socialization,  when  that  word  is  used  as  a  term  of  appreciation 
rather  than  of  description,  sets  up  as  the  goal  of  social  effort  a  world 
in  which  conflict,  competition,  and  the  externality  of  individuals,  if 
they  do  not  disappear  altogether,  will  be  so  diminished  that  all  men 
may  live  together  as  members  of  one  family.  This,  also,  is  the  goal 
of  progress  according  to  our  present  major  prophet,  H.  G.  Wells.1 

It  is  intelligible,  therefore,  that  sociologists  should  conceive  of 
social  forces  in  other  terms  than  self-interest.  If  there  had  been  no 
other  human  motives  than  those  attributed  to  the  economic  man 
there  would  have  been  economics  but  no  sociology,  at  least  in  the 
sense  hi  which  we  conceive  it  today. 

In  the  writings  of  Ratzenhofer  and  Small  human  interests  are 
postulated  as  both  the  unconscious  motives  and  the  conscious  ends  of 
behavior.  Small's  classification  of  interests — health,  wealth,  socia- 
bility, knowledge,  beauty,  Tightness — has  secured  general  acceptance. 

"Sentiment"  was  used  by  French  writers,  Ribot,  Binet,  and 
others,  as  a  general  term  for  the  entire  field  of  affective  life.  A.  F. 
Shand  in  two  articles  in  Mind,  "Character  and  the  Emotions"  and 
"Ribot's  Theory  of  the  Passions,"  has  made  a  distinct  contribution 
by  distinguishing  the  sentiments  from  the  emotions.  Shand  pointed 
out  that  the  sentiment,  as  a  product  of  social  experience,  is  an  organi- 
zation of  emotions  around  the  idea  of  an  object.  McDougall  hi  his 


spend  least;  it  assumes  that  every  man  who  buys,  buys  with  his  whole  heart,  and 
that  he  who  sells,  sells  with  his  whole  heart,  each  wanting  to  gain  all  possible 
advantage.  Of  course  we  know  that  this  is  not  so,  that  men  are  not  like  this;  but 
we  assume  it  for  simplicity's  sake,  as  an  hypothesis." — Waltej  Bagehot,  The 
Postulates  of  English  Political  Economy.  (New  York  and  London,  1885.) 

1  H.  G.  Wells,  The  Outline  of  History,  Vol.  II,  pp.  579-95.     (New  York,  1920.) 


SOCIAL  FORCES  497 

Social  Psychology  adopted  Shand's  definition  and  described  the  organi- 
zation of  typical  sentiments,  as  love  and  hate. 

Thomas  was  the  first  to  make  fruitful  use  of  the  term  attitude, 
which  he  defined  as  a  "  tendency  to  act."  Incidentally  he  points  out 
that  attitudes  are  social,  that  is,  the  product  of  interaction. 

4.    Wishes  and  Social  Forces 

Ward  had  stated  that  "The  social  forces  are  wants  seeking 
satisfaction  through  efforts,  and  are  thus  social  motives  or  motors 
inspiring  activities  which  either  create  social  structures  through  social 
synergy  or  modify  the  structures  already  created  through  innovation 
and  conation."1  Elsewhere  Ward  says  that  "desire  is  the  only 
motive  to  action."2 

The  psychoanalytic  school  of  psychiatrists  have  attempted  to 
reduce  all  motives  to  one — the  wish,  or  libido.  Freud  conceived  that 
sex  appetite  and  memories  connected  with  it  were  the  unconscious 
sources  of  some  if  not  all  of  the  significant  forms  of  human  behavior. 
Freud's  interpretation  of  sex,  however,  seemed  to  include  the  whole 
field  of  desires  that  have  their  origin  in  touch  stimulations.  To  Jung 
the  libido  is  vital  energy  motivating  the  life-adjustments  of  the 
person.  Adler  from  his  study  of  organic  inferiority  interpreted  the 
libido  as  the  wish  for  completeness  or  perfection.  Curiously  enough, 
these  critics  of  Freud,  while  not  accepting  his  interpretation  of  the 
unconscious  wish,  still  seek  to  reduce  all  motives  to  a  single  unit. 
To  explain  all  behavior  by  one  formula,  however,  is  to  explain 
nothing. 

On  the  other  hand,  interpretation  by  a  multitude  of  unrelated 
conscious  desires  in  the  fashion  of  the  older  sociological  literature  is 
no  great  advance  beyond  the  findings  of  common  sense.  The  dis- 
tinctive value  of  the  definition,  and  classification,  of  Thomas  lies  in 
the  fact  that  it  reduces  the  multitude  of  desires  to  four.  These  four 
wishes,  however,  determine  the  simplest  as  well  as  the  most  complex 
behavior  of  persons.  The  use  made  of  this  method  in  his  study  of 
the  Polish  peasant  indicated  its  possibilities  for  the  analysis  of  the 
organization  of  the  life  of  persons  and  of  social  groups. 

1  Pure  Sociology,  p.  261.     (New  York,  1903.) 

2  Dynamic  Sociology,  II,  90.    (New  York,  1883.) 


498  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.      POPULAR  NOTIONS  OF   SOCIAL  FORCES 

(1)  Patten,  Simon  N.     The  Theory  of  Social  Forces.     Philadelphia,  1896. 

(2)  Gladden,  Washington.    Social  Facts  and  Forces.    The  factory,  the 
labor  union,  the  corporation,  the  railway,  the  city,  the  church.     New 
York,  1897. 

(3)  Richmond,   Mary.     "Charitable   Co-operation,"   Proceedings  of  the 
National  Conference  of  Charities  and  Correction,  1901,  pp.  298-313. 
(Contains  "Diagram  of  Forces  with  which  Charity  Worker  may  Co- 
operate.") 

(4)  Devine,  Edward  T.    Social  Forces.     From  the  editor's  page  of  The 
Survey.     New  York,  1910. 

(5)  Edie,  Lionel  D.,  Editor.     Current  Social  and  Industrial  Forces.     Intro- 
duction by  James  Harvey  Robinson.    New  York,  1920. 

(6)  Burns,  Allen  T.     "Organization  of  Community  Forces  for  the  Promo- 
tion of  Social  Programs,"  Proceedings  of  the  National  Conference  of 
Charities  and  Correction,  1916,  pp.  62-78. 

(7)  Social    Forces.     A    topical    outline    with    bibliography.     Wisconsin 
Woman's  Suffrage  Association,  Educational  Committee.     Madison, 
Wis.,  1915. 

(8)  Wells,  H.  G.    Social  Forces  in  England  and  America.     London  and 
New  York,  1914. 

II.      HISTORICAL  TENDENCIES  AS  SOCIAL  FORCES 

(1)  Lamprecht,  Karl.     What  Is  History?    Five  lectures  on  the  modern 
science  of  history.    Translated  from  the  German  by  E.  A.  Andrews. 
London  and  New  York,  1905. 

(2)  Loria,  A.     The  Economic  Foundations  of  Society.    Translated  from  the 
2d  French  ed.  by  L.  M.  Keasbey.    London  and  New  York,  1899. 

(3)  Beard,  Charles  A.     An  Economic  Interpretation  of  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States.     New  York,  1913. 

(4)  Brandes,   Georg.     Main   Currents   in   Nineteenth-Century  Literature. 
6  vols.    London,  1906. 

(5)  Taine,  H.  A.     The  Ancient  Regime.    Translated  from  the  French  by 
John  Durand.     New  York,  1891. 

(6)  Buckle,  Henry  Thomas.     History  of  Civilization  in  England.     2  vols. 
New  York,  1892. 

(7)  Lacombe,  Paul.    De  I'histoire  consideree  comme  science.     Paris,  1894. 

(8)  Francke,  Kuno.    Social  Forces  in  German  Literature.     A  study  in  the 
history  of  civilization.    New  York,  1896. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  499 

(9)  Hart,  A.  B.  Social  and  Economic  Forces  in  American  History.  From 
The  American  Nation,  A  History.  London  and  New  York,  1004. 

(10)  Turner,  Frederick  J.  "Social  Forces  in  American  History,"  The 
American  Historical  Review,  XVI  (1910-11),  217-33. 

(n)  Woods,  F.  A.  The  Influence  of  Monarchs.  Steps  in  a  new  science 
of  history.  New  York,  1913. 

III.      INTERESTS  AND   WANTS 

A.  Interests,  Desires,  and  Wants  as  Defined  by  the  Sociologist 

(1)  Ward,  Lester  F.    Dynamic  Sociology,  or  Applied  Social  Science. 
As  based  upon  statical  sociology  and  the  less  complex  sciences. 
"The  Social  Forces,"  I,  468-699.    New  York,  1883. 

(2)  .     Pure  Sociology.     A  treatise  on  the  origin  and  spontaneous 

development  of  society.     Chap,  xii,  "Classification  of  the  Social 
Forces,"  pp.  256-65.    New  York,  1903. 

(3)  .     The   Psychic   Factors   of   Civilization.     Chap,    ix,    "The 

Philosophy  of  Desire,"  pp.  50-58;  chap,  xviii,  "The  Social  Forces," 
pp.  116-24.    Boston,  1001. 

(4)  Small,  Albion  W.     General  Sociology.     Chaps,  xxvii  and  xxxi,  pp. 
372-94;  425-42.     Chicago,  1905. 

(5)  Ross,  Edward  A.     The  Principles  of  Sociology.     Part  II,  "Social 
Forces,"  pp.  41-73.     New  York,  1920. 

(6)  Blackmar,  F.  W.,  and  Gillin,  J.  L.    Outlines  of  Sociology.    Part  U I, 
chap,  ii,  "Social  Forces,"  pp.  283-315.     New  York,  1915. 

(7)  Hayes,  Edward  C.     "The  'Social  Forces'  Error,"  American  Journal 
of  Sociology,  XVI  (1910-11),  613-25;  636-44. 

(8)  Fouillee,  Alfred.     Education  from  a  National  Standpoint.     Trans- 
lated from  the  French  by  W.  J.  Greenstreet.     Chap,  i,  pp.  10-27. 
New  York,  1892. 

(9)  .     Morale  des  idees-forces.     2d  ed.     Paris,  1908.     [Book  II, 

Part  II,   chap,   iii,  pp.  290-311,   describes  opinion,  custom,  law, 
education  from  the  point  of  view  of  "Idea- Forces."] 

B.  Interests  and  Wants  as  Defined  by  the  Economist 

(1)  Hermann,    F.    B.    W.    v.     Staatswirthschaftliche    Untersuchungen. 
Chap.  ii.     Miinchen,    1870.     [First   of   the    modern    attempts  to 
classify  wants.] 

(2)  Walker,    F.    A.    Political   Economy.    3d  ed.     New   York,    1888. 
[See  discussion  of  competition,  pp.  91-111.] 


500          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(3)  Marshall,  Alfred.    Principles  of  Economics.    An  introductory  vol- 
ume.   Chap,  ii,  "Wants  in  Relation   to  Activities,"  pp.  86-91. 
6th  ed.    London,  1910. 

(4)  .    "Some  Aspects  of  Competition,"  Journal  of  the  Royal 

Statistical  Society.    Sec.  VII,  "Modern  Analysis  of  the  Motives  of 
Business  Competition,"  LIII  (1800),  634-37.     [See  also  Sec.  VIII, 
"Growing  Importance  of  Public  Opinion  as  an  Economic  Force," 
pp.  637-41.] 

(5)  Menger,   Karl.     Grundsatze  der   Volkswirthschaftslehre.     Chap,  ii, 
Wien,  1871. 

(6)  .     Untersuchungen  uber  die  Methode  der  Socialwissenschaften 

und  der  politischen  Okonomie  insbesondere.     Chap,  vii,  "Uber  das 
Dogma,"  etc.    Leipzig,  1883. 

(7)  Jevons,  W.  S.     The  Theory  of  Political  Economy.     Chap,  ii,  "Theory 
of  Pleasure  and  Pain,"  pp.  28-36;   "The  Laws  of  Human  Wants," 
pp.  39-43.    4th  ed.    London,  1911. 

(8)  Bentham,  Jeremy.     "A  Table  of  the  Springs  of  Action."     Showing 
the  several  species  of  pleasures  and  pains  of  which  man's  nature  is 
susceptible;    together  with  the  several  species  of  interests,  desires 
and  motives  respectively  corresponding  to  them;    and  the  several 
sets  of  appellatives,  neutral,  eulogistic,  and  dyslogistic,  by  which  each 
species  of  motive  is  wont  to  be  designated.     [First  published  in  1817.] 
The  Works  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  I,  195-219.    London,  1843. 

C.  Wants  and  Values 

(1)  Kreibig,  Josef  K.    Psychologische  Grundlegung  eines  Systems  der 
Wert-Theorie.    Wien,  1902. 

(2)  Simmel,  Georg.    Einleitung  in  die  Moralwissenschaft.    Eine  Kritik 
der  ethischen   Grundbegriffe.    Vol.  I,  chap,  iv,  "Die   Gliickselig- 
keit."     2  vols.    Berlin,  1904-05. 

(3)  Meinong,    Alexius.    Psychologische-ethische     Untersuchungen     zur 
Werl-Theorie.     Graz,  1894. 

(4)  Ehrenfels,  Chrn.  v.    System  der  Wert-Theorie.     2  vols.    Leipzig, 
1897-98. 

(5)  Brentano,  Franz.    Psychologic  vom  empirischen  Standpunkte.    Chap, 
vi-ix,  pp.  256-350.    Leipzig,  1874. 

(6)  Urban,  Wilbur  Marshall.     Valuation,  Its  Nature  and  Laws.    Being 
an  introduction  to  the  general  theory  of  value.    London,  1909. 

(7)  Cooley,  Charles  H.    Social  Process.    Part  VI,  "Valuation,"  pp. 
283-348.    New  York,  1918. 

IV.      SENTIMENTS,  ATTITUDES,  AND  WISHES 

(i)  White,  W.  A.    Mechanisms  of  Character  Formation.    An  introduction 
to  psychoanalysis.    New  York,  1916. 


SOCIAL  FORCES  501 

(2)  Pfister,  Oskar.     The  Psychoanalytic  Method.    Translated  from  the 
German  by  Dr.  C.  R.  Payne.    New  York,  1917. 

(3)  Jung,  Carl  G.    Analytical  Psychology.    Translated  from  the  German 
by  Dr.  Constance  E.  Long.    New  York,  1916. 

(4)  Adler,  Alfred.     The  Neurotic  Constitution.    Outlines  of  a  comparative 
individualistic  psychology  and  psychotherapy.    Translated  from  the 
German  by  Bernard  Glueck.    New  York,  1917. 

(5)  Freud,  Sigmund.    General  Introduction  to  Psychoanalysis.    New  York, 
1920. 

(6)  Tridon,  Andre.    Psychoanalysis  and  Behavior.    New  York,  1920. 

(7)  Holt,  Edwin  B.    The  Freudian  Wish  and  Its  Place  in  Ethics.    New 
York,  1915. 

(8)  Mercier,  C.  A.    Conduct  and  Its  Disorders  Biologically  Considered. 
London,  1911. 

(9)  Bechterew,  W.   v.    La  psychologic  objective.    Translated  from  the 
Russian.    Paris,  1913. 

(10)  Kostyleff,  N.    Le  mecanisme  cerebral  de  la  pensee.    Paris,  1914. 

(n)  Bentley,  A.  F.  The  Process  of  Government.  A  study  of  social  pres- 
sures. Chicago,  1908. 

(12)  Veblen,  T.  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class.  An  economic  study  in 
the  evolution  of  institutions.  New  York,  1899.  [Discusses  the  wish 
for  recognition.] 

(J3)  •  The  Instinct  of  Workmanship.  And  the  state  of  the  indus- 
trial arts.  New  York,  1914.  [Discusses  the  wish  for  recognition.] 

(14)  McDougall,  William.    An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology.     Chaps, 
v-vi,  pp.  121-73.     I3th  ed.    Boston,  1918. 

(15)  Shand,  A.  F.    "Character  and  the  Emotions,"  Mind.,  n.  s.,  V  (1896), 
203-26. 

(16)  .    "M.  Ribot's  Theory  of  the  Passions,"  Mind.,  n.  s.,  XVI 

(1907),   477-505- 

(17)  .     The  Foundations  of  Character.    Being  a  study  of  the  ten- 
dencies of  the  emotions  and  sentiments.     Chaps,  iv-v,  "The  Systems 
of  the  Sentiments,"  pp.  35-63.    London,  1914. 

(18)  Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F.     The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and 
America.    Ill,  5-81.    Boston,  1919. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  The  Concept  of  Forces  in  the  Natural  Sciences 

2.  Historical  Interpretation  and  Social  Forces 

3.  The  Concept  of  Social  Forces  in  Recent  Studies  of  the  Local  Com- 

munity 


502  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

4.  Institutions  as  Social  Forces:  The  Church,  the  Press,  the  School,  etc 

5.  Institutions  as  Organizations  of  Social  Forces:   Analysis  of  a  Typical 
Institution,  Its  Organization,  Dominant  Personalities,  etc. 

6.  Persons  as  Social  Forces:    Analysis  of  the  Motives  determining  the 
Behavior  of  a  Dominant  Personality  in  a  Typical  Social  Group 

7.  Group  Opinion  as  a  Social  Force 

8.  Tendencies,  Trends,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Age 

9.  History  of  the  Concepts  of  Attitudes,  Sentiments,  and  Wishes  as 
Denned  in  Psychology,  Psychoanalysis,  and  Sociology 

10.  Attitudes  as  the  Organizations  of  Wishes 

11.  The  Freudian  Wish 

12.  Personal  and  Social  Disorganization  from  the  Standpoint  of  the  Four 
Wishes 

13.  The  Law  of  the  Four  Wishes:   All  the  Wishes  Must  Be  Realized.    A 
Wish  of  One  Type,  Recognition,  Is  Not  a  Substitute  for  a  Wish  of 
Another  Type,  Response 

14.  The  Dominant  Wish:  Its  R61e  in  the  Organization  of  the  Person  and 
of  the  Group 

15.  Typical  Attitudes:   Familism,  Individualism,  "Oppressed  Nationality 
Psychosis,"  Race  Prejudice 

16.  The  Mutability  of  the  Sentiment-Attitude:    Love  and  Hate,   Self- 
esteem  and  Humility,  etc. 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  Make  a  list  of  the  outstanding  social  forces  affecting  social  life  in  a 
community  which  you  know.    What  is  the  value  of  such  an  analysis  ? 

2.  How  does  Simons  use  the  term  "social  forces"  in  analyzing  the  course 
of  events  in  American  history  ? 

3.  In   what   sense  do  you   understand   Ely  to   use   the   term   "social 
forces"? 

4.  Would  there  be,  in  your  opinion,  a  social  tendency  without  conflict 
with  other  tendencies  ? 

5.  How  far  is  it  correct  to  predict  from  present  tendencies  what  the 
future  will  be  ? 

6.  What  do  you  understand  by  Zeitgeist,  "trend  of  the  times,"  "spirit  of 
the  age  "  ? 

7.  What  do  you  understand  by  public  opinion  ?    How  does  it  originate  ? 

8.  Is  legislation  in  the  United  States  always  a  result  of  public  opinion  ? 

9.  Does  the  trend  of  public  opinion  determine  corporate  action  ? 

10.  Is  public  opinion  the  same  as  the  sum  of  the  opinion  of  the  members 
of  the  group  ? 


SOCIAL  FORCES  503 

11.  What  is  the  relation  of  social  forces  to  interaction  ? 

12.  Is  it  possible  to  study  trends,  tendencies,  and  public  opinion  as  inte- 
grations of  interests,  sentiments,  and  attitudes  ? 

13.  Are  desires  the  fundamental  "social  elements"  ? 

14.  What  do  you  understand  Small  to  mean  when  he  says,  "The  last 
elements  to  which  we  can  reduce  the  actions  of  human  beings  are  units 
which  we  may  conveniently  name  'interests'"  ? 

15.  What  is  Small's  classification  of  interests?    Do  you  regard  it  as 
satisfactory  ? 

16.  What  do  you  think  is  the  difference  between  an  impulse  and  an  interest  ? 

17.  Do  people  behave  according  to  their  interests  or  their  impulses  ? 

18.  Make  a  chart  showing  the  difference  in  interests  of  six  persons  with 
whom  you  are  acquainted. 

19.  Make  a  chart  indicating  the  variations  in  interests  of  six  selected  ' 
groups. 

20.  What  difference  is  there,  in  your  opinion,  between  interests  and  social 
pressures  ? 

21.  Do  you  consider  the  following  statement  of  Bentley's  correct:    "No 
slaves,  not  the  worst  abused  of  all,  but  help  to  form  the  government "  ? 

32.  Does  the  group  exert  social  pressure  upon  its  members?     Give  illus- 
trations. 

23 .  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  differences  between  an  idea  and  an 
idea-force  ? 

24.  Give  illustrations  of  idea-forces. 

25.  Are  there  any  ideas  that  are  not  idea-forces? 

26.  What  do  you  understand  by  a  sentiment  ? 

27.  What  is  the  difference  between  an  interest  and  a  sentiment?    Give  an 
illustration  of  each. 

28.  Are  sentiments  or  interests  more  powerful  in  influencing  the  behavior 
of  a  person  or  of  a  group  ? 

29.  What  do  you  understand  by  a  social  attitude  ? 

30.  What  is  a  mental  conflict  ? 

31.  To  what  extent  does  unconsciousness  rather  than  consciousness  deter- 
mine the  behavior  of  a  person  ?     Give  an  illustration  where  the  behavior 
of  a  person  was  inconsistent  with  his  rational  determination. 

32.  What  do  you  understand  by  mental  complexes? 

33.  What  is  the  relation  of  memory  to  mental  complexes  ? 

34.  What  do  you  understand  by  personality?    What  is  its  relation  to 
mental  complexes  ? 

35.  What  is  meant  by  common  sense  ? 

36.  How  does  Holt  define  the  Freudian  wish  ? 


504  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

37.  What  distinction  does  he  make  between  the  wish  and  the  motor  attitude  ? 

38.  How  would  you  illustrate  the  difference  between  an  attitude  and  a 
wish  as  defined  in  the  introduction  ? 

39.  How  far  would  you  say  that  the  attitude  may  be  described  as  an 
organization  of  the  wishes  ? 

40.  How  far  is  the  analogy  between  the  wish  as  the  social  atom  and  the 
attitude  as  the  social  element  justified  ? 

41.  What  is  the  "psychic  censor  "? 

42.  What  is  the  Freudian  theory  of  repression?    Is  repression  conscious  or 
unconscious  ? 

43.  What  is  the  relation  of  wishes  to  occupational  selection? 

44.  Give  illustrations  of  the  "four  wishes." 

45.  Describe  a  person  in  terms  of  the  type  of  expression  of  these  four  wishes. 
y  46.  What  social  problems  arise  because  of  the  repression  of  certain  wishes  ? 

47.  "Wishes  in  one  class  cannot  be  substituted  for  wishes  in  another."    Do 
you  agree  ?    Elaborate  your  position. 

48.  Analyze  the  organization  of  a  group  from  the  standpoint  of  the  four 
wishes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

COMPETITION 

I.    INTRODUCTION 

i.    Popular  Conception  of  Competition 

Competition,  as  a  universal  phenomenon,  was  first  clearly  con- 
ceived and  adequately  described  by  the  biologists.  As  defined  in  the 
evolutionary  formula  "  the  struggle  for  existence"  the  notion  captured 
the  popular  imagination  and  became  a  commonplace  of  familiar 
discourse.  Prior  to  that  time  competition  had  been  regarded  as  an 
economic  rather  than  a  biological  phenomenon. 

It  was  in  the  eighteenth  century  and  in  England  that  we  first  find 
any  general  recognition  of  the  new  rdle  that  commerce  and  the  middle- 
man were  to  play  in  the  modern  world.  "  Competition  is  the  life  of 
trade"  is  a  trader's  maxim,  and  the  sort  of  qualified  approval  that  it 
gives  to  the  conception  of  competition  contains  the  germ  of  the  whole 
philosophy  of  modern  industrial  society  as  that  doctrine  was  formu- 
lated by  Adam  Smith  and  the  physiocrats. 

The  economists  of  the  eighteenth  century  were  the  first  to  attempt 
to  rationalize  and  justify  the  social  order  that  is  based  on  competition 
and  individual  freedom.  They  taught  that  there  was  a  natural 
harmony  hi  the  interests  of  men,  which  once  liberated  would  inevi- 
tably bring  about,  in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  the  greatest  good 
to  the  greatest  number. 

The  individual  man,  in  seeking  his  own  profit,  will  necessarily 
seek  to  produce  and  sell  that  which  has  most  value  for  the  community, 
and  so  "he  is  in  this,  as  in  many  other  cases,"  as  Adam  Smith  puts  it, 
"led  by  an  invisible  hand  to  promote  an  end  which  was  no  part  of 
his  intention." 

The  conception  has  been  stated  with  even  greater  unction  by  the 
French  writer,  Frederic  Bastiat. 

Since  goods  which  seem  at  first  to  be  the  exclusive  property  of  indi- 
viduals become  by  the  estimable  decrees  of  a  wise  providence  [competition] 

5°5 


506  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  common  possession  of  all,  since  the  natural  advantages  of  situation, 
the  fertility,  temperature,  mineral  richness  of  the  soil  and  even  industrial 
skill  do  not  accrue  to  the  producers,  because  of  competition  among  them- 
selves, but  contribute  so  much  the  more  to  the  profit  of  the  consumer;  it 
follows  that  there  is  no  country  that  is  not  interested  in  the  advancement 
of  all  the  others.1 

The  freedom  which  commerce  sought  and  gained  upon  the  prin- 
ciple of  laissez  faire  has  enormously  extended  the  area  of  competition 
and  in  doing  so  has  created  a  world-economy  where  previously  there 
were  only  local  markets.  It  has  created  at  the  same  time  a  division 
of  labor  that  includes  all  the  nations  and  races  of  men  and  incidentally 
has  raised  the  despised  middleman  to  a  position  of  affluence  and  power 
undreamed  of  by  superior  classes  of  any  earlier  age.  And  now  there 
is  a  new  demand  for  the  control  of  competition  in  the  interest,  not 
merely  of  those  who  have  not  shared  in  the  general  prosperity,  but  in 
the  interest  of  competition  itself.  • 

"  Unfair  competition  "  is  an  expression  that  is  heard  at  the  present 
time  with  increasing  frequency.  This  suggests  that  there  are  rules 
governing  competition  by  which,  in  its  own  interest,  it  can  and 
should  be  controlled.  The  same  notion  has  found  expression  in  the 
demand  for  "freedom  of  competition"  from  those  who  would  safe- 
guard competition  by  controlling  it.  Other  voices  have  been  raised 
in  denunciation  of  competition  because  "competition  creates  monop- 
oly." In  other  words,  competition,  if  carried  to  its  logical  conclusion, 
ends  in  the  annihilation  of  competition.  In  this  destruction  of  compe- 
tition by  competition  we  seem  to  have  a  loss  of  freedom  by  freedom, 
or,  to  state  it  in  more  general  terms,  unlimited  liberty,  without  social 
control,  ends  in  the  negation  of  freedom  and  the  slavery  of  the  indi- 
vidual. But  the  limitation  of  competition  by  competition,  it  needs 
to  be  said,  means  simply  that  the  process  of  competition  tends  invari- 
ably to  establish  an  equilibrium. 

The  more  fundamental  objection  is  that  in  giving  freedom  to 
economic  competition  society  has  sacrificed  other  fundamental  inter- 
ests that  are  not  directly  involved  in  the  economic  process.  In  any 
case  economic  freedom  exists  in  an  order  that  has  been  created  and 
maintained  by  society.  Economic  competition,  as  we  know  it,  pre- 

1  Bastiat,  Fr6d6ric,  (Etwres  completes,  tome  VI,  "Harmonies  Sconomiques," 
9*  Edition,  p.  381.  (Paris,  1884.) 


COMPETITION  507 

supposes  the  existence  of  the  right  of  private  property,  which  is  a 
creation  of  the  state.  It'  is  upon  this  premise  that  the  more  radical 
social  doctrines,  communism  and  socialism,  seek  to  abolish  compe- 
tition altogether. 

2.     Competition  a  Process  of  Interaction 

Of  the  four  great  types  of  interaction — competition,  conflict, 
accommodation,  and  assimilation — competition  is  the  elementary, 
universal  and  fundamental  form.  Social  contact,  as  we  have  seen, 
initiates  interaction.  But  competition,  strictly  speaking,  is  inter- 
action without  social  contact.  If  this  seems,  in  view  of  what  has 
already  been  said,  something  of  a  paradox,  it  is  because  in  human 
society  competition  is  always  complicated  with  other  processes,  that 
is  to  say,  with  conflict,  assimilation,  and  accommodation. 

It  is  only  in  the  plant  community  that  we  can  observe  the  process 
of  competition  in  isolation,  uncomplicated  with  other  social  processes. 
The  members  of  a  plant  community  live  together  in  a  relation  of 
mutual  interdependence  which  we  call  social  probably  because,  while 
it  is  close  and  vital,  it  is  not  biological.  It  is  not  biological  because 
the  relation  is  a  merely  external  one  and  the  plants  that  compose  it 
are  not  even  of  the  same  species.  They  do  not  interbreed.  The 
members  of  a  plant  community  adapt  themselves  to  one  another  as 
all  living  things  adapt  themselves  to  their  environment,  but  there  is 
no  conflict  between  them  because  they  are  not  conscious.  Compe- 
tition takes  the  form  of  conflict  or  rivalry  only  when  it  becomes 
conscious,  when  competitors  identify  one  another  as  rivals  or  as 
enemies. 

This  suggests  what  is  meant  by  the  statement  that  competition 
is  interaction  without  social  contact.  It  is  only  when  minds  meet,  only 
when  the  meaning  that  is  in  one  mind  is  communicated  to  another 
mind  so  that  these  minds  mutually  influence  one  another,  that  social 
contact,  properly  speaking,  may  be  said  to  exist. 

On  the  other  hand,  social  contacts  are  not  limited  to  contacts  of 
touch  or  sense  or  speech,  and  they  are  likely  to  be  more  intimate  and 
more  pervasive  than  we  imagine.  Some  years  ago  the  Japanese,  who 
are  brown,  defeated  the  Russians,  who  are  white.  In  the  course  of 
the  next  few  months  the  news  of  this  remarkable  event  penetrated,  as 
we  afterward  learned,  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth.  It  sent  a  thrill 


508          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

through  all  Asia  and  it  was  known  in  the  darkest  corners  of  Central 
Africa.  Everywhere  it  awakened  strange  and  fantastic  dreams. 
This  is  what  is  meant  by  social  contact. 

a)  Competition  and  competitive  co-operation. — Social  contact, 
which  inevitably  initiates  conflict,  accommodation,  or  assimilation, 
invariably  creates  also  sympathies,  prejudices,  personal  and  moral 
relations  which  modify,  complicate,  and  control  competition.  On 
the  other  hand,  within  the  limits  which  the  cultural  process  creates, 
and  custom,  law,  and  tradition  impose,  competition  invariably  tends 
to  create  an  impersonal  social  order  in  which  each  individual,  being 
free  to  pursue  his  own  profit,  and,  in  a  sense,  compelled  to  do  so,  makes 
every  other  individual  a  means  to  that  end.  In  doing  so,  however, 
he  inevitably  contributes  through  the  mutual  exchange  of  services  so 
established  to  the  common  welfare.  It  is  just  the  nature  of  the 
trading  transaction  to  isolate  the  motive  of  profit  and  make  it  the 
basis  of  business  organization,  and  so  far  as  this  motive  becomes 
dominant  and  exclusive,  business  relations  inevitably  assume  the 
impersonal  character  so  generally  ascribed  to  them. 

"Competition,"  says  Walker,  "is  opposed  to  sentiment.  When- 
ever any  economic  agent  does  or  forbears  anything  under  the  influence 
of  any  sentiment  other  than  the  desire  of  giving  the  least  and  gaming 
the  most  he  can  in  exchange,  be  that  sentiment  patriotism,  or  grati- 
tude, or  charity,  or  vanity,  leading  him  to  do  otherwise  than  as  self 
interest  would  prompt,  in  that  case  also,  the  rule  of  competition  is 
departed  from.  Another  rule  is  for  the  time  substituted."1 

This  is  the  significance  of  the  familiar  sayings  to  the  effect  that 
one  "must  not  mix  business  with  sentiment,"  that  "business  is  busi- 
ness," "corporations  are  heartless,"  etc.  It  is  just  because  corpora- 
tions are  "heartless,"  that  is  to  say  impersonal,  that  they  represent 
the  most  advanced,  efficient,  and  responsible  form  of  business  organi- 
zation. But  it  is  for  this  same  reason  that  they  can  and  need  to  be 
regulated  in  behalf  of  those  interests  of  the  community  that  cannot 
be  translated  immediately  into  terms  of  profit  and  loss  to  the 
individual. 

The  plant  community  is  the  best  illustration  of  the  type  of  social 
organization  that  is  created  by  competitive  co-operation  because  in 
the  plant  community  competition  is  unrestricted. 

1  Walker,  Francis  A.,  Political  Economy,  p.  92.     (New  York,  1887.) 


COMPETITION  509 

6)  Competition  and  freedom. — The  economic  organization  of  soci- 
ety, so  far  as  it  is  an  effect  of  free  competition,  is  an  ecological  organi- 
zation. There  is  a  human  as  well  as  a  plant  and  an  animal  ecology. 

If  we  are  to  assume  that  the  economic  order  is  fundamentally 
ecological,  that  is,  created  by  the  struggle  for  existence,  an  organi- 
zation like  that  of  the  plant  community  in  which  the  relations  between 
individuals  are  conceivably  at  least  wholly  external,  the  question  may 
be  very  properly  raised  why  the  competition  and  the  organization 
it  has  created  should  be  regarded  as  social  at  ah*.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
sociologists  have  generally  identified  the  social  with  the  moral  order, 
and  Dewey,  in  his  Democracy  and  Education,  makes  statements  which 
suggest  that  the  purely  economic  order,  in  which  man  becomes  a 
means  rather  than  an  end  to  other  men,  is  unsocial,  if  not  antisocial. 

The  fact  is,  however,  that  this  character  of  externality  in  human 
relations  is  a  fundamental  aspect  of  society  and  social  life.  It  is 
merely  another  manifestation  of  what  has  been  referred  to  as  the 
distributive  aspect  of  society.  Society  is  made  up  of  individuals 
spatially  separated,  territorially  distributed,  and  capable  of  inde- 
pendent locomotion.  This  capacity  of  independent  locomotion  is 
the  basis  and  the  symbol  of  every  other  form  of  independence.  Free- 
dom is  fundamentally  freedom  to  move  and  individuality  is  incon- 
ceivable without  the  capacity  and  the  opportunity  to  gain  an 
individual  experience  as  a  result  of  independent  action. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  quite  as  true  that  society  may  be  said  to 
exist  only  so  far  as  this  independent  activity  of  the  individual  is 
controlled  hi  the  interest  of  the  group  as  a  whole.  That  is  the  reason 
why  the  problem  of  control,  using  that  term  in  its  evident  significance, 
inevitably  becomes  the  central  problem  of  sociology. 

c)  Competition  and  control. — Conflict,  assimilation  and  accommo- 
dation as  distinguished  from  competition  are  all  intimately  related  to 
control.  Competition  is  the  process  through  which  the  distributive 
and  ecological  organization  of  society  is  created.  Competition  deter- 
mines the  distribution  of  population  territorially  and  vocationally. 
The  division  of  labor  and  all  the  vast  organized  economic  interde- 
pendence of  individuals  and  groups  of  individuals  characteristic  of 
modern  life  are  a  product  of  competition.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
moral  and  political  order,  which  imposes  itself  upon  this  competitive 
organization,  is  a  product  of  conflict,  accommodation  and  assimilation. 


510  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Competition  is  universal  in  the  world  of  living  things.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances  it  goes  on  unobserved  even  by  the  individuals 
who  are  most  concerned.  It  is  only  in  periods  of  crisis,  when  men 
are  making  new  and  conscious  efforts  to  control  the  conditions  of  their 
common  life,  that  the  forces  with  which  they  are  competing  get 
identified  with  persons,  and  competition  is  converted  into  conflict. 
It  is  in  what  has  been  described  as  the  political  process  that  society 
consciously  deals  with  its  crises.1  War  is  the  political  process  par 
excellence.  It  is  in  war  that  the  great  decisions  are  made.  Political 
organizations  exist  for  the  purpose  of  dealing  with  conflict  situations. 
Parties,  parliaments  and  courts,  public  discussion  and  voting  are  to 
be  considered  simply  as  substitutes  for  war. 

d)  Accommodation,  assimilation,  and  competition. — Accommoda- 
tion, on  the  other  hand,  is  the  process  by  which  the  individuals  and 
groups  make  the  necessary  internal  adjustments  to  social  situations 
which  have  been  created  by  competition  and  conflict.  War  and 
elections  change  situations.  When  changes  thus  effected  are  decisive 
and  are  accepted,  conflict  subsides  and  the  tensions  it  created  are 
resolved  in  the  process  of  accommodation  into  profound  modifications 
of  the  competing  units,  i.e.,  individuals  and  groups.  A  man  once 
thoroughly  defeated  is,  as  has  often  been  noted,  "never  the  same 
again."  Conquest,  subjugation,  and  defeat  are  psychological  as  well 
as  social  processes.  They  establish  a  new  order  by  changing,  not 
merely  the  status,  but  the  attitudes  of  the  parties  involved.  Even- 
tually the  new  order  gets  itself  fixed  in  habit  and  custom  and  is  then 
transmitted  as  part  of  the  established  social  order  to  succeeding 
generations.  Neither  the  physical  nor  the  social  world  is  made  to 
satisfy  at  once  all  the  wishes  of  the  natural  man.  The  rights  of 
property,  vested  interests  of  every  sort,  the  family  organization, 
slavery,  caste  and  class,  the  whole  social  organization,  in  fact,  repre- 
sent accommodations,  that  is  to  say,  limitations  of  the  natural  wishes 
of  the  individual.  These  socially  inherited  accommodations  have 
presumably  grown  up  in  the  pains  and  struggles  of  previous  genera- 
tions, but  they  have  been  transmitted  to  and  accepted  by  succeeding 
generations  as  part  of  the  natural,  inevitable  social  order.  All  of 
these  are  forms  of  control  in  which  competition  is  limited  by  status. 

1  See  chap,  i,  pp.  51-54. 


COMPETITION  511 

Conflict  is  then  to  be  identified  with  the  political  order  and  with 
conscious  control.  Accommodation,  on  the  other  hand,  is  associated 
with  the  social  order  that  is  fixed  and  established  in  custom  and 
the  mores. 

Assimilation,  as  distinguished  from  accommodation,  implies  a 
more  thoroughgoing  transformation  of  the  personality — a  transfor- 
mation which  takes  place  gradually  under  the  influence  of  social 
contacts  of  the  most  concrete  and  intimate  sort. 

Accommodation  may  be  regarded,  like  religious  conversion,  as  a 
kind  of  mutation.  The  wishes  are  the  same  but  their  organization  is 
different.  Assimilation  takes  place  not  so  much  as  a  result  of  changes 
in  the  organization  as  in  the  content,  i.e.,  the  memories,  of  the  per- 
sonality. The  individual  units,  as  a  result  of  intimate  association, 
interpenetrate,  so  to  speak,  and  come  in  this  way  into  possession  of 
a  common  experience  and  a  common  tradition.  The  permanence  and 
solidarity  of  the  group  rest  finally  upon  this  body  of  common  expe- 
rience and  tradition.  It  is  the  role  of  history  to  preserve  this  body  of 
common  experience  and  tradition,  to  criticise  and  reinterpret  it  in 
the  light  of  new  experience  and  changing  conditions,  and  in  this  way 
to  preserve  the  continuity  of  the  social  and  political  life. 

The  relation  of  social  structures  to  the  processes  of  competi- 
tion, conflict,  accommodation,  and  assimilation  may  be  represented 
schematically  as  follows: 

SOCIAL   PROCESS  SOCIAL  ORDER 

Competition  The  economic  equilibrium 

Conflict  The  political  order 

Accommodation  Social  organization 

Assimilation  Personality  and  the  cultural 

heritage 

3.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  materials  in  this  chapter  have  been  selected  to  exhibit  (i) 
the  role  which  competition  plays  in  social  life  and  all  life,  and  (2)  the 
types  of  organization  that  competition  has  everywhere  created  as  a 
result  of  the  division  of  labor  it  has  everywhere  enforced.  These  mate- 
rials fall  naturally  under  the  following  heads :  (a)  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence; (b)  competition  and  segregation;  and  (c)  economic  competition. 

This  order  of  the  materials  serves  the  purpose  of  indicating 
the  stages  in  the  growth  and  extension  of  man's  control  over  nature 


512  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  over  man  himself.  The  evolution  of  society  has  been  the  pro- 
gressive extension  of  control  over  nature  and  the  substitution  of  a 
moral  for  the  natural  order. 

Competition  has  its  setting  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  This 
struggle  is  ordinarily  represented  as  a  chaos  of  contending  individuals 
in  which  the  unfit  perish  hi  order  that  the  fit  may  survive.  This 
conception  of  the  natural  order  as  one  of  anarchy,  "  the  war  of  each 
against  all,"  familiar  since  Hobbes  to  the  students  of  society,  is  recent 
hi  biology.  Before  Darwin,  students  of  plant  and  animal  We  saw 
in  nature,  not  disorder,  but  order;  not  selection,  but  design.  The 
difference  between  the  older  and  the  newer  interpretation  is  not  so 
much  a  difference  of  fact  as  of  point  of  view.  Looking  at  the  plant 
and  animal  species  with  reference  to  their  classification  they  present 
a  series  of  relatively  fixed  and  stable  types.  The  same  thing  may  be 
said  of  the  plant  and  animal  communities.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances the  adjustment  between  the  members  of  the  plant  and  animal 
communities  and  the  environment  is  so  complete  that  the  observer 
interprets  it  as  an  order  of  co-operation  rather  than  a  condition  of 
competitive  anarchy. 

Upon  investigation  it  turns  out,  however,  that  the  plant  and 
animal  communities  are  in  a  state  of  unstable  equilibrium,  such  that 
any  change  in  the  environment  may  destroy  them.  Communities  of 
this  type  are  not  organized  to  resist  or  adapt  themselves  as  commu- 
nities to  changes  in  the  environment.  The  plant  community,  for 
example,  is  a  mere  product  of  segregation,  an  aggregate  without 
nerves  or  means  of  communication  that  would  permit  the  individuals 
to  be  controlled  in  the  interest  of  the  community  as  a  whole.1 

The  situation  is  different  in  the  so-called  animal  societies.  Ani- 
mals are  adapted  in  part  to  the  situation  of  competition,  but  in  part 
also  to  the  situation  of  co-operation.  With  the  animal,  maternal 
instinct,  gregariousness,  sex  attraction  restrict  competition  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent  among  individuals  of  the  same  family,  herd,  or 

1  The  introduction  of  the  rabbit  into  Australia,  where  predatory  competitors 
are  absent,  has  resulted  in  so  great  a  multiplication  of  the  members  of  this  species 
that  their  numbers  have  become  an  economic  menace.  The  appearance  of  the 
boll  weevil,  an  insect  which  attacks  the  cotton  boll,  has  materially  changed  the 
character  of  agriculture  in  areas  of  cotton  culture  in  the  South.  Scientists  are  now 
looking  for  some  insect  enemy  of  the  boll  weevil  that  will  restore  the  equilibrium. 


COMPETITION  513 

species.    In  the  case  of  the  ant  community  competition  is  at  a  mini- 
mum and  co-operation  at  a  maximum. 

With  man  the  free  play  of  competition  is  restrained  by  sentiment, 
custom,  and  moral  standards,  not  to  speak  of  the  more  conscious 
control  through  law. 

It  is  a  characteristic  of  competition,  when  unrestricted,  that  it  is 
invariably  more  severe  among  organisms  of  the  same  than  of  different 
species.  Man's  greatest  competitor  is  man.  On  the  other  hand, 
man's  control  over  the  plant  and  animal  world  is  now  well-nigh 
complete,  so  that,  generally  speaking,  only  such  plants  and  animals 
are  permitted  to  exist  as  serve  man's  purpose. 

Competition  among  men,  on  the  other  hand,  has  been  very  largely 
converted  into  rivalry  and  conflict.  The  effect  of  conflict  has  been 
to  extend  progressively  the  area  of  control  and  to  modify  and  limit 
the  struggle  for  existence  within  these  areas.  The  effect  of  war  has 
been,  on  the  whole,  to  extend  the  area  over  which  there  is  peace. 
Competition  has  been  restricted  by  custom,  tradition,  and  law,  and 
the  struggle  for  existence  has  assumed  the  form  of  struggle  for  a 
livelihood  and  for  status. 

Absolute  free  play  of  competition  is  neither  desirable  nor  even 
possible.  On  the  other  hand,  from  the  standpoint  of  the  individual, 
competition  means  mobility,  freedom,  and,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
society,  pragmatic  or  experimental  change.  Restriction  of  compe- 
tition is  synonymous  with  limitation  of  movement,  aquiescence  in 
control,  and  telesis,  Ward's  term  for  changes  ordained  by  society  in 
distinction  from  the  natural  process  of  change. 

The  political  problem  of  every  society  is  the  practical  one:  how 
to  secure  the  maximum  values  of  competition,  that  is,  personal  free- 
dom, initiative,  and  originality,  and  at  the  same  time  to  control  the 
energies  which  competition  has  released  in  the  interest  of  the 
community. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      THE   STRUGGLE   FOR  EXISTENCE 
i.    Different  Forms  of  the  Struggle  for  Existence1 
The  formula  "struggle  for  existence,"  familiar  in  human  affairs, 
was  used  by  Darwin  hi  his  interpretation  of  organic  life,  and  he 

'Adapted  from  J.  Arthur  Thomson,  Darwinism  and  Human  Life,  pp.  72-75. 
(Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1910.) 


514  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

showed  that  we  gain  clearness  in  our  outlook  on  animate  nature  if 
we  recognize  there,  in  continual  process,  a  struggle  for  existence  not 
merely  analogous  to,  but  fundamantally  the  same  as,  that  which 
goes  on  in  human  life.  He  projected  on  organic  life  a  sociological 
idea,  and  showed  thai  it  fitted.  But  while  he  thus  vindicated  the 
relevancy  and  utility  of  the  sociological  idea  within  the  biological 
realm,  he  declared  explicitly  that  the  phrase  "struggle  for  exist- 
ence" was  meant  to  be  a  shorthand  formula,  summing  up  a  vast 
variety  of  strife  and  endeavor,  of  thrust  and  parry,  of  action  and 
reaction. 

Some  of  Darwin's  successors  have  taken  pains  to  distinguish  a 
great  many  different  forms  of  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  this 
kind  of  analysis  is  useful  in  keeping  us  aware  of  the  complexities  of 
the  process.  Darwin  himself  does  not  seem  to  have  cared  much 
for  this  logical  mapping  out  and  defining;  it  was  enough  for  him  to 
insist  that  the  phrase  was  used  "in  a  large  and  metaphorical  sense," 
and  to  give  full  illustrations  of  its  various  modes.  For  our  present 
purpose  it  is  enough  for  us  to  follow  his  example. 

a)  Struggle  between  fellows. — When  the  locusts  of  a  huge  swarm 
have  eaten  up  every  green  thing,  they  sometimes  turn  on  one  another. 
This  cannibalism  among  fellows  of  the  same  species — illustrated,  for 
instance,  among  many  fishes — is  the  most  intense  form  of  the  struggle 
for  existence.    The  struggle  does  not  need  to  be  direct  to  be  real; 
the  essential  point  is  that  the  competitors   seek   after  the  same 
desiderata,  of  which  there  is  a  limited  supply. 

As  an  instance  of  keen  struggle  between  nearly  related  species, 
Darwin  referred  to  the  combats  of  rats.  The  black  rat  was  in 
possession  of  many  European  towns  before  the  brown  rat  crossed  the 
Volga  in  1727;  whenever  the  brown  rat  arrived,  the  black  rat  had 
to  go  to  the  wall.  Thus  at  the  present  day  there  are  practically  no 
black  rats  in  Great  Britain.  Here  the  struggle  for  existence  is  again 
directly  competitive.  It  is  difficult  to  separate  the  struggle  for  food 
and  foothold  from  the  struggle  for  mates,  and  it  seems  clearest  to 
include  here  the  battles  of  the  stags  and  the  capercailzies,  or  the 
extraordinary  lek  of  the  blackcock,  showing  off  their  beauty  at  sun- 
rise on  the  hills. 

b)  Struggle  between  foes. — In  the  locust  swarm  and  in  the  rats' 
combats  there  is  competition  between  fellows  of  the  same  or  nearly 


COMPETITION  515 

related  species,  but  the  struggle  for  existence  includes  much  wider 
antipathies.  We  see  it  between  foes  of  entirely  different  nature, 
between  carnivores  and  herbivores,  between  birds  of  prey  and  small 
mammals.  In  both  these  cases  there  may  be  a  stand-up  fight,  for 
instance  between  wolf  and  stag,  or  between  hawk  and  ermine;  but 
neither  the  logic  nor  the  biology  of  the  process  is  different  when  all 
the  tight  is  on  one  side.  As  the  lemmings,  which  have  overpopulated 
the  Scandinavian  valleys,  go  on  the  march  they  are  followed  by 
birds  and  beasts  of  prey,  which  thin  their  ranks.  Moreover,  the 
competition  between  species  need  not  be  direct;  it  will  come  to  the 
same  result  if  both  types  seek  after  the  same  things.  The  victory 
will  be  with  the  more  effective  and  the  more  prolific. 

c)  Struggle  with  fate. — Our  sweep  widens  still  further,  and  we 
pass  beyond  the  idea  of  competition  altogether  to  cases  where  the 
struggle  for  existence  is  between  the  living  organism  and  the  in- 
animate conditions  of  its  life — for  instance,  between  birds  and  the 
winter's  cold,  between  aquatic  animals  and  changes  in  the  water, 
between  plants  and  drought,  between  plants  and  frost — in  a  wide 
sense,  between  Life  and  Fate. 

We  cannot  here  pursue  the  suggestive  idea  that,  besides  struggle 
between  individuals,  there  is  struggle  between  groups  of  indi- 
viduals— the  latter  most  noticeably  developed  in  mankind.  Similarly, 
working  in  the  other  direction,  there  is  struggle  between  parts  or 
tissues  in  the  body,  between  cells  in  the  body,  between  equivalent 
germ-cells,  and,  perhaps,  as  Weismann  pictures,  between  the  various 
multiplicate  items  that  make  up  our  inheritance. 

2.     Competition  and  Natural  Selection1 

The  term  "struggle  for  existence"  is  used  in  a  large  and  meta- 
phorical sense,  including  dependence  of  one  being  on  another,  and 
including  (which  is  more  important)  not  only  the  life  of  the  individual 
but  success  in  leaving  progeny.  Two  canine  animals  in  a  time  of 
dearth  may  be  truly  said  to  struggle  with  each  other  which  shall  get 
food  and  live.  But  a  plant  on  the  edge  of  a  desert  is  said  to  struggle 
for  life  against  the  drought,  though  more  properly  it  should  be  said 

1  Adapted  from  Charles  Darwin,  The  Origin  of  Species,  pp.  50-61.  (D.  Apple- 
ton  &  Co.,  1878.) 


5l6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  be  dependent  on  the  moisture.  A  plant  which  annually  produces 
a  thousand  seeds,  of  which  only  one  of  an  average  comes  to  maturity, 
may  be  more  truly  said  to  struggle  with  the  plants  of  .the  same  and 
other  kinds  which  already  clothe  the  ground.  The  mistletoe  is  depen- 
dent on  the  apple  and  a  few  other  trees,  but  can  only  in  a  far-fetched 
sense  be  said  to  struggle  with  these  trees,  for,  if  too  many  of  these 
parasites  grow  on  the  same  tree,  it  languishes  and  dies.  But  several 
seedling  mistletoes  growing  close  together  on  the  same  branch  may 
more  truly  be  said  to  struggle  with  each  other.  As  the  mistletoe  is 
disseminated  by  birds,  its  existence  depends  on  them;  and  it  may 
metaphorically  be  said  to  struggle  with  other  fruit-bearing  plants  in 
tempting  the  birds  to  devour  and  thus  disseminate  its  seeds.  In  these 
several  senses  which  pass  into  each  other,  I  use  for  convenience'  sake 
the  general  term  of  "struggle  for  existence." 

A  struggle  for  existence  inevitably  follows  from  the  high  rate  at 
which  all  organic  beings  tend  to  increase.  Every  being  which  during 
its  natural  lifetime  produces  several  eggs  or  seeds  must  suffer  destruc- 
tion during  some  period  of  its  life,  and  during  some  season  or  occasional 
year,  otherwise,  on  the  principle  of  geometrical  increase,  its  numbers 
would  quickly  become  so  inordinately  great  that  no  country  could 
support  the  product.  Hence,  as  more  individuals  are  produced  than 
can  possibly  survive,  there  must  in  every  case  be  a  struggle  for 
existence,  either  one  individual  with  another  of  the  same  species,  or 
with  the  individuals  of  distinct  species,  or  with  the  physical  conditions 
of  life.  It  is  the  doctrine  of  Malthus  applied  with  manifold  force  to 
the  whole  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms;  for  in  this  case  there  can 
be  no  artificial  increase  of  food,  and  no  prudential  restraint  from  mar- 
riage. Although  some  species  may  be  now  increasing  more  or  less 
rapidly  in  numbers,  all  cannot  do  so, for  the  world  would  not  hold  them. 

There  is  no  exception  to  the  rule  that  every  organic  being  naturally 
increases  at  so  high  a  rate  that,  if  not  destroyed,  the  earth  would 
soon  be  covered  by  the  progeny  of  a  single  pair.  Even  slow-breeding 
man  has  doubled  in  twenty-five  years,  and  at  this  rate  in  less  than  a 
thousand  years  there  would  literally  not  be  standing-room  for  his 
progeny.  Linnaeus  has  calculated  that  if  an  annual  plant  produced 
only  two  seeds — and  there  is  no  plant  so  unproductive  as  this — and 
their  seedlings  next  year  produced  two,  and  so  on,  then  in  twenty 


COMPETITION  517 

years  there  would  be  a  million  plants.  The  elephant  is  reckoned  the 
slowest  breeder  of  all  known  animals,  and  I  have  taken  some  pains 
to  estimate  its  probable  minimum  rate  of  natural  increase;  it  will  be 
safest  to  assume  that  it  begins  breeding  when  thirty  years  old  and 
goes  on  breeding  till  ninety  years  old,  bringing  forth  six  young  in 
the  interval  and  surviving  till  one  hundred  years  old;  if  this  be  so, 
after  a  period  of  from  740  to  750  years  there  would  be  nearly  nineteen 
million  elephants  alive,  descended  from  the  first  pair. 

The  struggle  for  life  is  most  severe  between  individuals  and 
varieties  of  the  same  species.  As  the  species  of  the  same  genus  usually 
have,  though  by  no  means  invariably,  much  similarity  hi  habits  and 
constitution,  and  always  similarity  in  structure,  the  struggle  will 
generally  be  more  severe  between  them  if  they  come  into  competition 
with  each  other  than  between  the  species  of  distinct  genera.  We  see 
this  in  the  recent  extension  over  parts  of  the  United  States  of  one 
species  of  swallow  having  caused  the  decrease  of  another  species. 
The  recent  increase  of  the  missel-thrush  in  parts  of  Scotland  has 
caused  the  decrease  of  the  song-thrush.  How  frequently  we  hear 
of  one  species  of  rat  taking  the  place  of  another  species  under  the  most 
different  climates!  In  Russia  the  small  Asiatic  cockroach  has  every- 
where driven  before  it  its  great  congener.  In  Australia  the  imported 
hive-bee  is  rapidly  exterminating  the  small,  stingless  native  bee. 
We  can  dimly  see  why  the  competition  should  be  most  severe  between 
allied  forms  which  fill  nearly  the  same  place  in  the  economy  of  nature; 
but  probably  in  no  one  case  could  we  precisely  say  why  one  species 
has  been  victorious  over  another  in  the  great  battle  of  life. 

A  corollary  of  the  highest  importance  may  be  deduced  from  the 
foregoing  remarks,  namely,  that  the  structure  of  every  organic  being 
is  related,  in  the  most  essential  yet  often  hidden  manner,  to  that  of 
all  the  other  organic  beings  with  which  it  comes  into  competition 
for  food  or  residence  or  from  which  it  has  to  escape  or  on  which  it 
preys.  This  is  obvious  in  the  structure  of  the  teeth  and  talons  of 
the  tiger;  and  in  that  of  the  legs  and  claws  of  the  parasite  which 
clings  to  the  hair  on  the  tiger's  body.  But  in  the  beautifully  plumed 
seed  of  the  dandelion,  and  hi  the  flattened  and  fringed  legs  of  the 
water-beetle,  the  relation  seems  at  first  confined  to  the  elements  of  air 
and  water.  Yet  the  advantage  of  plumed  seeds  no  doubt  stands  in 


Sl8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  closest  relations  to  the  land  being  already  thickly  clothed  with 
other  plants;  so  that  the  seeds  may  be  widely  distributed  and  fall  on 
unoccupied  ground.  In  the  water  beetle,  the  structure  of  its  legs,  so 
well  adapted  for  diving,  allows  it  to  compete  with  other  aquatic  insects, 
to  hunt  for  its  own  prey,  and  to  escape  serving  as  prey  to  other  animals. 

The  store  of  nutriment  laid  up  within  the  seeds  of  many  plants 
seems  at  first  sight  to  have  no  sort  of  relation  to  other  plants.  But 
from  the  strong  growth  of  young  plants  produced  from  such  seeds,  as 
peas  and  beans,  when  sown  in  the  midst  of  long  grass,  it  may  be  sus- 
pected that  the  chief  use  of  the  nutriment  in  the  seed  is  to  favor  the 
growth  of  seedlings  whilst  struggling  with  other  plants  growing 
vigorously  all  around. 

Look  at  a  plant  in  the  midst  of  its  range;  why  does  it  not  double 
or  quadruple  its  numbers?  We  know  that  it  can  perfectly  well 
withstand  a  little  more  heat  or  cold,  dampness  or  dryness,  for  elsewhere 
it  ranges  into  slightly  hotter  or  colder,  damper  or  drier,  districts.  In 
this  case  we  can  clearly  see  that  if  we  wish  in  imagination  to  give  the 
plant  the  power  of  increasing  in  number,  we  should  have  to  give  it 
some  advantage  over  its  competitors,  or  over  the  animals  which  prey 
upon  it.  On  the  confines  of  its  geographical  range,  a  change  of  consti- 
tution with  respect  to  climate  would  clearly  be  an  advantage  to  our 
plant;  but  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  only  a  few  plants  or  animals 
range  so  far,  that  they  are  destroyed  exclusively  by  the  rigor  of  the 
climate.  Not  until  we  reach  the  extreme  confines  of  life,  in  the 
Arctic  regions  or  on  the  borders  of  an  utter  desert,  will  competition 
cease.  The  land  may  be  extremely  cold  or  dry,  yet  there  will  be 
competition  between  some  few  species,  or  between  the  individuals 
of  the  same  species,  for  the  warmest  or  dampest  spots. 

Hence  we  can  see  that  when  a  plant  or  an  animal  is  placed  in  a 
new  country  amongst  new  competitors,  the  conditions  of  its  life 
will  generally  be  changed  in  an  essential  manner,  although  the  climate 
may  be  exactly  the  same  as  in  its  former  home.  If  its  average  num- 
bers are  to  increase  in  its  new  home,  we  should  have  to  modify  it  in  a 
different  way  to  what  we  should  have  had  to  do  in  its  native  country; 
for  we  should  have  to  give  it  some  advantage  over  a  different  set  of 
competitors  or  enemies. 

It  is  good  thus  to  try  in  imagination  to  give  to  any  one  species 
an  advantage  over  another.  Probably  in  no  single  instance  should 


COMPETITION  519 

we  know  what  to  do.  This  ought  to  convince  us  of  our  ignorance  on 
the  mutual  relations  of  all  organic  beings,  a  conviction  as  necessary  as 
it  is  difficult  to  acquire.  All  that  we  can  do  is  to  keep  steadily  in 
mind  that  each  organic  being  is  striving  to  increase  in  a  geometrical 
ratio;  that  each  at  some  period  of  its  life,  during  some  season  of  the 
year,  during  each  generation  or  at  intervals,  has  to  struggle  for  life 
and  to  suffer  great  destruction.  When  we  reflect  on  this  struggle,  we 
may  console  ourselves  with  the  full  belief  that  the  war  of  nature  is  not 
incessant,  that  no  fear  is  felt,  that  death  is  generally  prompt,  and 
that  the  vigorous,  the  healthy,  and  the  happy  survive  and  multiply. 

3.     Competition,  Specialization,  and  Organization1 

Natural  selection  acts  exclusively  by  the  preservation  and  accumu- 
lation of  variations,  which  are  beneficial  under  the  organic  and  inor- 
ganic conditions  to  which  each  creature  is  exposed  at  all  periods  of 
life.  The  ultimate  result  is  that  each  creature  tends  to  become 
more  and  more  improved  in  relation  to  its  conditions.  This  improve- 
ment inevitably  leads  to  the  gradual  advancement  of  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  greater  number  of  living  beings  throughout  the  world. 

But  here  we  enter  on  a  very  intricate  subject,  for  naturalists  have 
not  denned  to  each  other's  satisfaction  what  is  meant  by  an  advance 
in  organization.  Amongst  the  vertebrata  the  degree  of  intellect  and 
an  approach  in  structure  to  man  clearly  come,  into  play.  It  might 
be  thought  that  the  amount  of  change  which  the  various  parts  and 
organs  pass  through  in  their  development  from  the  embryo  to  maturity 
would  suffice  as  a  standard  of  comparison;  but  there  are  cases,  as  with 
certain  parasitic  crustaceans,  in  which  several  parts  of  the  structure 
become  less  perfect,  so  that  the  mature  animal  cannot  be  called 
higher  than  its  larva.  Von  Baer's  standard  seems  the  most  widely 
applicable  and  the  best,  namely,  the  amount  of  differentiation  of  the 
parts  of  the  same  organic  being,  in  the  adult  state,  as  I  should  be 
inclined  to  add,  and  their  specialization  for  different  functions;  or,  as 
Milne  Edwards  would  express  it,  the  completeness  of  the  division 
of  physiological  labor.  But  we  shall  see  how  obscure  this  subject 
is  if  we  look,  for  instance,  to  fishes,  amongst  which  some  naturalists 
rank  those  as  highest  which,  like  the  sharks,  approach  nearest  to 

1  Adapted  from  Charles  Darwin,  The  Origin  of  Species,  pp.  97-100. 
(D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1878.) 


520          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

amphibians;  whilst  other  naturalists  rank  the  common  bony  or 
teleostean  fishes  as  the  highest,  inasmuch  as  they  are  most  strictly 
fishlike  and  differ  most  from  the  other  vertebrate  classes.  We  see 
still  more  plainly  the  obscurity  of  the  subject  by  turning  to  plants, 
amongst  which  the  standard  of  intellect  is,  of  course,  quite  excluded; 
and  here  some  botanists  rank  those  plants  as  highest  which  have 
every  organ,  as  sepals,  petals,  stamens,  and  pistils,  fully  developed  in 
each  flower;  whereas  other  botanists,  probably  with  more  truth, 
look  at  the  plants  which  have  their  several  organs  much  modified  and 
reduced  in  number  as  the  highest. 

If  we  take  as  the  standard  of  high  organization  the  amount  of 
differentiation  and  specialization  of  the  several  organs  in  each  being 
when  adult  (and  this  will  include  the  advancement  of  the  brain 
for  intellectual  purposes),  natural  selection  clearly  leads  toward 
this  standard;  for  all  physiologists  admit  that  the  specialization  of 
organs,  inasmuch  as  in  this  state  they  perform  their  functions  better, 
is  an  advantage  to  each  being;  and  hence  the  accumulation  of  varia- 
tions tending  toward  specialization  is  within  the  scope  of  natural  selec- 
tion. On  the  other  hand,  we  can  see,  bearing  in  mind  that  all  organic 
beings  are  striving  to  increase  at  a  high  ratio  and  to  seize  on  every 
unoccupied  or  less  well-occupied  place  in  the  economy  of  nature,  that 
it  is  quite  possible  for  natural  selection  gradually  to  fit  a  being  to  a 
situation  in  which  several  organs  would  be  superfluous  or  useless: 
in  such  cases  there  would  be  retrogression  in  the  scale  of  organization. 

But  it  may  be  objected  that  if  all  organic  beings  thus  tend  to  rise 
in  the  scale,  how  is  it  that  throughout  the  world  a  multitude  of  the 
lowest  forms  still  exist;  and  how  is  it  that  in  each  great  class  some 
forms  are  far  more  highly  developed  than  others?  Why  have  not 
the  more  highly  developed  forms  everywhere  supplanted  and  extermi- 
nated the  lower?  On  our  theory  the  continued  existence  of  lowly 
organisms  offers  no  difficulty  for  natural  selection,  or  the  survival 
of  the  fittest  does  not  necessarily  include  progressive  development — 
it  only  takes  advantage  of  such  variations  as  arise  and  are  beneficial 
to  each  creature  under  its  complex  relations  of  life.  And  it  may  be 
asked  what  advantage,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  would  it  be  to  an  infu- 
sorian  animalcule — to  an  intestinal  worm,  or  even  to  an  earthworm — 
to  be  highly  organized.  If  it  were  no  advantage,  these  forms  would 
be  left,  by  natural  selection,  unimproved  or  but  little  improved,  and 


COMPETITION  521 

might  remain  for  indefinite  ages  in  their  present  lowly  condition. 
And  geology  tells  us  that  some  of  the  lowest  forms,  as  the  infusoria 
and  rhizopods,  have  remained  for  an  enormous  period  in  nearly 
their  present  state.  But  to  suppose  that  most  of  the  many  low  forms 
now  existing  have  not  in  the  least  advanced  since  the  first  dawn  of 
life  would  be  extremely  rash;  for  every  naturalist  who  has  dissected 
some  of  the  beings  now  ranked  as  very  low  in  the  scale  must  have 
been  struck  with  their  really  wondrous  and  beautiful  organiza- 
tion. 

Nearly  the  same  remarks  are  applicable  if  we  look  to  the  different 
grades  of  organization  within  the  same  great  group;  for  instance,  in 
the  vertebrata  to  the  coexistence  of  mammals  and  fish;  amongst 
mammalia  to  the  coexistence  of  man  and  the  ornithorhynchus; 
amongst  fishes  to  the  coexistence  of  the  shark  and  the  lancelet  (Am- 
phioxus),  which  later  fish  in  the  extreme  simplicity  of  its  structure 
approaches  the  invertebrate  classes.  But  mammals  and  fish  hardly 
come  into  competition  with  each  other;  the  advancement  of  the 
whole  class  of  mammals,  or  of  certain  members  in  this  class,  to  the 
highest  grade  would  not  lead  to  their  taking  the  place  of  fishes. 
Physiologists  believe  that  the  brain  must  be  bathed  by  warm  blood 
to  be  highly  active,  and  this  requires  aerial  respiration;  so  that  warm- 
blooded mammals  when  inhabiting  the  water  lie  under  a  disadvantage 
in  having  to  come  continually  to  the  surface  to  breathe.  With  fishes, 
members  of  the  shark  family  would  not  tend  to  supplant  the  lancelet; 
for  the  lancelet,  as  I  hear  from  Fritz  Miiller,  has  as  sole  companion 
and  competitor  on  the  barren  sandy  shore  of  South  Brazil  an  anoma- 
lous annelid.  The  three  lowest  orders  of  mammals,  namely,  mar- 
supials, edentata,  and  rodents,  coexist  in  South  America  in  the  same 
region  with  numerous  monkeys,  and  probably  interfere  little  with 
each  other. 

Although  organization,  on  the  whole,  may  have  advanced  and 
may  be  still  advancing  throughout  the  world,  yet  the  scale  will 
always  present  many  degrees  of  perfection;  for  the  high  advancement 
of  certain  whole  classes,  or  of  certain  members  of  each  class,  does  not 
at  all  necessarily  lead  to  the  extinction  of  those  groups  with  which 
they  do  not  enter  into  close  competition.  In  some  cases,  lowly 
organized  forms  appear  to  have  been  preserved  to  the  present  day 
from  inhabiting  confined  or  peculiar  stations,  where  they  have  been 


522  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

subjected  to  less  severe  competition  and  where  their  scanty  numbers 
have  retarded  the  chance  of  favorable  variations  arising. 

Finally,  I  believe  that  many  lowly  organized  forms  now  exist 
throughout  the  world  from  various  causes.  In  some  cases  variations 
or  individual  differences  of  a  favorable  nature  may  never  have  arisen 
for  natural  selection  to  act  on  and  accumulate.  In  no  case,  probably, 
has  time  sufficed  for  the  utmost  possible  amount  of  development. 
In  some  few  cases  there  has  been  what  we  must  call  retrogression  of 
organization.  But  the  main  cause  lies  in  the  fact  that  under  very 
simple  conditions  of  life  a  high  organization  would  be  of  no  service — 
possibly  would  be  of  actual  disservice,  as  being  of  a  more  delicate 
nature  and  more  liable  to  be  put  out  of  order  and  injured. 

4.    Man:   An  Adaptive  Mechanism1 

Everything  in  nature,  livirg  or  not  living,  exists  and  develops 
at  the  expense  of  some  other  thing,  living  or  not  living.  The  plant 
borrows  from  the  soil;  the  soil  from  the  rocks  and  the  atmosphere; 
men  and  animals  take  from  the  plants  and  from  each  other  the  ele- 
ments which  they  in  death  return  to  the  soil,  the  atmosphere,  and  the 
plants.  Year  after  year,  century  after  century,  eon  after  eon,  the 
mighty,  immeasurable,  ceaseless  round  of  elements  goes  on,  in 
the  stupendous  process  of  chemical  change,  which  marks  the  eternal 
life  of  matter. 

To  the  superficial  observer,  nature  in  all  her  parts  seems  imbued 
with  a  spirit  of  profound  peace  and  harmony;  to  the  scientist  it  is 
obvious  that  every  infinitesimal  particle  of  the  immense  concourse 
is  in  a  state  of  desperate  and  ceaseless  struggle  to  obtain  such  share 
of  the  available  supply  of  matter  and  energy  as  will  suffice  to  main- 
tain its  -present  ephemeral  form  in  a  state  of  equilibrium  with  its 
surroundings.  Not  only  is  this  struggle  manifest  among  living  forms, 
among  birds  and  beasts  and  insects  in  their  competition  for  food 
and  habitat,  but— if  we  may  believe  the  revelations  of  the  science 
of  radio-activity — a  process  of  transmutation,  of  disintegration  of 
the  atoms  of  one  element  with  simultaneous  formation  of  another 
element,  is  taking  place  in  every  fragment  of  inanimate  matter,  a 
process  which  parallels  in  character  the  more  transitory  processes 

'Adapted  from  George  W.  Crile,  Man:  An  Adaptive  Mechanism,  pp.  17-39. 
(Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1916.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


COMPETITION  $23 

of  life  and  death  in  organisms  and  is  probably  a  representation 
of  the  primary  steps  in  that  great  process  of  evolution  by  which 
all  terrestrial  forms,  organic  and  inorganic,  have  been  evolved  from 
the  original  ether  by  an  action  inconceivably  slow,  continuous,  and 
admitting  of  no  break  in  the  series  from  inanimate  to  animate  forms. 

From  colloidal  slime  to  man  is  a  long  road,  the  conception  of  which 
taxes  our  imaginations  to  the  utmost,  but  it  is  an  ascent  which  is 
now  fairly  well  demonstrated.  Indeed,  the  problems  of  the  missing 
links  are  not  so  difficult  as  is  the  problem  of  the  origin  of  the  organs 
and  functions  which  man  has  acquired  as  products  of  adaptation. 
For  whether  we  look  upon  the  component  parts  of  our  present  bodies 
as  useful  or  useless  mechanisms,  we  must  regard  them  as  the  result 
of  age-long  conflicts  between  environmental  forces  and  organisms. 

Everywhere  something  is  pursuing  and  something  is  escaping 
another  creature.  It  is  a  constant  drama  of  getting  food  and  of 
seeking  to  escape  being  made  food,  evolving  in  the  conflict  structures 
fitted  to  accomplish  both  reactions.  Everywhere  the  strong  prey 
upon  the  weak,  the  swift  upon  the  slow,  the  clever  upon  the  stupid; 
and  the  weak,  the  slow,  the  stupid,  retaliate  by  evolving  mechanisms 
of  defense,  which  more  or  less  adequately  repel  or  render  futile  the 
oppressor's  attack.  For  each  must  live,  and  those  already  living 
have  proved  their  right  to  existence  by  a  more  or  less  complete  adapta- 
tion to  their  environment.  The  result  of  this  twofold  conflict  between 
living  beings  is  to  evolve  the  manifold  structures  and  functions — 
teeth,  claws,  skin,  color,  fur,  feathers,  horns,  tusks,  wily  instincts, 
strength,  stealth,  deceit,  and  humility — which  make  up  character  in 
the  animal  world.  According  to  the  nature  and  number  of  each 
being's  enemies  has  its  own  special  mechanism  been  evolved,  dis- 
tinguishing it  from  its  fellows  and  enabling  it  to  get  a  living  in  its 
particular  environment. 

In  every  case  the  fate  of  each  creature  seems  to  have  been 
staked  upon  one  mechanism.  The  tiger  by  its  teeth  and  claws,  the 
elephant  and  the  rhinoceros  by  their  strength,  the  bird  by  its  wings, 
the  deer  by  its  fleetness,  the  turtle  by  its  carapace — all  are  enabled 
to  counter  the  attacks  of  enemies  and  to  procreate.  Where  there  is 
a  negative  defense,  such  as  a  shell  or  quills,  there  is  little  need  and 
no  evidence  of  intelligence;  where  a  rank  odor,  no  need  and  no  pres- 
ence of  claws  or  carapace;  where  sting  or  venom,  no  need  and  no 


524          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

possession  of  odor,  claws,  shell,  extraordinary  strength,  or  sagacity. 
Where  the  struggle  is  most  bitter,  there  exist  the  most  complex  and 
most  numerous  contrivances  for  living. 

Throughout  its  whole  course  the  process  of  evolution,  where  it 
is  visible  in  the  struggle  of  organisms,  has  been  marked  by  a  progres- 
sive victory  of  brain  over  brawn.  And  this,  in  turn,  may  be  regarded 
as  but  a  manifestation  of  the  process  of  survival  by  lability  rather 
than  by  stability.  Everywhere  the  organism  that  exhibits  the 
qualities  of  quick  response,  of  extreme  sensibility  to  stimuli,  of 
capacity  to  change,  is  the  individual  that  survives,  "conquers," 
"advances."  The  quality  most  useful  in  nature,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  domination  of  a  wider  environment,  is  the  quality  of 
changeableness,  plasticity,  mobility,  or  versatility.  Man's  particular 
means  of  adaptation  to  his  environment  is  this  quality  of  versatility. 
By  means  of  this  quality  expressed  through  the  manifold  reactions 
of  his  highly  organized  central  nervous  system,  man  has  been  able  to 
dominate  the  beasts  and  to  maintain  himself  in  an  environment 
many  times  more  extensive  than  theirs.  Like  the  defensive  mechan- 
isms of  shells,  poisons,  and  odors,  man's  particular  defensive  mechan- 
ism— his  versatility  of  nervous  response  (mind) — was  acquired 
automatically  as  a  result  of  a  particular  combination  of  circumstances 
in  his  environment. 

In  the  Tertiary  era — some  twenty  millions  of  years  ago — the 
earth,  basking  in  the  warmth  of  a  tropical  climate,  had  produced  a 
luxuriant  vegetation  and  a  swarming  progeny  of  gigantic  small- 
brained  animals  for  which  the  exuberant  vegetation  provided  abun- 
dant and  easily  acquired  sustenance.  They  were  a  breed  of  huge, 
clumsy,  and  grotesque  monsters,  vast  in  bulk  and  strength,  but  of 
little  intelligence,  that  wandered  heavily  on  the  land  and  gorged 
lazily  on  the  abundant  food  at  hand.  With  the  advance  of  the  car- 
nivora,  the  primitive  forerunners  of  our  tigers,  wolves,  hyenas,  and 
foxes,  came  a  period  of  stress,  comparable  to  a  seven  years  of  famine 
following  a  seven  years  of  plenty,  which  subjected  the  stolid  herbivo- 
rous monsters  to  a  severe  selective  struggle. 

Before  the  active  onslaught  of  lighter,  lither,  more  intelligent 
foes,  the  clumsy,  inelastic  types  succumbed,  those  only  surviving 
which,  through  the  fortunate  possession  of  more  varied  reactions, 
were  able  to  evolve  modes  of  defense  equal  to  the  modes  of  attack 


COMPETITION  525 

possessed  by  their  enemies.  Many,  unable  to  evolve  the  acute  senses 
and  the  fleet  limbs  necessary  for  the  combat  on  the  ground,  shrank 
from  the  fray  and  acquired  more  negative  and  passive  means  of 
defense.  Some,  like  the  bat,  escaped  into  the  air.  Others,  such  as 
the  squirrel  and  the  ape,  took  refuge  in  the  trees. 

It  was  in  this  concourse  of  weak  creatures  which  fled  to  the  trees 
because  they  lacked  adequate  means  of  offense,  defense,  or  escape 
on  the  ground  that  the  lineaments  of  man's  ancient  ancestor  might 
have  been  discerned.  One  can  imagine  what  must  have  been  the 
pressure  from  the  carnivora  that  forced  a  selective  transformation 
of  the  feet  of  the  progenitor  of  the  anthropoids  into  grasping  hands. 
Coincidentally  with  the  tree  life,  man's  special  line  of  adaptation — 
versatility — was  undoubtedly  rapidly  evolved.  Increased  versatility 
and  the  evolution  of  hands  enabled  man  to  come  down  from  the  trees 
millions  of  years  thereafter,  to  conquer  the  world  by  the  further 
evolution  and  exercise  of  his  organ  of  strategy — the  brain.  Thus 
we  may  suppose  have  arisen  the  intricate  reactions  we  now  call  mind, 
reason,  foresight,  invention,  etc. 

Man's  claim  to  a  superior  place  among  animals  depends  less  upon 
different  reactions  than  upon  a  greater  number  of  reactions  as  com- 
pared with  the  reactions  of  "lower"  animals.  Ability  to  respond 
adaptively  to  more  elements  in  the  environment  gives  a  larger 
dominion,  that  is  all. 

The  same  measure  applies  within  the  human  species — the  number 
of  nervous  reactions  of  the  artist,  the  financier,  the  statesman,  the 
scientist,  being  invariably  greater  than  the  reactions  of  the  stolid 
savage.  That  man  alone  of  all  animals  should  have  achieved  the 
degree  of  versatility  sufficient  for  such  advance  is  no  more  remarkable 
than  that  the  elephant  should  have  evolved  a  larger  trunk  and  tusks 
than  the  boar;  that  the  legs  of  the  deer  should  be  fleeter  than  those 
of  the  ox;  that  the  wings  of  the  swallow  should  outfly  those  of  the 
bat.  Each  organism,  in  evolving  the  combination  of  characters 
commensurate  with  safety  in  its  particular  environment,  has  touched 
the  limit  of  both  its  necessity  and  its  power  to  "advance."  There 
exists  abundant  and  reliable  evidence  of  the  fact  that  wherever  man 
has  been  subjected  to  the  stunting  influences  of  an  unchanging 
environment  fairly  favorable  to  life,  he  has  shown  no  more  disposition 
to  progress  than  the  most  stolid  animals.  Indeed,  he  has  usually 


526          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

retrograded.  The  need  to  fight  for  food  and  home  has  been  the  spur 
that  has  ever  driven  man  forward  to  establish  the  manifold  forms  of 
physical  and  mental  life  which  make  up  human  existence  today. 
Like  the  simple  adaptive  mechanisms  of  the  plant  by  which  it  gets 
air,  and  of  the  animal  by  which  it  overcomes  its  rivals  in  battle,  the 
supremely  differentiated  functions  of  thought  and  human  relations 
are  the  outcome  of  the  necessity  of  the  organism  to  become  adapted 
to  entities  hi  its  environment. 

B.      COMPETITION  AND   SEGREGATION 
I.    Plant  Migration,  Competition,  and  Segregation1 

Invasion  is  the  complete  or  complex  process  of  which  migration, 
ecesis  (the  adjustment  of  a  plant  to  a  new  home),  and  competition 
are  the  essential  parts.  It  embraces  the  whole  movement  of  a  plant 
or  group  of  plants  from  one  area  into  another  and  their  colonization 
in  the  latter.  From  the  very  nature  of  migration,  invasion  is  going 
on  at  all  tunes  and  in  all  directions. 

Effective  invasion  is  predominantly  local.  It  operates  in  mass 
only  between  bare  areas  and  adjacent  communities  which  contain 
species  capable  of  pioneering,  or  between  contiguous  communities 
which  offer  somewhat  similar  conditions  or  contain  species  of  wide 
range  of  adjustment.  Invasion  into  a  remote  region  rarely  has  any 
successional  effect  (effect  tending  to  transform  the  character  of  a 
plant  community),  as  the  invaders  are  too  few  to  make  headway 
against  the  plants  in  possession  or  against  those  much  nearer  a  new 
area.  Invasion  into  a  new  area  or  a  plant  community  begins  with 
migration  when  this  is  followed  by  ecesis.  In  new  areas,  ecesis  pro- 
duces reaction  (the  effect  which  a  plant  or  a  community  exerts  upon 
its  habitat)  at  once,  and  this  is  followed  by  aggregation  and  compe- 
tition, with  increasing  reaction.  In  an  area  already  occupied  by 
plants,  ecesis  and  competition  are  concomitant  and  quickly  produce 
reactions.  Throughout  the  development  migrants  are  entering  and 
leaving,  and  the  interactions  of  the  various  processes  come  to  be 
complex  in  the  highest  degree. 

1  Adapted  from  F.  E.  Clements,  Plant  Succession.  An  analysis  of  the 
development  of  vegetation,  pp.  75-79.  (Carnegie  Institution  of  Washing- 
ton, 1916.) 


COMPETITION  527 

Local  invasion  in  force  is  essentially  continuous  or  recurrent. 
Between  contiguous  communities  it  is  mutual,  unless  they  are  too 
dissimilar.  The  result  is  a  transition  area  or  ecotone  which  epito- 
mizes the  next  stage  in  development.  By  far  the  greater  amount  of 
invasion  into  existing  vegetation  is  of  this  sort.  The  movement  into 
a  bare  area  is  likewise  continuous,  though  it  is  necessarily  not  mutual, 
and  hence  there  is  no  ecotone  during  the  earlier  stages.  The  signifi- 
cant feature  of  continuous  invasion  is  that  an  outpost  may  be  repeat- 
edly reinforced,  permitting  rapid  aggregation  and  ecesis,  and  the 
production  of  new  centers  from  which  the  species  may  be  extended 
over  a  wide  area.  Contrasted  with  continuous  invasion  is  inter- 
mittent or  periodic  movement  into  distant  regions,  but  this  is  rarely 
concerned  in  succession.  When  the  movement  of  invaders  into  a 
community  is  so  great  that  the  original  occupants  are  driven  out,  the 
invasion  is  complete. 

A  topographic  feature  or  a  physical  or  a  biological  agency  that 
restricts  or  prevents  invasions  is  a  barrier.  Topographic  features  are 
usually  permanent  and  produce  permanent  barriers.  Biological  ones 
are  often  temporary  and  exist  for  a  few  years  or  even  a  single  season. 
Temporary  barriers  are  often  recurrent,  however.  Barriers  are  com- 
plete or  incomplete  with  respect  to  the  thoroughness  of  their  action. 
They  may  affect  invasion  either  by  limiting  migration  or  by  pre- 
venting ecesis. 

Biological  barriers  comprise  plant  communities,  man  and  animals, 
and  parasitic  plants.  The  limiting  effect  of  a  plant  community  is 
exhibited  in  two  ways.  In  the  first  place,  an  association  acts  as  a 
barrier  to  the  ecesis  of  species  invading  it  from  associations  of  another 
type,  on  account  of  the  physical  differences  of  the  habitats.  Whether 
such  a  barrier  be  complete  or  partial  will  depend  upon  the  relative 
unlikeness  of  the  two  areas.  Shade  plants  are  unable  to  invade  a 
prairie,  though  the  species  of  open  thickets  or  woodland  may  do  so  to 
a  certain  degree.  Closed  communities  (one  in  which  all  the  soil  is 
occupied)  likewise  exert  a  marked  influence  in  decreasing  invasion  by 
reason  of  the  intense  and  successful  competition  which  all  invaders 
must  meet.  Closed  associations  usually  act  as  complete  barriers, 
while  more  open  ones  restrict  invasion  in  direct  proportion  to  the 
degree  of  occupation.  To  this  fact  may  be  traced  the  fundamental  law 
of  succession  (the  law  by  which  one  type  of  community  or  formation 


528          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

is  succeeded  by  another)  that  the  number  of  stages  is  determined 
largely  by  the  increasing  difficulty  of  invasion  as  the  area  becomes 
stabilized.  Man  and  animals  affect  invasion  by  the  destruction  of 
germules.  Both  in  bare  areas  and  in  serai  stages  the  action  of  rodents 
and  birds  is  often  decisive  to  the  extent  of  altering  the  whole  course  of 
development.  Man  and  animals  operate  as  marked  barriers  to  ecesis 
wherever  they  alter  conditions  unfavorably  to  invaders  or  where  they 
turn  the  scale  in  competition  by  cultivating,  grazing,  camping,  para- 
sitism, etc.  The  absence  of  pollinating  insects  is  sometimes  a  curious 
barrier  to  the  complete  ecesis  of  species  far  out  of  their  usual  habitat 
or  region.  Parasitic  fungi  decrease  migration  in  so  far  as  they  affect 
seed  production.  They  restrict  or  prevent  ecesis  either  by  the 
destruction  of  invaders  or  by  placing  them  at  a  disadvantage  with 
respect  to  the  occupants. 

By  the  term  reaction  is  understood  the  effect  which  a  plant  or  a 
community  exerts  upon  its  habitat.  In  connection  with  succession, 
the  term  is  restricted  to  this  special  sense  alone.  It  is  entirely  distinct 
from  the  response  of  the  plant  or  group,  i.e.,  its  adjustment  and 
adaptation  to  the  habitat.  In  short,  the  habitat  causes  the  plant  to 
function  and  grow,  and  the  plant  then  reacts  upon  the  habitat,  chang- 
ing one  or  more  of  its  factors  in  decisive  or  appreciable  degree.  The 
two  processes  are  mutually  complementary  and  often  interact  in 
most  complex  fashion. 

The  reaction  of  a  community  is  usually  more  than  the  sum  of 
the  reactions  of  the  component  species  and  individuals.  It  is  the 
individual  plant  which  produces  the  reaction,  though  the  latter 
usually  becomes  recognizable  through  the  combined  action  of  the 
group.  In  most  cases  the  action  of  the  group  accumulates  or  empha- 
sizes an  effect  which  would  otherwise  be  insignificant  or  temporary. 
A  community  of  trees  casts  less  shade  than  the  same  number  of 
isolated  individuals,  but  the  shade  is  constant  and  continuous,  and 
hence  controlling.  The  significance  of  the  community  reaction  is 
especially  well  shown  in  the  case  of  leaf  mold  and  duff.  The  leaf 
litter  is  again  only  the  total  of  the  fallen  leaves  of  all  the  individuals 
but  its  formation  is  completely  dependent  upon  the  community.  The 
reaction  of  plants  upon  wind-borne  sand  and  silt-laden  waters  illus- 
trates the  same  fact. 


COMPETITION  529 

2.     Migration  and  Segregation1 

All  prehistoric  investigation,  as  far  as  it  relates  to  the  phenomena 
of  the  animate  world,  necessarily  rests  upon  the  hypothesis  of  migra- 
tion. The  distribution  of  plants,  of  the  lower  animals,  and  of  men 
over  the  surface  of  the  earth;  the  relationships  existing  between  the 
different  languages,  religious  conceptions,  myths  and  legends,  customs 
and  social  institutions — all  these  seem  in  this  one  assumption  to  find 
their  common  explanation. 

Each  fresh  advance  in  culture  commences,  so  to  speak,  with  a 
new  period  of  wandering.  The  mosfe  primitive  agriculture  is  nomadic, 
with  a  yearly  abandonment  of  the  cultivated  area;  the  earliest  trade 
is  migratory  trade;  the  first  industries  that  free  themselves  from  the 
household  husbandry  and  become  the  special  occupations  of  separate 
individuals  are  carried  on  itinerantly.  The  great  founders  of  reli- 
gion, the  earliest  poets  and  philosophers,  the  musicians  and  actors 
of  past  epochs,  are  all  great  wanderers.  Even  today,  do  not  the 
inventor,  the  preacher  of  a  new  doctrine,  and  the  virtuoso  travel 
from  place  to  place  in  search  of  adherents  and  admirers — notwith- 
standing the  immense  recent  development  in  the  means  of  com- 
municating information  ? 

As  civilization  grows  older,  settlement  becomes  more  permanent. 
The  Greek  was  more  settled  than  the  Phoenician,  the  Roman  than 
the  Greek,  because  one  was  always  the  inheritor  of  the  culture  of  the 
other.  Conditions  have  not  changed.  The  German  is  more  migra- 
tory than  the  Latin,  the  Slav  than  the  German.  The  Frenchman 
cleaves  to  his  native  soil;  the  Russian  leaves  it  with  a  light  heart  to 
seek  in  other  parts  of  his  broad  fatherland  more  favorable  conditions 
of  living.  Even  the  factory  workman  is  but  a  periodically  wandering 
peasant. 

To  all  that  can  be  adduced  from  experience  in  support  of  the  state- 
ment that  in  the  course  of  history  mankind  has  been  ever  growing 
more  settled,  there  comes  a  general  consideration  of  a  twofold  nature. 
In  the  first  place,  the  extent  of  fixed  capital  grows  with  advancing  cul- 
ture; the  producer  becomes  stationary  with  his  means  of  production. 

1  Adapted  from  Carl  Biicher,  Industrial  Evolution,  pp.  345-69.  (Henry  Holt 
&  Co.,  1907.) 


530  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  itinerant  smith  of  the  southern  Slav  countries  and  the  West- 
phalian  iron  works,  the  pack-horses  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the 
great  warehouses  of  our  cities,  the  Thespian  carts  and  the  resident 
theater  mark  the  starting  and  the  terminal  points  of  this  evolution. 
In  the  second  place,  the  modern  machinery  of  transportation  has  in 
a  far  higher  degree  facilitated  the  transport  of  goods  than  of  persons. 
The  distribution  of  labor  determined  by  locality  thereby  attains 
greater  importance  than  the  natural  distribution  of  the  means  of 
production;  the  latter  in  many  cases  draws  the  former  after  it,  where 
previously  the  reverse  occurred. 

The  migrations  occurring  at  the  opening  of  the  history  of  European 
peoples  are  migrations  of  whole  tribes,  a  pushing  and  pressing  of 
collective  units  from  east  to  west,  which  lasted  for  centuries.  The 
migrations  of  the  Middle  Ages  ever  affect  individual  classes  alone; 
the  knights  in  the  crusades,  the  merchants,  the  wage-craftsmen,  the 
journeymen  hand-workers,  the  jugglers  and  minstrels,  the  villeins 
seeking  protection  within  the  walls  of  a  town.  Modern  migrations, 
on  the  contrary,  are  generally  a  matter  of  private  concern,  the  indi- 
viduals being  led  by  the  most  varied  motives.  They  are  almost 
invariably  without  organization.  The  process  repeating  itself  daily 
a  thousand  times  is  united  only  through  the  one  characteristic,  that 
it  is  everywhere  a  question  of  change  of  locality  by  persons  seeking 
more  favorable  conditions  of  life. 

Among  all  the  phenomena  of  masses  in  social  life  suited  to  statis- 
tical treatment,  there  is  without  doubt  scarcely  one  that  appears  to 
fall  of  itself  so  completely  under  the  general  law  of  causality  as 
migrations;  and  likewise  hardly  one  concerning  whose  real  cause 
such  misty  conceptions  prevail. 

The  whole  department  of  migrations  has  never  yet  undergone 
systematic  statistical  observation;  exclusive  attention  has  hitherto 
been  centered  upon  remarkable  individual  occurrences  of  such 
phenomena.  Even  a  rational  classification  of  migrations  in  accord 
with  the  demand  of  social  science  is  at  the  present  moment  lacking. 

Such  a  classification  would  have  to  take  as  its  starting-point  the 
result  of  migrations  from  the  point  of  view  of  population.  On  this 
basis  they  would  fall  into  these  groups:  (i)  migrations  with  continu- 
ous change  of  locality;  (2)  migrations  with  temporary  change  of 
settlement;  (3)  migrations  with  permanent  settlement. 


COMPETITION  531 

To  the  first  group  belong  gypsy  life,  peddling,  the  carrying  on  of 
itinerant  trades,  tramp  life;  to  the  second,  the  wandering  of  journey- 
men craftsmen,  domestic  servants,  tradesmen  seeking  the  most 
favorable  spots  for  temporary  undertakings,  officials  to  whom  a 
definite  office  is  for  a  time  entrusted,  scholars  attending  foreign 
institutions  of  learning;  to  the  third,  migration  from  place  to  place 
within  the  same  country  or  province  and  to  foreign  parts,  especially 
across  the  ocean. 

An  intermediate  stage  between  the  first  and  second  group  is 
found  hi  the  periodical  migrations.  To  this  stage  belong  the  migra- 
tions of  farm  laborers  at  harvest-tune,  of  the  sugar  laborers  at  the 
time  of  the  campagne,  of  the  masons  of  Upper  Italy  and  the  Ticino 
district,  common  day-laborers,  potters,  chimney-sweeps,  chestnut- 
roasters,  etc.,  which  occur  at  definite  seasons. 

In  this  division  the  influence  of  the  natural  and  political  insulation 
of  the  different  countries  is,  it  is  true,  neglected.  It  must  not,  how- 
ever, be  overlooked  that  hi  the  era  of  nationalism  and  protection 
of  national  labor  political  allegiance  has  a  certain  importance  in 
connection  with  the  objective  point  of  the  migrations.  It  would, 
therefore,  in  our  opinion,  be  more  just  to  make  another  division, 
taking  as  a  basis  the  politico-geographical  extent  of  the  migrations. 
From  this  point  of  view  migrations  would  fall  into  internal  and 
foreign  types. 

Internal  migrations  are  those  whose  points  of  departure  and 
destination  lie  within  the  same  national  limits;  foreign,  those  extend- 
ing beyond  these.  The  foreign  may  again  be  divided  into  continental 
and  extra-European  (generally  transmaritime)  emigration.  One  can, 
however,  in  a  larger  sense  designate  all  migrations  that  do  not 
leave  the  limits  of  the  Continent  as  internal,  and  contrast  with 
them  real  emigration,  or  transfer  of  domicile  to  other  parts  of 
the  globe. 

Of  all  these  manifold  kinds  of  migration,  the  transmaritime  alone 
has  regularly  been  the  subject  of  official  statistics;  and  even  it  has 
been  but  imperfectly  treated,  as  every  student  of  this  subject  knows. 
The  periodic  emigrations  of  labor  and  the  peddling  trade  have 
occasionally  been  also  subjected  to  statistical  investigation — mostly 
with  the  secondary  aim  of  legislative  restriction.  Yet  these  migra- 
tions from  place  to  place  within  the  same  country  are  vastly  more 


532  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

numerous  and  in  their  consequences  vastly  more  important  than  all 
other  kinds  of  migration  put  together. 

Of  the  total  population  of  the  kingdom  of  Belgium  there  were, 
according  to  the  results  of  the  census  of  December  31,  1880,  not  less 
than  32  .8  per  cent  who  were  born  outside  the  municipality  in  which 
they  had  their  temporary  domicile;  of  the  population  of  Austria 
(1890),  34 .8  per  cent.  In  Prussia,  of  27,279,111  persons,  n,  552,033, 
or  42  .4  per  cent,  were  born  outside  the  municipality  where  they  were 
domiciled.  More  than  two-fifths  of  the  population  had  changed 
their  municipality  at  least  once. 

If  we  call  the  total  population  born  in  a  given  place  and  domiciled 
anywhere  within  the  borders  of  the  country  that  locality's  native 
population,  then  according  to  the  conditions  of  interchange  of  popula- 
tion just  presented  the  native  population  of  the  country  places  is 
greater  than  their  actual  population;  that  of  the  cities,  smaller. 

A  balancing  of  the  account  of  the  internal  migrations  in  the  grand 
duchy  of  Oldenburg  gives  the  cities  a  surplus,  and  country  municipali- 
ties a  deficit,  of  15,162  persons.  In  the  economy  of  population  one 
is  the  complement  of  the  other,  just  as  in  the  case  of  two  brothers  of 
different  temperament,  one  of  whom  regularly  spends  what  the  other 
has  laboriously  saved.  To  this  extent,  then,  we  are  quite  justified 
from  the  point  of  view  of  population  in  designating  the  cities  man- 
consuming  and  the  country  municipalities  man-producing  social 
organisms. 

There  is  a  very  natural  explanation  for  this  condition  of  affairs 
in  the  country.  Where  the  peasant,  on  account  of  the  small  popula- 
tion of  his  place  of  residence,  is  much  restricted  in  his  local  choice  of 
help,  adjoining  communities  must  supplement  one  another.  In  like 
manner  the  inhabitants  of  small  places  will  intermarry  more  frequently 
than  the  inhabitants  of  larger  places  where  there  is  a  greater  choice 
among  the  native  population.  Here  we  have  the  occasion  for  very 
numerous  migrations  to  places  not  far  removed.  Such  migrations, 
however,  only  mean  a  local  exchange  of  socially  allied  elements. 

This  absorption  of  the  surplus  of  emigration  over  immigration  is 
the  characteristic  of  modern  cities.  If  in  our  consideration  of  this 
problem  we  pay  particular  attention  to  this  urban  characteristic  and 
to  a  like  feature  of  the  factory  districts — where  the  conditions  as  to 
internal  migrations  are  almost  similar — we  shall  be  amply  repaid  by 


COMPETITION  533 

the  discovery  that  in  such  settlements  the  result  of  internal  shifting* 
of  population  receives  its  clearest  expression.  Here,  where  the 
immigrant  elements  are  most  numerous,  there  develops  between 
them  and  the  native  population  a  social  struggle — a  struggle  for  the 
best  conditions  of  earning  a  livelihood  or,  if  you  will,  for  existence, 
which  ends  with  the  adaptation  of  one  part  to  the  other,  or  perhaps 
with  the  final  subjugation  of  the  one  by  the  other.  Thus,  according 
to  Schliemann,  the  city  of  Smyrna  had  in  the  year  1846  a  population 
of  80,000  Turks  and  8,000  Greeks;  in  the  year  1881,  on  the  contrary, 
there  were  23,000  Turks  and  76,000  Greeks.  The  Turkish  portion 
of  the  population  had  thus  in  thirty-five  years  decreased  by  71  per 
cent,  while  the  Greeks  had  increased  ninefold. 

Not  everywhere,  to  be  sure,  do  those  struggles  take  the  form  of 
such  a  general  process  of  displacement;  but  in  individual  cases  it 
will  occur  with  endless  frequency  within  a  country  that  the  stronger 
and  better-equipped  element  will  overcome  the  weaker  and  less 
well-equipped. 

Thus  we  have  here  a  case  similar  to  that  occurring  so  frequently 
in  nature:  on  the  same  terrain  where  a  more  highly  organized  plant 
or  animal  has  no  longer  room  for  subsistence,  others  less  exacting  in 
their  demands  take  up  their  position  and  flourish.  The  coming  of 
the  new  is  in  fact  not  infrequently  the  cause  of  the  disappearance 
of  those  already  there  and  of  their  withdrawal  to  more  favorable 
surroundings. 

If  these  considerations  show  that  by  no  means  the  majority  of 
internal  migrations  find  their  objective  point  in  the  cities,  they  at 
the  same  time  prove  that  the  trend  toward  the  great  centers  of 
population  can  in  itself  be  looked  upon  as  having  an  extensive  social 
and  economic  importance.  It  produces  an  alteration  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  population  throughout  the  state;  and  at  its  originating  and 
objective  points  it  gives  rise  to  difficulties  which  legislative  and 
executive  authority  has  hitherto  labored,  usually  with  but  very 
moderate  success,  to  overcome.  It  transfers  large  numbers  of 
persons  almost  directly  from  a  sphere  of  life  where  barter  predominates 
into  one  where  money  and  credit  exchange  prevail,  thereby  affecting 
the  social  conditions  of  life  and  the  social  customs  of  the  manual 
laboring  classes  in  a  manner  to  fill  the  philanthropist  with  grave 
anxiety. 


534          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

3.     Demographic  Segregation  and  Social  Selection1 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  demographic  crystallization  may 
have  taken  place.  A  people  may  have  become  rigid  horizontally, 
divided  into  castes,  or  social  strata;  or  it  may  be  geographically 
segregated  into  localized  communities,  varying  in  size  all  the  way 
from  the  isolated  hamlet  to  the  highly  individualized  nation.  Both 
of  these  forms  of  crystallization  are  breaking  down  today  under  the 
pressure  of  modern  industrialism  and  democracy,  in  Europe  as  well 
as  in  America. 

The  sudden  growth  of  great  cities  is  the  first  result  of  the  phe- 
nomenon of  migration  which  we  have  to  note.  We  think  of  this  as 
essentially  an  American  problem.  We  comfort  ourselves  in  our  fail- 
ures of  municipal  administration  with  that  thought.  This  is  a 
grievous  deception.  Most  of  the  European  cities  have  increased  in 
population  more  rapidly  than  in  America.  This  is  particularly  true 
of  great  German  urban  centers.  Berlin  has  outgrown  our  own 
metropolis,  New  York,  in  less  than  a  generation,  having  in  twenty- 
five  years  added  as  many  actual  new  residents  as  Chicago,  and  twice 
as  many  as  Philadelphia.  Hamburg  has  gained  twice  as  many  in 
population  since  1875  as  Boston;  Leipzig  has  distanced  St.  Louis. 
The  same  demographic  outburst  has  occurred  hi  the  smaller  German 
cities  as  well.  Beyond  the  confines  of  the  German  Empire,  from 
Norway  to  Italy,  the  same  is  true. 

Contemporaneously  with  this  marvellous  growth  of  urban  centers 
we  observe  a  progressive  depopulation  of  the  rural  districts.  What 
is  going  on  in  our  New  England  states,  especially  in  Massachusetts,  is 
entirely  characteristic  of  large  areas  in  Europe.  Take  France,  for 
example.  The  towns  are  absorbing  even  more  than  the  natural 
increment  of  country  population;  they  are  drawing  off  the  middle- 
aged  as  well  as  the  young.  Thus  great  areas  are  being  actually 
depopulated. 

A  process  of  selection  is  at  work  on  a  grand  scale.  The  great 
majority  today  who  are  pouring  into  the  cities  are  those  who,  like  the 
emigrants  to  the  United  States  in  the  old  days  of  natural  migration, 
come  because  they  have  the  physical  equipment  and  the  mental 

xFrom  William  Z.  Ripley,  The  Races  of  Europe,  pp.  537-59.  (D.  Appleton 
&  Co.,  1899.) 


COMPETITION  535 

disposition  to  seek  a  betterment  of  their  fortunes  away  from  home. 
Of  course,  an  appreciable  contingent  of  suca  migrant  types  is  composed 
of  the  merely  discontented,  of  the  restless,  and  the  adventurous;  but, 
in  the  main,  the  best  blood  of  the  land  it  is  which  feeds  into  the 
arteries  of  city  life. 

Another  more  certain  mode  of  proof  is  possible  for  demonstrating 
that  the  population  of  cities  is  largely  made  up  either  of  direct  muni- 
grants  from  the  country  or  of  their  immediate  descendants.  In 
German  cities,  Hansen  found  that  nearly  one-half  their  residents 
were  of  direct  country  descent.  In  London  it  has  been  shown  that 
over  one-third  of  its  population  are  immigrants;  and  in  Paris  the  same 
is  true.  For  thirty  of  the  principal  cities  of  Europe  it  has  been 
calculated  that  only  about  one-fifth  of  their  increase  is  from  the  loins 
of  their  own  people,  the  overwhelming  majority  being  of  country 
birth. 

The  first  physical  characteristic  of  urban  populations,  as  compared 
with  those  of  country  districts,  which  we  have  to  note,  is  their  ten- 
dency toward  that  shape  of  head  characteristic  of  two  of  our  racial 
types,  Teutonic  and  Mediterranean  respectively.  It  seems  as  if  for 
some  reason  the  broad-headed  Alpine  race  was  a  distinctly  rural  type. 
Thirty  years  ago  an  observer  in  the  ethnically  Alpine  district  of  south 
central  France  noted  an  appreciable  difference  between  town  and 
country  in  the  head  form  of  the  people.  In  a  half-dozen  of  the 
smaller  cities  his  observations  pointed  to  a  greater  prevalence  of  the 
long-headed  type  than  in  the  country  roundabout.  Dr.  Ammon  of 
Carlsruhe,  working  upon  measurements  of  thousands  of  conscripts  of 
the  Grand  Duchy  of  Baden,  discovered  radical  differences  here  between 
the  head  form  hi  city  and  country,  and  between  the  upper  and  lower 
classes  in  the  larger  towns.  Several  explanations  for  this  were  pos- 
sible. The  direct  influence  of  urban  life  might  conceivably  have 
brought  it  about,  acting  through  superior  education,  habits  of  life, 
and  the  like.  There  was  no  psychological  basis  for  this  assumption. 
Another  tenable  hypothesis  was  that  in  these  cities,  situated,  as  we 
have  endeavored  to  show,  hi  a  land  where  two  racial  types  of  popula- 
ion  were  existing  side  by  side,  the  city  for  some  reason  exerted 
superior  powers  of  attraction  upon  the  long-headed  race.  If  this  were 
true,  then  by  a  combined  process  of  social  and'  racial  selection,  the 
towns  would  be  continually  drawing  unto  themselves  that  tall  and 


536  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

blond  Teutonic  type  of  population  which,  as  history  teaches  us,  has 
dominated  social  and  political  affairs  in  Europe  for  centuries.  This 
suggested  itself  as  the  probable  solution  of  the  question;  and  investi- 
gations all  over  Europe  during  the  last  five  years  have  been  directed 
to  the  further  analysis  of  the  matter. 

Is  this  phenomenon,  the  segregation  of  a  long-headed  physical 
type  in  city  populations,  merely  the  manifestation  of  a  restless  ten- 
dency on  the  part  of  the  Teutonic  race  to  reassert  itself  in  the  new 
phases  of  nineteenth-century  competition  ?  All  through  history  this 
type  has  been  characteristic  of  the  dominant  classes,  especially  in 
military  and  political,  perhaps  rather  than  purely  intellectual,  affairs. 
All  the  leading  dynasties  of  Europe  have  long  been  recruited  from  its 
ranks.  The  contrast  of  this  type,  whose  energy  has  carried  it  all  over 
Europe,  with  the  persistently  sedentary  Alpine  race  is  very  marked. 
A  certain  passivity,  or  patience,  is  characteristic  of  the  Alpine  peas- 
antry. As  a  rule,  not  characterized  by  the  domineering  spirit  of  the 
Teuton,  this  Alpine  type  makes  a  comfortable  and  contented  neighbor, 
a  resigned  and  peaceful  subject.  Whether  this  rather  negative  char- 
acter of  the  Alpine  race  is  entirely  innate,  or  whether  it  is  in  part,  like 
many  of  its  social  phenomena,  merely  a  reflection  from  the  almost 
invariably  inhospitable  habitat  in  which  it  has  long  been  isolated,  we 
may  not  pretend  to  decide. 

Let  us  now  for  a  moment  take  up  the  consideration  of  a  second 
physical  characteristic  of  city  populations— viz.,  stature.  If  there  be 
a  law  at  all  in  respect  of  average  statures,  it  demonstrates  rather  the 
depressing  effects  of  city  life  than  the  reverse.  For  example,  Ham- 
burg is  far  below  the  average  for  Germany.  All  over  Britain  there  are 
indications  of  this  law,  that  town  populations  are,  on  the  average, 
comparatively  short  of  stature.  Dr.  Beddoe,  the  great  authority  upon 
this  subject,  concludes  his  investigation  of  the  population  of  Great 
Britain  thus:  "It  may  therefore  be  taken  as  proved  that  the  stature  of 
men  in  the  large  towns  of  Britain  is  lowered  considerably  below  the 
standard  of  the  nation,  and  as  probable  that  such  degradation  is 
hereditary  and  progressive." 

A  most  important  point  in  this  connection  is  the  great  variability 
of  city  populations  hi  size.  All  observers  comment  upon  this.  It  is 
of  profound  significance.  The  people  of  the  west  and  east  ends  in 
each  city  differ  widely.  The  population  of  the  aristocratic  quarters 


COMPETITION  537 

is  often  found  to  exceed  in  stature  the  people  of  the  tenement  districts. 
We  should  expect  this,  of  course,  as  a  direct  result  of  the  depressing 
influence  of  unfavorable  environment.  Yet  there  is  apparently 
another  factor  underlying  that — viz.,  social  selection.  While  cities 
contain  so  large  a  proportion  of  degenerate  physical  types  as  on  the 
average  to  fall  below  the  surrounding  country  in  stature,  nevertheless 
they  also  are  found  to  include  an  inordinately  large  number  of  very 
tall  and  well-developed  individuals.  In  other  words,  compared  with 
the  rural  districts,  where  all  men  are  subject  to  the  same  conditions  of 
life,  we  discover  in  the  rity  that  the  population  has  differentiated  into 
the  very  tall  and  the  very  short. 

The  explanation  for  this  phenomenon  is  simple.  Yet  it  is  not 
direct,  as  in  Topinard's  suggestion  that  it  is  a  matter  of  race  or  that  a 
change  of  environment  operates  to  stimulate  growth.  Rather  does  it 
appear  that  it  is  the  growth  which  suggests  the  change.  The  tall  men 
are  in  the  main  those  vigorous,  mettlesome,  presumably  healthy 
individuals  who  have  themselves,  or  in  the  person  of  their  fathers, 
come  to  the  city  in  search  of  the  prizes  which  urban  life  has  to  offer 
to  the  successful.  On  the  other  hand,  the  degenerate,  the  stunted, 
those  who  entirely  outnumber  the  others  so  far  as  to  drag  the  average 
for  the  city  as  a  whole  below  the  normal,  are  the  grist  turned  out  by 
the  city  mill.  They  are  the  product  of  the  tenement,  the  sweat  shop, 
vice,  and  crime.  Of  course,  normally  developed  men,  as  ever,  con- 
stitute the  main  bulk  of  the  population,  but  these  two  widely  divergent 
classes  attain  a  very  considerable  representation. 

We  have  seen  thus  far  that  evidence  seems  to  point  to  an  aggre- 
gation of  the  Teutonic  long-headed  population  in  the  urban  centers 
of  Europe.  Perhaps  a  part  of  the  tall  stature  in  some  cities  may  be 
due  to  such  racial  causes.  A  curious  anomaly  now  remains,  however, 
to  be  noted.  City  populations  appear  to  manifest  a  distinct  tendency 
toward  brunetness — that  is  to  say,  they  seem  to  comprise  an  abnormal 
proportion  of  brunet  traits,  as  compared  with  the  neighboring  rural 
districts.  This  tendency  was  strikingly  shown  to  characterize  the 
entire  German  Empire  when  its  six  million  school  children  were  exam- 
ined under  Virchow's  direction.  In  twenty-five  out  of  thirty-three  of 
the  larger  cities  were  the  brunet  traits  more  frequent  than  in  the  country. 

Austria  offers  confirmation  of  the  same  tendency  toward  brunet- 
ness in  twenty-four  out  of  its  thirty-three  principal  cities.  Farther 


538          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

south,  in  Italy,  it  was  noted  much  earlier  that  cities  contained  fewer 
blonds  than  were  common  in  the  rural  districts  roundabout.  In 
conclusion  let  us  add,  not  as  additional  testimony,  for  the  data  are 
too  defective,  that  among  five  hundred  American  students  at  the 
Institute  of  Technology  in  Boston,  roughly  classified,  there  were  9 
per  cent  of  pure  brunet  type  among  those  of  country  birth  and  train- 
ing, while  among  those  of  urban  birth  and  parentage  the  percentage 
of  such  brunet  type  rose  as  high  as  15. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  there  is  in  brunetness,  in  the  dark  hair 
and  eye,  some  indication  of  vital  superiority.  If  this  were  so,  it 
would  serve  as  a  partial  explanation  for  the  social  phenomena  which 
we  have  been  at  so  much  pains  to  describe.  If  in  the  same  commu- 
nity there  were  a  slight  vital  advantage  in  brunetness,  we  should 
expect  to  find  that  type  slowly  aggregating  in  the  cities;  for  it  requires 
energy  and  courage,  physical  as  well  as  mental,  not  only  to  break  the 
ties  of  home  and  migrate,  but  also  to  maintain  one's  self  afterward 
under  the  stress  of  urban  life. 

From  the  preceding  formidable  array  of  testimony  it  appears  that 
the  tendency  of  urban  populations  is  certainly  not  toward  the  pure 
blond,  long-headed,  and  tall  Teutonic  type.  The  phenomenon  of 
urban  selection  is  something  more  complex  than,  a  mere  migration  of 
a  single  racial  element  in  the  population  toward  the  cities.  The 
physical  characteristics  of  townsmen  are  too  contradictory  for  ethnic 
explanations  alone.  To  be  sure,  the  tendencies  are  slight;  we  are  not 
even  certain  of  their  universal  existence  at  all.  We  are  merely 
watching  for  their  verification  or  disproof.  There  is,  however,  nothing 
improbable  in  the  phenomena  we  have  noted.  Naturalists  have 
always  turned  to  the  environment  for  the  final  solution  of  many  of 
the  great  problems  of  nature.  In  this  case  we  have  to  do  with  one 
of  the  most  sudden  and  radical  changes  of  environment  known  to  man. 
Every  condition  of  city  life,  mental  as  well  as  physical,  is  at  the  polar 
extreme  from  those  which  prevail  in  the  country.  To  deny  that  great 
modifications  in  human  structure  and  functions  may  be  effected  by  a 
change  from  one  to  the  other  is  to  gainsay  all  the  facts  of  natural 
history. 


COMPETITION  539 

4.    Inter-racial  Competition  and  Race  Suicide1 

I  have  thus  far  spoken  of  the  foreign  arrivals  at  our  ports,  as 
estimated.  Beginning  with  1820,  however,  we  have  custom-house 
statistics  of  the  numbers  of  persons  annually  landing  upon  our 
shores.  Some  of  these,  indeed,  did  not  remain  here;  yet,  rudely 
speaking,  we  may  call  them  all  immigrants.  Between  1820  and 
1830,  population  grew  to  12,866,020.  The  number  of  foreigners 
arriving  in  the  ten  years  was  151,000.  Here,  then,  we  have  for 
forty  years  an  increase,  substantially  all  out  of  the  loins  of  the  four 
millions  of  our  own  people  living  in  1790,  amounting  to  almost  nine 
millions,  or  227  per  cent.  Such  a  rate  of  increase  was  never  known 
before  or  since,  among  any  considerable  population  over  any  exten- 
sive region. 

About  this  time,  however,  we  reach  a  turning-point  in  the  history 
of  our  population.  In  the  decade  1830-40  the  number  of  foreign 
arrivals  greatly  increased.  Immigration  had  not,  indeed,  reached 
the  enormous  dimensions  of  these  later  days.  Yet,  during  the  decade 
in  question,  the  foreigners  coming  to  the  United  States  were  almost 
exactly  fourfold  those  coming  in  the  decade  preceding,  or  599,000. 
The  question  now  of  vital  importance  is  this:  Was  the  population  of 
the  country  correspondingly  increased  ?  I  answer,  No!  The  popula- 
tion of  1840  was  almost  exactly  what,  by  computation,  it  would 
have  been  had  no  increase  in  foreign  arrivals  taken  place.  Again, 
between  1840  and  1850,  a  still  further  access  of  foreigners  occurred, 
this  tune  of  enormous  dimensions,  the  arrivals  of  the  decade  amount- 
ing to  not  less  than  1,713,000.  Of  this  gigantic  total,  1,048,000  were 
from  the  British  Isles,  the  Irish  famine  of  1846-47  having  driven 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  miserable  peasants  to  seek  food  upon  our 
shores.  Again  we  ask,  Did  this  excess  constitute  a  net  gain  to  the 
population  of  the  country?  Again  the  answer  is,  No!  Population 
showed  no  increase  over  the  proportions  established  before  immigra- 
tion set  in  like  a  flood.  In  other  words,  as  the  foreigners  began  to 
come  in  larger  numbers,  the  native  population  more  and  more  with- 
held their  own  increase. 

Now  this  correspondence  might  be  accounted  for  in  three  different 
ways:  (i)  It  might  be  said  that  it  was  a  mere  coincidence,  no  relation 

1  Adapted  from  Francis  A.  Walker,  Economics  and  Statistics,  II,  421-26. 
(Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1899.) 


540          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  cause  and  effect  existing  between  the  two  phenomena.  (2)  It 
might  he  said  that  the  foreigners  came  because  the  native  population 
was  relatively  declining,  that  is,  failing  to  keep  up  its  pristine  rate  of 
increase.  (3)  It  might  be  said  that  the  growth  of  the  native  popula- 
tion was  checked  by  the  incoming  of  the  foreign  elements  in  such 
large  numbers. 

The  view  that  the  correspondence  referred  to  was  a  mere  coin- 
cidence, purely  accidental  hi  origin,  is  perhaps  that  most  commonly 
taken.  If  this  be  the  true  explanation,  the  coincidence  is  a  most 
remarkable  one.  In  the  June  number  of  this  magazine,  I  cited  the 
predictions  as  to  the  future  population  of  the  country  made  by 
Elkanah  Watson,  on  the  basis  of  the  censuses  of  1790,  1800,  and 
1810,  while  immigration  still  remained  at  a  minimum.  Now  let  us 
place  together  the  actual  census  figures  for  1840  and  1850,  Watson's 
estimates  for  those  years,  and  the  foreign  arrivals  during  the  preceding 
decade: 

1840  1850 

The  census 17,069,453     23,191,876 

Watson's  estimates 17,116,526     23,185,368 


The  difference —47,073         +6,508 

Foreign   arrivals   during   the   preceding 

decade 599,000      1,713,000 

Here  we  see  that,  in  spite  of  the  arrival  of  50x3,000  foreigners 
during  the  period  1830-40,  four  times  as  many  as  had  arrived  during 
any  preceding  decade,  the  figures  of  the  census  coincided  closely  with 
the  estimate  of  Watson,  based  on  the  growth  of  population  in  the 
pre- immigration  era,  falling  short  of  it  by  only  47,073  in  a  total  of 
17,000,000;  while  in  1850  the  actual  population,  in  spite  of  the  arrival 
of  1,713,000  more  immigrants,  exceeded  Watson's  estimates  by  only 
6,508  in  a  total  of  23,000,000.  Surely,  if  this  correspondence  between 
the  increase  of  the  foreign  element  and  the  relative  decline  of  the 
native  element  is  a  mere  coincidence,  it  is  one  of  the  most  astonishing 
in  human  history.  The  actuarial  degree  of  improbability  as  to  a 
coincidence  so  close,  over  a  range  so  vast,  I  will  not  undertake  to 
compute. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  be  alleged  that  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect  existed  between  the  two  phenomena,  this  might  be  put  in  two 


COMPETITION  541 

widely  different  ways:  either  that  the  foreigners  came  in  increasing 
numbers  because  the  native  element  was  relatively  declining,  or 
that  the  native  element  failed  to  maintain  its  previous  rate  of  increase 
because  the  foreigners  came  in  such  swarms.  What  shall  we  say  of 
the  former  of  these  explanations?  Does  anything  more  need  to  be 
said  than  that  it  is  too  fine  to  be  the  real  explanation  of  a  big  human 
fact  like  this  we  are  considering  ?  To  assume  that  at  such  a  distance 
in  space,  in  the  then  state  of  news-communication  and  ocean-trans- 
portation, and  in  spite  of  the  ignorance  and  extreme  poverty  of  the 
peasantries  of  Europe  from  which  the  immigrants  were  then  generally 
drawn,  there  was  so  exact  a  degree  of  knowledge  not  only  of  the  fact 
that  the  native  element  here  was  not  keeping  up  its  rate  of  increase 
but  also  of  the  precise  ratio  of  that  decline  as  to  enable  those  peasant- 
ries, with  or  without  a  mutual  understanding,  to  supply  just  the 
numbers  necessary  to  bring  our  population  up  to  its  due  proportions, 
would  be  little  less  than  laughable.  Today,  with  quick  passages, 
cheap  freights,  and  ocean  transportation  there  is  not  a  single  whole- 
sale trade  in  the  world  carried  on  with  this  degree  of  knowledge,  or 
attaining  anything  like  this  point  of  precision  in  results. 

The  true  explanation  of  the  remarkable  fact  we  are  considering  I 
believe  to  be  the  last  of  the  three  suggested.  The  access  of  foreigners, 
at  the  time  and  under  the  circumstances,  constituted  a  shock  to  the 
principle  of  population  among  the  native  element.  That  principle  is 
always  acutely  sensitive  alike  to  sentimental  and  to  economic  condi- 
tions. And  it  is  to  be  noted,  in  passing,  that  not  only  did  the  decline 
in  the  native  element,  as  a  whole,  take  place  in  singular  correspondence 
with  the  excess  of  foreign  arrivals,  but  it  occurred  chiefly  in  just 
those  regions  to  which  the  newcomers  most  freely  resorted. 

But  what  possible  reason  can  be  suggested  why  the  incoming  of 
the  foreigner  should  have  checked  the  disposition  of  the  native 
toward  the  increase  of  population  at  the  traditional  rate  ?  I  answer 
that  the  best  of  good  reasons  can  be  assigned.  Throughout  the 
northeastern  and  northern  middle  states,  into  which,  during  the 
period  under  consideration,  the  newcomers  poured  in  such  numbers, 
the  standard  of  material  living,  of  general  intelligence,  of  social 
decency,  had  been  singularly  high.  Life,  even  at  its  hardest,  had 
always  had  its  luxuries;  the  babe  had  been  a  thing  of  beauty,  to  be 
delicately  nurtured  and  proudly  exhibited;  the  growing  child  had 


542          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

been  decently  dressed,  at  least  for  school  and  church;  the  house  had 
been  kept  in  order,  at  whatever  cost,  the  gate  hung,  the  shutters  in 
place,  while  the  front  yard  had  been  made  to  bloom  with  simple 
flowers;  the  village  church,  the  public  schoolhouse,  had  been  the 
best  which  the  community,  with  great  exertions  and  sacrifices,  could 
erect  and  maintain.  Then  came  the  foreigner,  making  his  way  into 
the  little  village,  bringing — small  blame  to  him! — not  only  a  vastly 
lower  standard  of  living,  but  too  often  an  actual  present  incapacity 
even  to  understand  the  refinements  of  life  and  thought  in  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  sought  a  home.  Our  people  had  to  look  upon 
houses  that  were  mere  shells  for  human  habitations,  the  gate  unhung, 
the  shutters  flapping  or  falling,  green  pools  in  the  yard,  babes  and 
young  children  rolling  about  half  naked  or  worse,  neglected,  dirty, 
unkempt.  Was  there  not  in  this  a  sentimental  reason  strong  enough 
to  give  a  shock  to  the  principle  of  population?  But  there  was, 
besides,  an  economic  reason  for  a  check  to  the  native  increase.  The 
American  shrank  from  the  industrial  competition  thus  thrust  upon 
him.  He  was  unwilling  himself  to  engage  in  the  lowest  kind  of 
day  labor  with  these  new  elements  of  the  population;  he  was  even 
more  unwilling  to  bring  sons  and  daughters  into  the  world  to  enter 
into  that  competition.  For  the  first  time  in  our  history,  the  people 
of  the  free  states  became  divided  into  classes.  Those  classes  were 
natives  and  foreigners.  Politically,  the  distinction  had  only  a 
certain  force,  which  yielded  more  or  less  readily  under  partisan 
pressure;  but  socially  and  industrially  that  distinction  has  been  a 
tremendous  power,  and  its  chief  effects  have  been  wrought  upon 
population.  Neither  the  social  companionship  nor  the  industrial 
competition  of  the  foreigner  has,  broadly  speaking,  been  welcome  to 
the  native. 

It  hardly  needs  to  be  said  that  the  foregoing  descriptions  are  not 
intended  to  apply  to  all  of  the  vast  body  of  immigrants  during  this 
period.  Thousands  came  over  from  good  homes;  many  had  all  the 
advantages  of  education  and  culture;  some  possessed  the  highest 
qualities  of  manhood  and  citizenship. 

But  let  us  proceed  with  the  census.  By  1860  the  causes  operat- 
ing to  reduce  the  growth  of  the  native  element — to  which  had  then 
manifestly  been  added  the  force  of  important  changes  in  the  manner  of 
living,  the  introduction  of  more  luxurious  habits,  the  influence  of 


COMPETITION  543 

city  life,  and  the  custom  of  "boarding"— -had  reached  such  a  height 
as,  in  spite  of  a  still-increasing  immigration,  to  leave  the  population 
of  the  country  310,503  below  the  estimate.  The  fearful  losses  of  the 
Civil  War  and  the  rapid  extension  of  habits  unfavorable  to  increase 
of  numbers  make  any  further  use  of  Watson's  computations  unin- 
structive;  yet  still  the  great  fact  protrudes  through  all  the  subsequent 
history  of  our  population  that  the  more  rapidly  foreigners  came  into 
the  United  States,  the  smaller  was  the  rate  of  increase,  not  merely 
among  the  native  population  separately,  but  throughout  the  popula- 
tion of  the  country,  as  a  whole,  including  the  foreigners.  The  climax 
of  this  movement  was  reached  when,  during  the  decade  1880-90,  the 
foreign  arrivals  rose  to  the  monstrous  total  of  five  and  a  quarter 
millions  (twice  what  had  ever  before  been  known),  while  the  popula- 
tion, even  including  this  enormous  re-enforcement,  increased  more 
slowly  than  in  any  other  period  of  our  history  except,  possibly,  that 
of  the  great  Civil  War. 

If  the  foregoing  views  are  true,  or  contain  any  considerable 
degree  of  truth,  foreign  immigration  into  this  country  has,  from  the 
time  it  first  assumed  large  proportions,  amounted,  not  to  a  reinforce- 
ment of  our  population,  but  to  a  replacement  of  native  by  foreign 
stock.  That  if  the  foreigners  had  not  come  the  native  element  would 
long  have  filled  the  places  the  foreigners  usurped,  I  entertain  not  a 
doubt.  The  competency  of  the  American  stock  to  do  this  it  would 
be  absurd  to  question,  in  the  face  of  such  a  record  as  that  for  1790  to 
1830.  During  the  period  from  1830  to  1860  the  material  conditions  of 
existence  in  this  country  were  continually  becoming  more  and  more 
favorable  to  the  increase  of  population  from  domestic  sources.  The  old 
man-slaughtering  medicine  was  being  driven  out  of  civilized  communi- 
ties; houses  were  becoming  larger;  the  food  and  clothing  of  the  people 
were  becoming  ampler  and  better.  Nor  was  the  cause  which,  about 
1840  or  1850,  began  to  retard  the  growth  of  population  here  to  be 
found  in  the  climate  which  Mr.  Clibborn  stigmatizes  so  severely. 
The  climate  of  the  United  States  has  been  benign  enough  to  enable 
us  to  take  the  English  shorthorn  and  greatly  to  improve  it,  as  the 
re-exportation  of  that  animal  to  England  at  monstrous  prices  abun- 
dantly proves;  to  take  the  English  race-horse  and  to  improve  him  to  a 
degree  of  which  the  startling  victories  of  Parole,  Iroquois,  and  Foxhall 
afford  but  a  suggestion;  to  take  the  Englishman  and  to  improve  him, 


544  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

too,  adding  agility  to  his*  strength,  making  his  eye  keener  and  his 
hand  steadier,  so  that  in  rowing,  in  riding,  in  shooting,  and  in  boxing, 
the  American  of  pure  English  stock  is  today  the  better  animal.  No ! 
Whatever  were  the  causes  which  checked  the  growth  of  the  native 
population,  they  were  neither  physiological  nor  climatic.  They 
were  mainly  social  and  economic;  and  chief  among  them  was  the 
access  of  vast  hordes  of  foreign  immigrants,  bringing  with  them  a 
standard  of  living  at  which  our  own  people  revolted. 

C.      ECONOMIC  COMPETITION 
i.     Changing  Forms  of  Economic  Competition1 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  much  of  the  orthodox  system  of  political 
economy  is  eternally  true.  Conclusions  reached  by  valid  reasoning 
are  always  as  true  as  the  hypotheses  from  which  they  are  deduced. 
It  will  remain  forever  true  that  if  unlimited  competition  existed,  most 
of  the  traditional  laws  would  be  realized  in  the  practical  world.  It 
will  also  be  true  that  in  those  corners  of  the  industrial  field  which 
still  show  an  approximation  to  Ricardian  competition  there  will  be 
seen  as  much  of  correspondence  between  theory  and  fact  as  candid 
reasoners  claim.  If  political  economy  will  but  content  itself  with 
this  kind  of  truth,  it  need  never  be  disturbed  by  industrial  revolutions. 
The  science  need  not  trouble  itself  to  progress. 

This  hypothetical  truth,  or  science  of  what  would  take  place  if 
society  were  fashioned  after  an  ideal  pattern,  is  not  what  Ricardo 
believed  that  he  had  discovered.  His  system  was  positive;  actual 
life  suggested  it  by  developing  tendencies  for  which  the  scientific 
formulas  which  at  that  time  were  traditional  could  not  account. 
It  was  a  new  industrial  world  which  called  for  a  modernized  system 
of  economic  doctrine.  Ricardo  was  the  first  to  understand  the  situ- 
ation, to  trace  the  new  tendencies  to  their  consummation,  and  to  create 
a  scientific  system  by  insight  and  foresight.  He  outran  history  in 
the  process,  and  mentally  created  a  world  more  relentlessly  competitive 
than  any  which  has  existed;  and  yet  it  was  fact  and  not  imagination 
that  lay  at  the  basis  of  the  whole  system.  Steam  had  been  utilized, 
machines  were  supplanting  hand  labor,  workmen  were  migrating 

1  Adapted  from  John  B.  Clark,  "The  Limits  of  Competition,"  in  Clark  and 
Giddings,  The  Modern  Distributive  Process,  pp.  2-8.  (Ginn  &  Co.,  1888.) 


COMPETITION  545 

to  new  centers  of  production,  guild  regulations  were  giving  way, 
and  competition  of  a  type  unheard  of  before  was  beginning  to 
prevail. 

A  struggle  for  existence  had  commenced  between  parties  of 
unequal  strength.  In  manufacturing  industries  the  balance  of  power 
had  been  disturbed  by  steam,  and  the  little  shops  of  former  times 
were  disappearing.  The  science  adapted  to  such  conditions  was  an 
economic  Darwinism;  it  embodied  the  laws  of  a  struggle  for  existence 
between  competitors  of  the  new  and  predatory  type  and  those  of  the 
peaceable  type  which  formerly  possessed  the  field.  Though  the 
process  was  savage,  the  outlook  which  it  afforded  was  not  wholly 
evil.  The  survival  of  crude  strength  was,  hi  the  long  run,  desirable. 
Machines  and  factories  meant,  to  every  social  class,  cheapened  goods 
and  more  comfortable  living.  Efficient  working  establishments  were 
developing;  the  social  organism  was  perfecting  itself  for  its  contest 
with  crude  nature.  It  was  a  fuller  and  speedier  dominion  over  the 
earth  which  was  to  result  from  the  concentration  of  human  energy 
now  termed  centralization. 

The  error  unavoidable  to  the  theorists  of  the  time  lay  in  basing 
a  scientific  system  on  the  facts  afforded  by  a  state  of  revolution. 
This  was  attempting  to  derive  permanent  principles  from  transient 
phenomena.  Some  of  these  principles  must  become  obsolete;  and 
the  work  demanded  of  modern  economists  consists  hi  separating  the 
transient  from  the  permanent  in  the  Ricardian  system.  How  much 
of  the  doctrine  holds  true  when  the  struggle  between  unequal  com- 
petitors is  over,  and  when  a  few  of  the  very  strongest  have  possession 
of  the  field  ? 

In  most  branches  of  manufacturing,  and  in  other  than  local  trans- 
portation, the  contest  between  the  strong  and  the  weak  is  either 
settled  or  in  process  of  rapid  settlement.  The  survivors  are  becoming 
so  few,  so  powerful,  and  so  nearly  equal  that  if  the  strife  were  to 
continue,  it  would  bid  fair  to  involve  them  all  in  a  common  ruin. 
What  has  actually  developed  is  not  such  a  battle  of  giants  but  a  system 
of  armed  neutralities  and  federations  of  giants.  The  new  era  is 
distinctly  one  of  consolidated  forces;  rival  establishments  are  forming 
combinations,  and  the  principle  of  union  is  extending  itself  to  the  labor 
and  the  capital  in  each  of  them.  Laborers  who  once  competed  with  each 
other  are  now  making  their  bargains  collectively  with  their  employers. 


546          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Employers  who  under  the  old  regime  would  have  worked  independ- 
ently are  merging  their  capital  in  corporations  and  allowing  it  to  be 
managed  as  by  a  single  hand. 

Predatory  competition  between  unequal  parties  was  the  basis  of 
the  Ricardian  system.  This  process  was  vaguely  conceived  and  never 
fully  analyzed;  what  was  prominent  in  the  thought  of  men  in  con- 
nection with  it  was  the  single  element  of  struggle.  Mere  effort  to 
survive,  the  Darwinian  feature  of  the  process,  was  all  that,  hi  some 
uses,  the  term  "competition"  was  made  to  designate.  Yet  the 
competitive  action  of  an  organized  society  is  systematic;  each  part 
of  it  is  limited  to  a  specific  field,  and  tends,  within  these  limits,  to 
self-annihilation. 

An  effort  to  attain  a  conception  of  competition  that  should  remove 
some  of  the  confusion  was  made  by  Professor  Cairnes.  His  system 
of  "non-competing  groups"  is  a  feature  of  his  value  theory,  which  is 
a  noteworthy  contribution  to  economic  thought.  Mr.  Mill  had 
followed  Ricardo  in  teaching  that  the  natural  price  of  commodities 
is  governed  by  the  cost  of  producing  them.  Professor  Cairnes  accepts 
this  statement,  but  attaches  to  it  a  meaning  altogether  new.  He 
says,  in  effect: 

Commodities  do  indeed  exchange  according  to  their  cost  of  production; 
but  cost  is  something  quite  different  from  what  currently  passes  by  that 
name.  That  is  merely  the  outlay  incurred  by  the  capitalist-employer  for 
raw  materials,  labor,  etc.  The  real  cost  is  the  personal  sacrifice  made  by 
the  producing  parties,  workmen  as  well  as  employers.  It  is  not  a  mercan- 
tile but  a  psychological  phenomenon,  a  reaction  upon  the  men  themselves 
occasioned  by  the  effort  of  the  laborer  and  the  abstinence  of  the  capitalist. 
These  personal  sacrifices  gauge  the  market  value  of  commodities  within 
the  fields  in  which,  in  the  terms  of  the  theory,  competition  is  free.  The 
adjustment  takes  place  through  the  spontaneous  movement  of  capital  and 
labor  from  employments  that  yield  small  returns  to  those  that  give  larger 
ones.  Capital  migrates  freely  from  place  to  place  and  from  occupation 
to  occupation.  If  one  industry  is  abnormally  profitable,  capital  seeks  it, 
increases  and  cheapens  its  product,  and  reduces  its  profits  to  the  prevailing 
level.  Profits  tend  to  a  general  uniformity. 

Wages  are  said  to  tend  to  equality  only  within  limits.  The 
transfer  of  labor  from  one  employment  to  another  is  checked  by 
barriers. 


COMPETITION  547 

What  we  find,  in  effect  [continues  Professor  Cairnes],  is  not  a  whole 
population  competing  indiscriminately  for  all  occupations,  but  a  series  of 
industrial  layers,  superimposed  on  one  another,  within  each  of  which  the 
various  candidates  for  employment  possess  a  real  and  effective  power  of 
selection,  while  those  occupying  the  several  strata  are,  for  all  purposes  of 
effective  competition,  practically  isolated  from  each  other.  We  may  per- 
haps venture  to  arrange  them  in  some  such  order  as  this:  first,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  scale  there  would  be  the  large  group  of  unskilled  or  nearly 
unskilled  laborers,  comprising  agricultural  laborers,  laborers  engaged  in 
miscellaneous  occupations  in  towns,  or  acting  in  attendance  on  skilled  labor. 
Secondly,  there  would  be  the  artisan  group,  comprising  skilled  laborers  of 
the  secondary  order — carpenters,  joiners,  smiths,  masons,  shoemakers, 
tailors,  hatters,  etc.,  etc. — with  whom  might  be  included  the  very  large 
class  of  small  retail  dealers,  whose  means  and  position  place  them  within 
the  reach  of  the  same  industrial  opportunities  as  the  class  of  artisans. 
The  third  layer  would  contain  producers  and  dealers  of  a  higher  order, 
whose  work  would  demand  qualifications  only  obtainable  by  persons  of 
substantial  means  and  fair  educational  opportunities;  for  example,  civil 
and  mechanical  engineers,  chemists,  opticians,  watchmakers,  and  others  of 
the  same  industrial  grade,  in  which  might  also  find  a  place  the  superior 
class  of  retail  tradesmen;  while  above  these  there  would  be  a  fourth,  com- 
prising persons  still  more  favorably  circumstanced,  whose  ampler  means 
would  give  them  a  still  wider  choice.  This  last  group  would  contain  mem- 
bers of  the  learned  professions,  as  well  as  persons  engaged  in  the  various 
careers  of  science  and  art,  and  in  the  higher  branches  of  mercantile 
business. 

It  is  essential  to  the  theory  that  not  only  workmen  but  their 
children  should  be  confined  to  a  producing  group.  The  equalizing 
process  may  take  place  even  though  men  do  not  actually  abandon 
one  occupation  and  enter  another;  for  there  exists,  in  the  generation 
of  young  men  not  yet  committed  to  any  occupation,  a  disposable 
fund  of  labor  which  will  gravitate  naturally  to  the  occupations  that 
pay  the  largest  wages.  It  is  not  necessary  that  blacksmiths  should 
ever  become  shoemakers,  or  vice  versa,  but  only  that  the  children 
of  both  classes  of  artisans  should  be  free  to  enter  the  trade  that  is 
best  rewarded. 

Professor  Cairnes  does  not  claim  that  his  classification  is  exhaus- 
tive, nor  that  the  demarcation  is  absolute: 

No  doubt  the  various  ranks  and  classes  fade  into  each  other  by  imper- 
ceptible gradations,  and  individuals  from  all  classes  are  constantly  passing 


548          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

up  or  dropping  down;  but  while  this  is  so,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  the 
average  workman,  from  whatever  rank  he  be  taken,  finds  his  power  of 
competition  limited  for  practical  purposes  to  a  certain  range  of  occupations, 
so  that,  however  high  the  rates  of  remuneration  in  those  which  lie  beyond 
may  rise,  he  is  excluded  from  sharing  them.  We  are  thus  compelled  to 
recognize  the  existence  of  non-competing  industrial  groups  as  a  feature  of 
our  social  economy. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  competition  which  is  here  under  dis- 
cussion is  of  an  extraordinary  kind ;  and  the  fact  that  the  general  term 
is  applied  to  it  without  explanation  is  a  proof  of  the  vagueness  of  the 
conceptions  of  competition  with  which  acute  writers  have  contented 
themselves.  Actual  competition  consists  invariably  in  an  effort  to 
undersell  a  rival  producer.  A  carpenter  competes  with  a  carpenter 
because  he  creates  a  similar  utility  and  offers  it  in  the  market.  In 
the  theory  of  Professor  Cairnes  the  carpenter  is  the  competitor  of 
the  blacksmith,  because  his  children  may  enter  the  blacksmith's 
calling.  In  the  actual  practice  of  his  own  trade,  the  one  artisan  in 
no  wise  affects  the  other.  It  is  potential  competition  rather  than 
actual  that  is  here  under  discussion;  and  even  this  depends  for  its 
effectiveness  on  the  action  of  the  rising  generation. 

Modern  methods  of  production  have  obliterated  Professor 
Cairnes's  dividing  lines.  Potential  competition  extends  to  every 
part  of  the  industrial  field  in  which  men  work  in  organized  companies. 
Throwing  out  of  account  the  professions,  a  few  trades  of  the  highest 
sort,  and  the  class  of  labor  which  is  performed  by  employers  themselves 
and  their  salaried  assistants,  it  is  practically  true  that  labor  is  in  a 
universal  ebb  and  flow;  it  passes  freely  to  occupations  which  are, 
for  the  time  being,  highly  paid,  and  reduces  their  rewards  to  the 
general  level. 

This  objection  to  the  proposed  grouping  is  not  theoretical.  The 
question  is  one  of  fact;  it  is  the  development  of  actual  industry  that 
has  invalidated  the  theory  which,  in  the  seventies,  expressed  an 
important  truth  concerning  economic  relations  in  England.  More- 
over, the  author  of  the  theory  anticipated  one  change  which  would 
somewhat  lessen  its  applicability  to  future  conditions.  He  recorded 
his  belief  that  education  would  prove  a  leveler,  and  that  it  would 
merge  to  some  extent  the  strata  of  industrial  society.  The  children 
of  hod-carriers  might  become  machinists,  accountants,  or  lawyers 


COMPETITION  549 

when  they  could  acquire  the  needed  education.  He  admitted  also 
that  new  countries  afford  conditions  in  which  the  lines  of  demarcation 
are  faint.  He  was  not  in  a  position  to  appreciate  the  chief  leveling 
agency,  namely,  the  machine  method  of  production  as  now  extended 
and  perfected.  Education  makes  the  laborer  capable  of  things 
relatively  difficult,  and  machines  render  the  processes  which  he 
needs  to  master  relatively  easy.  The  so-called  unskilled  workmen 
stand  on  a  higher  persortal  level  than  those  of  former  times;  and  the 
new  methods  of  manufacturing  are  reducing  class  after  class  to  that 
level.  Mechanical  labor  is  resolving  itself  into  processes  so  simple 
that  anyone  may  learn  them.  An  old-time  shoemaker  could  not 
become  a  watchmaker,  and  even  his  children  would  have  found 
difficulties  in  their  way  had  they  attempted  to  master  the  higher 
trade;  but  a  laster  in  a  Lynn  shoe  factory  can,  if  he  will,  learn  one 
of  the  minute  trades  that  are  involved  in  the  making  of  a  Waltham 
watch.  His  children  may  do  so  without  difficulty;  and  this  is  all 
that  is  necessary  for  maintaining  the  normal  balance  between  the 
trades. 

The  largest  surviving  differences  between  workmen  are  moral. 
Bodily  strength  still  counts  for  something,  and  mental  strength 
for  more;  but  the  consideration  which  chiefly  determines  the  value 
of  a  workman  to  the  employer  who  intrusts  to  him  costly  materials 
and  a  delicate  machine  is  the  question  of  fidelity.  Character  is  not 
monopolized  by  any  social  class;  it  is  of  universal  growth,  and  tends 
by  the  prominent  part  which  it  plays  in  modern  industry,  to  reduce 
to  their  lowest  terms  the  class  differences  of  the  former  era. 

The  rewards  of  professional  life  are  gauged  primarily  by  character 
and  native  endowment,  and  are,  to  this  extent,  open  to  the  children 
of  workmen.  New  barriers,  however,  arise  here  in  the  ampler  edu- 
cation which,  as  time  advances,  is  demanded  of  persons  in  these  pur- 
suits; and  these  barriers  give  to  a  part  of  the  fourth  and  highest 
class  in  the  scheme  that  we  are  criticising  a  permanent  basis  of 
existence.  Another  variety  of  labor  retains  a  pre-eminence  based 
on  native  adaptations  and  special  opportunities.  It  is  the  work  of 
the  employer  himself.  It  is  an  organizing  and  directing  function, 
and  in  large  industries  is  performed  only  in  part  by  the  owners.  A 
portion  of  this  work  is  committed  to  hired  assistants.  Strictly 
speaking,  the  entrepreneur,  or  employer,  of  a  great  establishment  is 


550  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

not  one  man,  but  many,  who  work  in  a  collective  capacity,  and  who 
receive  a  reward  that,  taken  in  the  aggregate,  constitutes  the  "wages 
of  superintendence."  To  some  members  of  this  administrative  body 
the  returns  come  in  the  form  of  salaries,  while  to  others  they  come 
partly  in  the  form  of  dividends;  but  if  we  regard  their  work  in  its 
entirety,  and  consider  their  wages  in  a  single  sum,  we  must  class  it 
with  entrepreneur's  profits  rather  than  with  ordinary  wages.  It  is 
a  different  part  of  the  product  from  the  sum  distributed  among  day 
laborers;  and  this  fact  separates  the  administrative  group  from 
the  class  considered  in  our  present  inquiry.  Positions  of  the  higher 
sort  are  usually  gained  either  through  the  possession  of  capital  or 
through  relations  to  persons  who  possess,  it.  Though  clerkships  of 
the  lower  grade  demand  no  attainments  -which  the  children  of  work- 
men cannot  gain,  and  though  promotion  to  the  higher  grades  is  still 
open,  the  tendency  of  the  time  is  to  make  the  transition  from  the 
ranks  of  labor  to  those  of  administration  more  and  more  difficult. 
The  true  laboring  class  is  merging  its  subdivisions,  while  it  is  separat- 
ing more  sharply  from  the  class  whose  interests,  in  test  questions, 
place  them  on  the  side  of  capital. 

2.     Competition  and  the  Natural  Harmony  of  Individual  Interests1 

The  general  industry  of  the  society  never  can  exceed  what  the 
capital  of  the  society  can  employ.  As  the  number  of  workmen  that 
can  be  kept  in  employment  by  any  particular  person  must  bear  a 
certain  proportion  to  his  capital,  so  the  number  of  those  that  can  be 
continually  employed  by  all  the  members  of  a  great  society  must  bear 
a  certain  proportion  to  the  whole  capital  of  that  society  and  never 
can  exceed  that  proportion.  No  regulation  of  commerce  can  increase 
the  quantity  of  industry  in  any  society  beyond  what  its  capital  can 
maintain.  It  can  only  divert  a  part  of  it  into  a  direction  into  which 
it  might  not  otherwise  have  gone;  and  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that 
this  artificial  direction  is  likely  to  be  more  advantageous  to  the 
society  than  that  into  which  it  would  have  gone  of  its  own  accord. 

Every  individual  is  continually  exerting  himself  to  find  out  the 
most  advantageous  employment  for  whatever  capital  he  can  com- 
mand. It  is  his  own  advantage,  indeed,  and  not  that  of  the  society, 

'Adapted  from  Adam  Smith,  An  Inquiry  into  the  Nature  and  Causes  of  the 
Wealth  of  Nations,  I  (1904),  419,  421.  (By  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Methuen 
&  Co.,  Ltd.) 


COMPETITION  551 

which  he  has  hi  view.  But  the  study  of  his  own  advantage  naturally, 
or  rather  necessarily,  leads  him  to  prefer  that  employment  which  is 
most  advantageous  to  the  society. 

As  every  individual,  therefore,  endeavors  as  much  as  he  can 
both  to  employ  his  capital  in  the  support  of  domestic  industry  and  so 
to  direct  that  industry  that  its  product  may  be  of  the  greatest  value; 
every  individual  necessarily  labors  to  render  the  annual  revenue  of 
the  society  as  great  as  he  can.  He  generally,  indeed,  neither  intends 
to  promote  the  public  interest  nor  knows  how  much  he  is  promoting  it. 
By  preferring  the  support  of  domestic  to  that  of  foreign  industry,  he 
intends  only  his  own  security;  and  by  directing  that  industry  in 
such  a  manner  that  its  product  may  be  of  the  greatest  value,  he 
intends  only  his  own  gain,  and  he  is  in  this,  as  hi  many  other  cases, 
led  by  an  invisible  hand  to  promote  an  end  which  was  no  part  of  his 
intention.  Nor  is  it  always  worse  for  the  society  that  it  was  no 
part  of  it.  By  pursuing  his  own  interest  he  frequently  promotes  that 
of  the  society  more  effectually  than  when  he  really  intends  to  promote 
it.  I  have  never  known  much  good  done  by  those  who  affected  to 
trade  for  the  public  good.  It  is  an  affectation,  indeed,  not  very 
common  among  merchants,  and  very  few  words  need  be  employed 
in  dissuading  them  from  it. 

What  is  the  species  of  domestic  industry  which  his  capital  can 
employ,  and  of  which  the  product  is  likely  to  be  of  the  greatest  value, 
every  individual,  it  is  evident,  can,  hi  his  local  situation,  judge  much 
better  than  any  statesman  or  lawgiver  can  do  for  him.  The  statesman 
who  should  attempt  to  direct  private  people  in  what  manner  they 
ought  to  employ  their  capitals  would  not  only  load  himself  with  a  most 
unnecessary  attention  but  assume  an  authority  which  could  safely 
be  trusted,  not  only  to  no  single  person,  but  to  no  council  or  senate 
whatever,  and  which  would  nowhere  be  so  dangerous  as  hi  the  hands 
of  a  man  who  had  folly  and  presumption  enough  to  fancy  himself 
fit  to  exercise  it. 

3.    Competition  and  Freedom1 

What,  after  all,  is  competition  ?  Is  it  something  that  exists  and 
acts  of  itself,  like  the  cholera  ?  No,  competition  is  simply  the  absence 
of  oppression.  In  reference  to  the  matters  that  interest  me,  I  prefer 

'Translated  from  Frederic  Bastiat,  (Euvres  completes,  tome  VI,  "Harmonies 
e'conomiques,"  9"  6dition,  p.  350.  (Paris,  1884.) 


552  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  choose  for  myself  and  I  do  not  want  anyone  else  to  choose  for  me 
against  my  will;  that's  all.  And  if  anyone  undertakes  to  substitute 
his  judgment  for  mine  in  matters  that  concern  me  I  shall  demand  the 
privilege  of  substituting  my  wishes  for  his  in  matters  which  concern 
him.  What  guaranty  is  there  that  this  arrangement  will  improve 
matters?  It  is  evident  that  competition  is  liberty.  To  destroy 
liberty  of  action  is  to  destroy  the  possibility  and  consequently  the 
faculty  of  choosing,  judging,  comparing;  it  is  to  kill  intelligence,  to 
kill  thought,  to  kill  man  himself.  Whatever  the  point  of  departure, 
there  is  where  modern  reforms  always  end;  in  order  to  improve  society 
it  is  necessary  to  annihilate  the  individual,  upon  the  assumption  that 
the  individual  is  the  source  of  all  evil,  and  as  if  the  individual  was  not 
likewise  the  source  of  all  good. 

4.    Money  and  Freedom1 

Money  not  only  makes  the  relation  of  individuals  to  the  group  a 
more  independent  one,  but  the  content  of  the  special  forms  of  asso- 
ciations and  the  relations  of  the  participants  to  these  associations  is 
subject  to  an  entirely  new  process  of  differentiation. 

The  medieval  corporations  included  in  themselves  all  the  human 
interests.  A  guild  of  cloth-makers  was  not  an  association  of  indi- 
viduals which  cultivated  the  interests  of  cloth-making  exclusively. 
It  was  a  community  in  a  vocational,  personal,  religious,  political 
sense  and  in  many  other  respects.  And  however  technical  the 
interests  that  might  be  grouped  together  in  such  an  association,  they 
had  an  immediate  and  lively  interest  for  all  members.  Members 
were  wholly  bound  up  in  the  association. 

In  contrast  to  this  form  of  organization  the  capitalistic  system 
has  made  possible  innumerable  associations  which  either  require  from 
their  members  merely  money  contributions  or  are  directed  toward 
mere  money  interests.  In  the  case  of  the  business  corporation,  espe- 
cially, the  basis  of  organization  of  members  is  exclusively  an  interest  in 
the  dividends,  so  exclusively  that  it  is  a  matter  of  entire  indifference 
to  the  individual  what  the  society  (enterprise)  actually  produces. 

The  independence  of  the  person  of  the  concrete  objects,  in  which 
he  has  a  mere  money  interest,  is  reflected,  likewise,  in  his  independence, 

1  Translated  from  Georg  Simmel,  Philosophic  des  Geld.es,  pp.  351-52.  (Duncker 
und  Humblot,  1900.) 


COMPETITION  553 

in  his  personal  relations,  of  the  other  individuals  with  whom  he  is 
connected  by  an  exclusive  money  interest.  This  has  produced  one 
of  the  most  effective  cultural  formations — one  which  makes  it  possible 
for  individuals  to  take  part  in  an  association  whose  objective  aim  it 
will  promote,  use,  and  enjoy  without  this  association  bringing  with 
it  any  further  personal  connection  or  imposing  any  further  obligation. 
Money  has  brought  it  about  that  one  individual  may  unite  himself 
with  others  without  being  compelled  to  surrender  any  of  his  personal 
freedom  or  reserve.  That  is  the  fundamental  and  unspeakably 
significant  difference  between  the  medieval  form  of  organization  which 
made  no  difference  between  the  association  of  men  as  men  and  the 
association  of  men  as  members  of  an  organization.  The  medieval 
form  or  organization  united  equally  in  one  circle  the  entire  business, 
religious,  political,  and  friendly  interests  of  the  individuals  who 
composed  it. 

III.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 

i.    Biological  Competition 

The  conception  of  competition  has  had  a  twofold  origin:  in  the 
notions  (a)  of  the  struggle  for  existence  and  (6)  of  the  struggle  for 
livelihood.  Naturally,  then,  the  concept  of  competition  has  had  a 
parallel  development  in  biology  and  in  economics.  The  growth  of 
the  notion  in  these  two  fields  of  thought,  although  parallel,  is  not 
independent.  Indeed,  the  fruitful  process  of  interaction  between 
the  differing  formulations  of  the  concept  in  biology  and  economics 
is  a  significant  illustration  of  the  cross-fertilization  of  the  sciences. 
Although  Mai  thus  was  a  political  economist,  his  principle  of  popula- 
tion is  essentially  biological  rather  than  economic.  He  is  concerned 
with  the  struggle  for  existence  rather  than  for  livelihood.  Reacting 
against  the  theories  of  Condorcet  and  of  Godwin  concerning  the 
natural  equality,  perfectibility,  and  inevitable  progress  of  man, 
Mai  thus  in  1798  stated  the  dismal  law  that  population  tends  to 
increase  in  geometrical  progression  and  subsistence  in  arithmetica 
progression.  In  the  preface  to  the  second  edition  of  his  Essay  on 
the  Principle  of  Population  Malthus  acknowledged  his  indebtedness  to 
"Hume,  Wallace,  Dr.  Adam  Smith  and  Dr.  Price."  Adam  Smith  no 
doubt  anticipated  and  perhaps  suggested  to  Malthus  his  thesis  in  such 
passages  in  the  Wealth  of  Nations  as,  "Every  species  of  animals 


554          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

naturally  multiplies  in  proportion  to  the  means  of  their  subsistence," 
"The  demand  for  men  necessarily  regulates  the  production  of  men." 
These  statements  of  the  relation  of  population  to  food  supply,  how- 
ever, are  incidental  to  Smith's  general  theories  of  economics;  the 
contribution  of  Malthus  lay  in  taking  this  principle  out  of  its  limited 
context,  giving  it  the  character  of  scientific  generalization,  and  apply- 
ing it  to  current  theories  and  programs  of  social  reform. 

The  debt  of  biology  to  Malthus  is  acknowledged  both  by  Darwin 
and  by  Wallace.  Fifteen  months  after  Darwin  had  commenced  his 
inquiry  a  chance  reading  of  Malthus'  Essay  on  the  Principle  of 
Population  gave  him  the  clue  to  the  explanation  of  the  origin  of  species 
through  the  struggle  for  existence.  During  an  attack  of  intermittent 
fever  Wallace  recalled  Malthus'  theory  which  he  had  read  twelve 
years  before  and  in  it  found  the  solution  of  the  problem  of  biological 
evolution. 

Although  the  phrase  "the  struggle  for  existence"  was  actually 
used  by  Malthus:  Darwin,  Wallace,  and  their  followers  first  gave  it 
a  general  application  to  all  forms  of  life.  Darwin  in  his  The  Origin 
of  Species,  published  in  1859,  analyzed  with  a  wealth  of  detail  the 
struggle  for  existence,  the  nature  and  forms  of  competition,  natural 
selection,  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  the  segregation  and  consequent 
specialization  of  species. 

Biological  research  in  recent  years  has  directed  attention  away 
from  the  theory  of  evolution  to  field  study  of  plant  and  animal 
communities.  Warming,  Adams,  Wheeler,  and  others  have  described, 
in  their  plant  and  animal  ecologies,  the  processes  of  competition  and 
segregation  by  which  communities  are  formed.  Clements  in  two 
studies,  Plant  Succession  and  Plant  Indicators,  has  described  in  detail 
the  life-histories  of  some  of  these  communities.  His  analysis  of  the 
succession  of  plant  communities  within  the  same  geographical  area 
and  of  the  relations  of  competitive  co-operation  of  the  different 
species  of  which  these  communities  are  composed  might  well  serve 
as  a  model  for  similar  studies  in  human  ecology. 

2.    Economic  Competition 

Research  upon  competition  in  economics  falls  under  two  heads: 
(a)  the  natural  history  of  competition,  and  (b)  the  history  of  theories 
of  competition. 


COMPETITION  555 

a)  Competition  on  the  economic  level,  i.e.,  of  struggle  for  live- 
lihood, had  its  origins  in  the  market  place.  Sir  Henry  Maine,  on  the 
basis  of  his  study  of  village  communities,  states  in  effect  that  the 
beginnings  of  economic  behavior  are  first  to  be  seen  in  neutral  meeting 
places  of  strangers  and  foes. 

In  order  to  understand  what  a  market  originally  was,  you  must  try  to 
picture  to  yourselves  a  territory  occupied  by  village-communities,  self-acting 
and  as  yet  autonomous,  each  cultivating  its  arable  land  in  the  middle  of 
its  waste,  and  each,  I  fear  I  must  add,  at  perpetual  war  with  its  neighbour. 
But  at  several  points,  points  probably  where  the  domains  of  two  or  three 
villages  converged,  there  appear  to  have  been  spaces  of  what  we  should 
now  call  neutral  ground.  These  were  the  Markets.  They  were  probably 
the  only  places  at  which  the  members  of  the  different  primitive  groups 
met  for  any  purpose  except  warfare,  and  the  persons  who  came  to  them 
were  doubtless  at  first  persons  especially  empowered  to  exchange  the  pro- 
duce and  manufactures  of  one  little  village-community  for  those  of  another. 
But,  besides  the  notion  of  neutrality,  another  idea  was  anciently  associated 
with  markets.  This  was  the  idea  of  sharp  practice  and  hard  bargaining. 

What  is  the  real  origin  of  the  feeling  that  it  is  not  creditable  to  drive  a 
hard  bargain  with  a  near  relative  or  friend  ?  It  can  hardly  be  that  there 
is  any  rule  of  morality  to  forbid  it.  The  feeling  seems  to  me  to  bear  the 
traces  of  the  old  notion  that  men  united  in  natural  groups' do  not  deal  with 
one  another  on  principles  of  trade.  The  only  natural  group  in  which  men 
are  now  joined  is  the  family;  and  the  only  bond  of  union  resembling  that  of 
the  family  is  that  which  men  create  for  themselves  by  friendship. 

The  general  proposition  which  is  the  basis  of  Political  Economy,  made 
its  first  approach  to  truth  under  the  only  circumstances  which  admitted  of 
men  meeting  at  arm's  length,  not  as  members  of  the  same  group,  but  as 
strangers.  Gradually  the  assumption  of  the  right  to  get  the  best  price 
has  penetrated  into  the  interior  of  these  groups,  but  it  is  never  completely 
received  so  long  as  the  bond  of  connection  between  man  and  man  is  assumed 
to  be  that  of  family  or  clan  connection.  The  rule  only  triumphs  when  the 
primitive  community  is  in  ruins.  What  are  the  causes  which  have  general- 
ized a  Rule  of  the  Market  until  it  has  been  supposed  to  express  an  original 
and  fundamental  tendency  of  human  nature,  it  is  impossible  to  state  fully, 
so  multifarious  have  they  been.  Everything  which  has  helped  to  convert 
a  society  into  a  collection  of  individuals  from  being  an  assemblage  of  families 
has  helped  to  add  to  the  truth  of  the  assertion  made  of  human  nature  by 
the  Political  Economists.1 

1  Henry  S.  Maine,  Village-Communities  in  the  East  and  West,  pp.  192-97. 
(New  York,  1889.) 


556  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  extension  of  the  relations  of  the  market  place  to  practically 
all  aspects  of  life  having  to  do  with  livelihood  has  been  the  outcome 
of  the  industrial  revolution  and  the  growth  of  Great  Society.  Stand- 
ardization of  commodities,  of  prices,  and  of  wages,  the  impersonal 
nature  of  business  relations,  the  "cash-nexus"  and  the  credit  basis 
of  all  human  relations  have  greatly  extended  the  external  competitive 
forms  of  interaction.  Money,  with  its  abstract  standards  of  value, 
is  not  only  a  medium  of  exchange,  but  at  the  same  time  symbol  par 
excellence  of  the  economic  nature  of  modern  competitive  society. 

The  literature  describing  change  from  the  familial  communism, 
typical  of  primitive  society,  to  the  competitive  economy  of  modern 
capitalistic  society  is  indicated  hi  the  bibliography - 

b)  The  history  of  competition  as  a  concept  in  political  economy 
goes  back  to  the  Physiocrats.  This  French  school  of  economists, 
laying  stress  upon  the  food  supply  as  the  basis  and  the  measure  of 
the  wealth  of  the  nation,  demanded  the  abolition  of  restrictions  upon 
agricultural  production  and  commerce.  The  Physiocrats  based  their 
theories  upon  the  natural  rights  of  individuals  to  liberty. 

The  miserable  state  of  the  nation  seemed  to  demand  a  volte  face.  Taxes 
were  many  and.  indirect.  Let  them  be  single  and  direct.  Liberty  of 
enterprise  was  shackled.  Let  it  be  free.  State-regulation  was  excessive. 
Laissez-faire!  Their  economic  plea  for  liberty  is  buttressed  by  an  appeal 
to  Nature,  greater  than  kings  or  ministers,  and  by  an  assertion  of  the 
natural,  inherent  rights  of  man  to  be  unimpeded  in  his  freedom  except  so 
far  as  he  infringes  upon  that  of  others.1 

While  the  Physiocrats  emphasized  the  beneficent  effects  of  free- 
dom in  industry  to  which  the  individual  has  a  natural  right,  Adam 
Smith,  in  his  book  The  Wealth  of  Nations,  emphasized  the  advantages 
of  competition.  To  him  competition  was  a  protection  against  monop- 
oly. "It  [competition]  can  never  hurt  either  the  consumer  or  the 
producer;  on  the  contrary  it  must  tend  to  make  the  retailers  both 
sell  cheaper  and  buy  dearer  than  if  the  whole  trade  was  monopolized 
by  one  or  two  persons."2  It  was  at  the  same  time  of  benefit  to 
both  producer  and  consumer.  "Monopoly  is  a  great  enemy  to  good 
management  which  can  never  be  universally  established  but  in  con- 

1  Henry  Higgs,  The  Physiocrats,  p.  142.     (London,  1897.) 

*  Adam  Smith,  Wealth  of  Nations  (Cannan's  edition),  I,  342.    London,  1904. 


COMPETITION  557 

sequence  of  that  free  and  universal  competition  which  forces  every- 
body to  have  recourse  to  it  for  the  sake  of  self-defence."1 

Before  Darwin,  competition  had  been  conceived  in  terms  of  free- 
dom and  of  the  natural  harmony  of  interests.  His  use  of  the  term 
introduced  into  competition  the  notion  of  struggle  for  existence  and 
the  survival  of  the  fittest.  This  new  conception,  in  which  competi- 
tion appears  as  a  fundamental  process  in  all  life,  has  been  a  power- 
ful prop  to  the  laissez  faire  policy  and  has  led  to  its  continuance 
regardless  of  the  misery  and  destitution  which,  if  it  did  not  create, 
it  certainly  did  not  remedy.  The  works  of  Herbert  Spencer,  the 
greatest  expounder  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  contain  a  powerful 
massing  of  evidence  in  favor  of  laissez  faire  as  a  conclusion  to  be  drawn 
from  a  scientific  study  of  human  behavior.  "Nothing  but  the  slow 
modifications  of  human  nature  by  the  discipline  of  social  life, "  he  said, 
"can  produce  permanently  advantageous  changes.  A  fundamental 
error  pervading  the  thinking  of  nearly  all  parties,  political  and  social, 
is  that  evils  admit  of  immediate  and  radical  remedies."8 

With  the  growth  of  large-scale  production  with  the  tendency  to 
the  formation  of  combinations  and  monopolies,  as  a  result  of  freedom 
of  competition,  works  began  to  appear  on  the  subject  of  unrestricted 
competition.  The  expressions  "unfair"  and  "cut- throat"  competi- 
tion, which  occur  frequently  in  recent  literature,  suggest  the  new 
point  of  view.  Another  euphemism,  under  which  other  and  more 
far-reaching  proposals  for  the  limitation  of  competition  and  laissez 
faire  have  been  proposed  is  "social  justice."  In  the  meantime  the 
trend  of  legislation  hi  England  for  a  hundred  years,  as  Mr.  A.  V. 
Dicey3  has  pointed  out,  has  been,  in  spite  of  Herbert  Spencer,  away 
from  the  individualistic  and  in  the  direction  of  a  collectivistic  social 
order.  This  means  more  legislation,  more  control,  and  less  individual 
liberty. 

The  full  meaning  of  this  change  hi  law  and  opinion  can  only  be 
fully  understood,  however,  when  it  is  considered  in  connection  with 
the  growth  of  communication,  economic  organization,  and  cities,  all 

1  Ibid.  I,  148. 

*  Thomas  Mackay,  A  Plea  for  Liberty.  An  argument  against  socialism  and 
socialistic  legislation,  consisting  of  an  introduction  by  Herbert  Spencer  and  essays 
by  various  writers,  p.  24.  (New  York,  1891.) 

3  Lectures  on  the  Relation  between  Law  and  Opinion  in  England,  during  the 
Nineteenth  Century.  2d  ed.  (London,  1914). 


558          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  which  have  so  increased  the  rrfutual  interdependence  of  all  members 
of  society  as  to  render  illusory  and  unreal  the  old  freedoms  and  liberties 
which  the  system  of  laissez  faire  was  supposed  to  guarantee. 

3.     Competition  and  Human  Ecology 

The  ecological  conception  of  Society  is  that  of  a  society  created 
by  competitive  co-operation.  Adam  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations  was 
a  description  of  society  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  product  of  economic  competi- 
tion. David  Ricardo,  in  his  Principles  of  Political  Economy,  defined 
the  process  of  competition  more  abstractly  and  states  its  consequences 
with  more  ruthless  precision  and  consistency.  "  His  theory, "  says 
Kolthamer  in  his  introduction,  "seems  to  be  an  everlasting  justifi- 
cation of  the  status  quo.  As  such  at  least  it  was  used." 

But  Ricardo's  doctrines  were  both  "a  prop  and  a  menace  to  the 
middle  classes, "  and  the  errors  which  they  canonized  have  been  the 
presuppositions  of  most  of  the  radical  and  revolutionary  programs 
since  that  time. 

The  socialists,  adopting  his  theories  of  value  and  wages,  interpreted 
Ricardo's  crude  expressions  to  their  own  advantage.  To  alter  the  Ricard- 
ian  conclusions,  they  said,  alter  the  social  conditions  upon  which  they 
depend:  to  improve  upon  subsistence  wage,  deprive  capital  of  what  it 
steals  from  labour — the  value  which  labour  creates.  The  land-taxers 
similarly  used  the  Ricardian  theory  of  rent:  rent  is  a  surplus  for  the  exist- 
ence of  which  no  single  individual  is  responsible — take  it  therefore  for  the 
benefit  of  all,  whose  presence  creates  it.1 

The  anarchistic,  socialistic,  and  communistic  doctrines,  to  which 
reference  is  made  in  the  bibliography,  are  to  be  regarded  as  themselves 
sociological  phenomena,  without  reference  to  their  value  as  programs. 
They  are  based  on  ecological  and  economic  conceptions  of  society  in 
which  competition  is  the  fundamental  fact  and,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  these  doctrines,  the  fundamental  evil  of  society.  What  is 
sociologically  important  in  these  doctrines  is  the  wishes  that  they 
express.  They  exhibit  among  other  things,  at  any  rate,  the  character 
which  the  hopes  and  the  wishes  of  men  take  in  this  vast,  new,  restless 
world,  the  Great  Society,  in  which  men  find  themselves  but  in  which 
they  are  not  yet,  and  perhaps  never  will  be,  at  home. 

1  The  Principles  of  Taxation.  Everyman's  Library.  Preface  by  F.  W. 
Kolthamer,  p.  xii. 


COMPETITION  559 

4.      Competition  and  the  "Inner  Enemies":  the  Defectives, 
the  Dependents,  and  the  Delinquents 

Georg  Simmel,  referring,  in  his  essay  on  "The  Stranger,"  to  the 
poor  and  the  criminal,  bestowed  upon  them  the  suggestive  title  of 
"The  Inner  Enemies."  The  criminal  has  at  all  times  been  regarded 
as  a  rebel  against  society,  but  only  recently  has  the  existence  of  the 
dependent  and  the  defective  been  recognized  as  inimical  to  the  social 
order.1 

Modern  society,  so  far  as  it  is  free,  has  been  organized  on  the 
basis  of  competition.  Since  the  status  of  the  poor,  the  criminal,  and 
the  dependent,  has  been  largely  determined  by  their  ability  or  will- 
ingness to  compete,  the  literature  upon  defectiveness,  dependency, 
and  delinquency  may  be  surveyed  in  its  relation  to  the  process  of 
competition.  For  the  purposes  of  this  survey  the  dependent  may  be 
denned  as  one  who  is  unable  to  compete;  the  defective  as  the  person 
who  is,  if  not  unable,  at  least  handicapped,  in  his  efforts  to  compete. 
The  criminal,  on  the  other  hand,  is  one  who  is  perhaps  unable,  but 
at  any  rate  refuses,  to  compete  according  to  the  rules  which  society 
lays  down. 

Malthus'  Essay  on  the  Principle  of  Population  first  called  attention 
to  the  pathological  effects  of  the  struggle  for  existence  in  modern 
society  and  emphasized  the  necessity  of  control,  not  merely  in  the 
interest  of  the  defeated  and  rejected  members  of  society,  but  in  the 
interest  of  society  itself.  Malthus  sought  a  mitigation,  if  not  a  remedy, 
for  the  evils  of  overpopulation  by  what  he  called  "moral  restraint," 
that  is,  "  a  restraint  from  marriage,  from  prudential  motives,  with  a 
conduct  strictly  moral  during  the  period  of  restraint."  The  alterna- 
tives were  war,  famine,  and  pestilence.  These  latter  have,  in  fact, 
been  up  to  very  recent  times  the  effective  means  through  which  the 
problem  of  overpopulation  has  been  solved. 

The  Neo-Malthusian  movement,  under  the  leadership  of  Francis 
Place,  Richard  Carlile,  and  Robert  Dale  Owen  hi  the  decade  of 
1820-30  and  of  Charles  Bradlaugh  and  Annie  Besant  in  the  decade  of 
1870-80,  advocated  the  artificial  restriction  of  the  family.  The 
differential  decline  in  the  birth-rate,  that  is,  the  greater  decrease  in 
the  number  of  children  in  the  well-to-do  and  educated  classes  as 

1  Soziologie,  p.  686.     (Leipzig,  1908.) 


560          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

compared  with  the  poor  and  uneducated  masses,  was  disclosed  through 
investigations  by  the  Galton  Eugenics  Laboratory  in  England  and 
characterized  as  a  national  menace.  In  the  words  of  David  Heron, 
a  study  of  districts  in  London  showed  that  "  one-fourth  of  the  married 
population  was  producing  one-half  of  the  next  generation."  In 
United  States  less  exhaustive  investigation  showed  the  same  tendency 
at  work  and  the  alarm  which  the  facts  created  found  a  popular  express- 
ion in  the  term  "race-sucide." 

It  is  under  these  circumstances  and  as  a  result  of  investigations 
and  agitations  of  the  eugenists,  that  the  poor,  the  defective,  and  the 
delinquent  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  "inner  enemies"  in  a  sense 
that  would  scarcely  have  been  understood  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Poverty  and  dependency  in  modern  society  have  a  totally  differ- 
ent significance  from  that  which  they  have  had  in  societies  in  the  past. 
The  literature  descriptive  of  primitive  communities  indicated  that  in 
the  economic  communism  of  a  society  based  on  kinship,  famines  were 
frequent  but  poverty  was  unknown.  In  ancient  and  medieval 
societies  the  dependency,  where  it  was  not  professional,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  mendicant  religious  orders,  was  intimate  and  personal. 
In  this  respect  it  differed  widely  from  the  organized,  official,  and 
supervised  philanthropy  of  our  modern  cities. 

With  the  abolition  of  serfdom,  the  break-up  of  the  medieval 
guilds,  and  the  inauguration  of  a  period  of  individual  freedom  and 
relatively  unrestricted  competition  (laissez  faire)  which  ushered  in 
the  modern  industrial  order,  the  struggle  for  existence  ceased  to  be 
communal,  and  became  individual.  The  new  order  based  on  indi- 
vidual freedom,  as  contrasted  with  the  old  order  based  on  control, 
has  been  described  as  a  system  in  which  every  individual  was  per- 
mitted to  "go  to  hell  in  his  own  individual  way."  "The  only 
purpose  for  which  power  can  be  rightfully  exercised  over  any  member 
of  a  civilized  community,  against  his  will, "  said  Mill,  "  is  to  prevent 
harm  to  others.  His  own  good  either  physical  or  moral  is  not  a 
sufficient  warranty."  Only  when  the  individual  became  a  criminal  or 
a  pauper  did  the  state  or  organized  society  attempt  to  control  or 
assist  him  in  the  competitive  struggle  for  existence.1 

Since  competitive  industry  has  its  beginnings  in  England,  the 
study  of  the  English  poor  laws  is  instructive.  Under  the  influence 

1  John  Stuart  Mill,  On  Liberty.     (London,  1859.) 


COMPETITION  561 

of  Malthus  and  of  the  classical  economists  the  early  writers  upon 
poverty  regarded  it  as  an  inevitable  and  natural  consequence  of  the 
operation  of  the  "iron  laws  "  of  political  economy.  For  example,  when 
Harriet  Martineau  was  forced  to  admit,  by  the  evidence  collected  by 
the  Factory  Commissioners  in  1833,  that  "the  case  of  these  wretched 
factory  children  seems  desperate, "  she  goes  on  to  add  "  the  only  hope 
seems  to  be  that  the  race  will  die  out  in  two  or  three  generations." 

Karl  Marx,  accepting  the  Ricardian  economics,  emphasized  the 
misery  and  destitution  resulting  from  the  competitive  process,  and 
demanded  the  abolition  of  competition  and  the  substitution  therefor 
of  the  absolute  control  of  a  socialistic  state. 

Recent  studies  treat  poverty  and  dependency  as  a  disease  and 
look  to  its  prevention  and  cure.  Trade  unions,  trade  associations, 
and  social  insurance  are  movements  designed  to  safeguard  industry 
and  the  worker  against  the  now  generally  recognized  consequences 
of  unlimited  competition.  The  conceptions  of  industrial  democracy 
and  citizenship  in  industry  have  led  to  interesting  and  promising 
experiments. 

In  this  connection,  the  efforts  of  employers  to  protect  themselves 
as  well  as  the  community  from  accidents  and  occupational  diseases 
may  be  properly  considered.  During  and  since  trie  Great  War 
efforts  have  been  made  on  a  grand  scale  to  rehabilitate,  re-educate, 
and  restore  to  usefulness  the  war's  wounded  soldiers.  This  interest 
in  the  former  soldiers  and  the  success  of  the  efforts  already  made  have 
led  to  an  increased  interest  in  all  classes  of  the  industrially  handi- 
capped. A  number  of  surveys  have  been  made,  in  different  parts  of 
the  country,  of  the  crippled,  and  efforts  are  in  progress  to  discover 
occupations  and  professions  in  which  the  deaf,  the  blind,  and  other- 
wise industrially  handicapped  can  be  employed  and  thus  restored  to 
usefulness  and  relative  independence. 

The  wide  extension  of  the  police  power  in  recent  times  in  the 
interest  of  public  health,  sanitation,  and  general  public  welfare  repre- 
sents the  effort  of  the  government,  in  an  individualistic  society  in 
which  the  older  sanctions  and  securities  no  longer  exist,  to  protect 
the  individual  as  well  as  the  community  from  the  effects  of  unrestricted 
competition. 

The  literature  of  criminology  has  sought  an  answer  to  the  enigma 
of  the  criminal.  The  writings  of  the  European  criminologists  run  the 


562  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

gamut  of  explanation  from  Lombroso,  who  explained  crime  as  an 
inborn  tendency  of  the  criminal,  to  Tarde,  who  defines  the  criminal 
as  a  purely  social  product. 

W.  A.  Bonger,1  a  socialist,  has  sought  to  show  that  criminality 
is  a  direct  product  of  the  modern  economic  system.  Without  accept- 
ing either  the  evidence  or  the  conclusions  of  Bonger,  it  cannot  be 
gainsaid  that  the  modern  offender  must  be  studied  from  the  stand- 
point of  his  failure  to  participate  in  a  wholesome  and  normal  way  in 
our  competitive,  secondary  society  which  rests  upon  the  institution 
of  private  property  and  individual  competition. 

The  failure  of  the  delinquent  to  conform  to  the  social  code  may 
be  studied  from  two  standpoints:  (a)  that  of  the  individual  as  an 
organization  of  original  mental  and  temperamental  traits,  and  (b) 
that  of  a  person  with  a  status  and  a  role  in  the  social  group.  The 
book  The  Individual  Delinquent,  by  William  Healy,  placed  the  study 
of  the  offender  as  an  individual  upon  a  sound  scientific  basis.  That 
the  person  can  and  should  be  regarded  as  part  and  parcel  of  his 
social  milieu  has  been  strikingly  illustrated  by  T.  M.  Osborne  in 
two  books,  Within  Prison  Walls  and  Society  and  Prisons.  The  fact 
seems  to  be  that  the  problem  of  crime  is  essentially  like  that  of  the 
other  major  problems  of  our  social  order,  and  its  solution  involves 
three  elements,  namely:  (a)  the  analysis  of  the  aptitudes  of  the 
individual  and  the  wishes  of  the  person;  (b)  the  analysis  of  the  activi- 
ties of  our  society  with  its  specialization  and  division  of  labor;  and 
(c)  the  accommodation  or  adjustment  of  the  individual  to  the  social 
and  economic  environment. 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.      BIOLOGICAL  COMPETITION 

(1)  Crile,  George  W.    Man  an  Adaptive  Mechanism.    New  York,  1901. 

(2)  Darwin,  Charles.     The  Origin  of  Species.     London,  1859. 

(3)  Wallace,  Alfred  Russel.    Studies  Scientific  and  Social.     2  vols.    New 
York,  1900. 

(4)  -      — .    Darwinism.    An  exposition  of  the  theory  of  natural  selection 
with  some  of  its  applications.     Chap,  iv,  "The  Struggle  for  Existence," 
pp.  14-40;  chap,  v,  "Natural  Selection  by  Variation  and  Survival  of 
the  Fittest,"  pp.  102-25.    3d  ed.    London,  1901. 

1  Criminality  and  Economic  Conditions.     (Boston,  1916.) 


COMPETITION  563 

(5)  Weismann,  August.    On  Germinal  Selection  as  a  Source  of  Definite 
Variation.    Translated  from  the  German.     Chicago,  1896. 

(6)  Malthus,  T.  R.    An  Essay  on  the  Principle  of  Population.    Or  a  view 
of  its  past  and  present  effects  on  human  happiness,  with  an  inquiry 
into  our  prospects  respecting  the  future  removal  or  mitigation  of  the 
evils  which  it  occasions,     ad  ed.    London,  1803.     [ist  ed.,  1798.] 

(•/)  Knapp,  G.  F.     "Darwin  und  Socialwissenschaften,"  Jahrbiicher  fiir 

Nationalokonomie  und  Statistik.     Erste  Folge,  XVIII  (1872),  233-47. 

(8)  Thomson,  J.  Arthur.    Darwinism  and  Human  Life.    New  York,  1918. 

II.      ECONOMIC   COMPETITION 

(1)  Wagner,  Adolf.    Grundlegung  der  politischen  Okonomie.    Pp.  794-828. 
[The  modern  private  industrial  system  of  free  competition.]     Pp.  71- 
137.     [The  industrial  nature  of  men.]     Leipzig,  1892-94. 

(2)  Effertz,  Otto.    Arbeit  und  Boden.     System  der  politischen  Okonomie. 
Vol.  II,  chaps,  xix,  xx,  xxi,  xxiii,  xxiv,  pp.  237-320.     Berlin,  1897. 

(3)  Marshall,    Alfred.    Principles    of   Economics.    Appendix   A,    "The 
Growth  of  Free  Industry  and  Enterprise,"  pp.  723-54.    London,  1910. 

(4)  Seligman,  E.  R.  A.    Principles  of  Economics.     Chap,  x,  pp.  139-53. 
New  York,  1905. 

(5)  Schatz,  Albert.     Ulndividualisme  iconomique  et  social,  ses  origines, 
son  evolution,  ses  formes  contemporaines.     Paris,  1907. 

(6)  Cunningham,  William.    An  Essay  on  Western  Civilization  in  Its  Eco- 
nomic Aspects.     Medieval  and  modern  times.     Cambridge,  1913. 

III.      FREEDOM  AND   LAISSEZ   FAIRE 

(1)  Simmel,  Georg.    PhUosophie  des  Geldes.     Chap,  iv,  "Die  individuelle 
Freiheit,"  pp.  279-364.    Leipzig,  1900. 

(2)  Bagehot,  Walter.     Postulates  of  English  Political  Economics.     With 
a  preface  by  Alfred  Marshall.    New  York  and  London,  1885. 

(3)  Oncken,  August.    Die  Maxime  Laissez  Faire  et  Laissez  Passer,  ihr 
Ursprung,  ihr  Werden.    Bern,  1886. 

(4)  Bastiat,  Frederic.     Harmonies  economiques.     gth  ed.     Paris,  1884. 

(5)  Cunningham,  William.     The  Growth  of  English  Industry  and  Commerce 
in  Modern  Times.    Vol.  Ill,  "Laissez  Faire."    3  vols.    3d  ed.     Cam- 
bridge, 1903. 

(6)  Ingram,  John  K.    A  History  of  Political  Economy.     Chap,  v,  "Third 
Modern  Phase;    System  of  Natural  Liberty."     ad  ed.    New  York, 
1908. 

(7)  Hall,  W.  P.     "  Certain  Early  Reactions  against  Laissez  Faire,"  Annual 
Report  of  the  American  Historical  Association  for  the  Year  1913.    I, 
127-38.     Washington,  1915. 

(8)  Adams,  Henry  C.     "Relation  of  the  State  to  Industrial  Action," 
Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Association,  I  (1887),  471-549. 


564  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

IV.      THE  MARKETS 

(1)  Walker,  Francis  A.    Political  Economy.     Chap,  ii,  pp.  97-102.     3ded. 
New  York,  1887.    [Market  defined.] 

(2)  Grierson,  P.  J.  H.     The  Silent  Trade.    A  contribution  to  the  early 
history  of  human  intercourse.    Edinburgh,  1003.     [Bibliography.] 

(3)  Maine,  Henry  S.     Village  Communities  in  the  East  and  West.    Lecture 
VI,  "The  Early  History  of  Price  and  Rent,"  pp.  175-203.    New 
York,  1885. 

(4)  Walford,   Cornelius.    Fairs,  Past  and  Present.    A   chapter  in  the 
history  of  commerce.    London,  1883. 

(5)  Bourne,  H.  R.  F.    English  Merchants.    Memoirs  in  illustration  of  the 
progress  of  British  commerce.    New  ed.    London,  1898. 

(6)  Webb,  Sidney  and  Beatrice.    Industrial  Democracy.     Part  III,  chap, 
ii,  "The  Higgling  of  the  Market,"  pp.  654-702.     New  ed.    London, 
1002. 

(7)  Bagehot,   Walter.    Lombard   Street.    A   description   of   the   money 
market.    New  York,  1876. 

V.      COMPETITION  AND  INDUSTRIAL  ORGANIZATION 

(1)  Crowell,  John  F.     Trusts  and  Competition.     Chicago,  1915.     [Bibli- 
ography.] 

(2)  Macrosty,  Henry  W.     Trusts  and  the  Stale.    A  sketch  of  competition. 
London,  1901. 

(3)  Carter,   George  R.     The   Tendency  toward  Industrial  Combination. 
A  study  of  the  modern  movement  toward  industrial  combination  in 
some  spheres  of  British  industry;  its  forms  and  developments,  their 
causes,  and  their  determinant  circumstances.    London,  1913. 

(4)  Levy,  Hermann.    Monopoly  and  Competition.    A  study  in  English 
industrial  organization.     London,  1911. 

(5)  Haney,  Lewis  H.    Business  Organization  and  Combination.   An  analy- 
sis of  the  evolution  and  nature  of  business  organization  in  the  United 
States  and  a  tentative  solution  of  the  corporation  and  trust  problems. 
New  York,  1914. 

(6)  Van  Hise,  Charles  R.    Concentration  and  Control.    A  solution  of  the 
trust  problem  in  the  United  States.    New  York,  1912. 

(7)  Kohler,  Josef.    Der  unlaulere   Weltbewerb.    Darstellung  des  Wett- 
bewerbsrechts.    Berlin  und  Leipzig,  1914. 

(8)  Nims,  Harry  D.     The  Law  of  Unfair  Business  Competition.    Includ- 
ing chapters  on  trade  secrets  and  confidential  business  relations; 
unfair  interference  with  contracts;    libel  and  slander  of  articles  of 
merchandise,  trade  names  and  business  credit  and  reputation.    New 
York,  1909. 


COMPETITION  565 

(9)  Stevens,  W.  H.  S.  Unfair  Competition.  A  study  of  certain  practices 
with  some  reference  to  the  trust  problem  in  the  United  States  of 
America.  Chicago,  1917. 

(10)  Eddy,  Arthur  J.  The  New  Competition.  An  examination  of  the  con- 
ditions underlying  the  radical  change  that  is  taking  place  in  the 
commercial  and  industrial  world;  the  change  from  a  competitive  to  a 
co-operative  basis.  New  York,  1912. 

(n)  Willoughby,  W.  W.  Social  Justice.  A  critical  essay.  Chap,  ix, 
"The  Ethics  of  the  Competitive  Process,"  pp.  269-315.  New  York, 
1900. 

(12)  Rogers,  Edward  S.  Good  Will,  Trade-Marks  and  Unfair  Trading. 
Chicago,  1914. 

VI.      SOCIALISM  AND  ANARCHISM 

(1)  Stirner,  Max.     (Kaspar  Schmidt).     The  Ego  and  His  Own.    Trans- 
lated from  the  German  by  S.  T.  Byington.    New  York,  1918. 

(2)  Godwin,  William.    An  Enquiry  Concerning  Political  Justice  and  Its 
Influence  on  General  Virtue  and  Happiness.      Book  V,  chap.  xxiv. 
London,  1793. 

(3)  Proudhon,  Pierre  Joseph.    What  Is  Property?    An  inquiry  into  the 
principle  of  right  and  of  government.    Translated  from  the  French  by 
B.  R.  Tucker.    New  York,  189-? 

(4)  Zenker,  E.  V.    Anarchism.    A  criticism  and  history  of  the  anarchist 
theory.    Translated  from  the  German.    New  York,   1897.     [With 
bibliographical  references.] 

(5)  Bailie,  William.    Josiah  Warren,  the  First  American  Anarchist.    A 
sociological  study.    Boston,  1906. 

(6)  Russell,  B.  A.  W.    Proposed  Roads  to  Freedom.     Socialism,  anarchism, 
and  syndicalism.    New  York,  1919. 

(7)  Mackay,  Thomas,  editor.    A  Plea  for  Liberty.    An  argument  against 
socialism  and  socialistic  legislation.    New  York,  1891. 

(8)  Spencer,  Herbert.    "The  Man  versus  the  State,"  Appendix  to  Social 
Statics.    New  York,  1897. 

(9)  Marx,  Karl,  and  Engels,  Frederick.    Manifesto  of  the  Communist 
Party.    Authorized  English   translation   edited   and   annotated   by 
Frederick  Engels.    London,  1888. 

(10)  Stein,  L.  Der  Socialismus  und  Communismus  des  heutigen  Frank- 
reichs.  Ein  Beitrag  zur  Zeitgeschichte.  Leipzig,  1848. 

(n)  Guyot,  Edouard.  Le  Socialisme  et  revolution  de  V Anglelerre  contem- 
poraine  (1880-1911).  Paris,  1913. 

(12)  Flint,  Robert.    Socialism.     2d  ed.    London,  1908. 


566  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(13)  Beer,  M.    A  History  of  British  Socialism.    Vol.  I,  "From  the  Days 
of  the  Schoolmen  to  the  Birth  of  Chartism."    Vol.  II,  "From 
Chartism  to  1920."    London,  1910-21. 

(14)  Levine,  Louis.    Syndicalism  in  France.     2d  ed.    New  York,  1914. 

(15)  Brissenden,  Paul  F.     Thel.W.W.    A  study  of  American  syndical- 
ism.   New  York,  1919.     [Bibliography.] 

(16)  Brooks,  John  Graham.    American  Syndicalism.    New  York,  1913. 

(17)  -     — .    Labor's  Challenge  to  the  Social  Order.    Democracy  its  own 
critic  and  educator.    New  York,  1920. 

VH.      COMPETITION  AND   "THE  INNER  ENEMIES" 

A.  The  Struggle  for  Existence  and  Its  Social  Consequences 

(1)  Henderson,  Charles  R.    Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the  Dependent, 
Defective,  and  Delinquent  Classes,  and  of  Their  Social  Treatment. 
2d  ed.    Boston,  1908. 

(2)  Grotjahn,  Alfred.    Soziale  Pathologic.    Versuch  einer  Lehre  von 
den  sozialen  Beziehungen  der  menschlichen  Krankheiten  als  Grund- 
lage  der  sozialen  Medizin  und  der  sozialen  Hygiene.    Berlin,  1912. 

(3)  Lilienfeld,  Paul  de.    La  Pathologic  sociale.     Avec  une  preface  de 
Rene  Worms.     Paris,  1896. 

(4)  Thompson,  Warren  S.     Population.     A  study  in  Malthusianism. 
New  York,  1915. 

(5)  Field,  James  A.     "The  Early  Propagandist  Movement  in  English 
Population  Theory,"   American   Economic  Association   Bulletin, 
4th  Ser.,  I  (1911),  207-36. 

(6)  Heron,  David.     On  the  Relation  of  Fertility  in  Man  to  Social  Status. 
And  on  the  changes  in  this  relation  that  have  taken  place  during 
the  last  fifty  years.    London,  1906. 

(7)  Elderton,  Ethel  M.     "  Report  on  the  English  Birthrate."    Univer- 
sity of  London,  Francis  Gallon  Laboratory  for  National  Eugenics. 
Eugenics  Laboratory  Memoirs,  XIX-XX.    London,  1914. 

(8)  D'Ambrosio,   Manlio   A.     Passivita   Economica.    Primi   principi 
di  una  teoria  sociologica  della  popolazione  economicamente  passiva. 
Napoli,  1909. 

(9)  Ellwood,  Charles  A.    Sociology  and  Modern  Social  Problems.    Rev. 
ed.     New  York,  1913. 

B.  Poverty,  Labor,  and  the  Proletariat 

(i)  Woods,  Robert  A.,  Elsing,  W.  T.,  and  others.  The  Poor  in  Great 
Cities.  Their  problems  and  what  is  being  done  to  solve  them. 
New  York,  1895. 


COMPETITION  567 

(2)  Rowntree,  B.  Seebohm.    Poverty,  a  Study  of  Town  Life.    London. 
1901. 

(3)  Devine,  Edward  T.    Misery  and  Its  Causes.    New  York,  1909. 

(4)  Marx,  Karl.     Capital.    A  critical  analysis  of  capitalist  produc- 
tion.    Chap,  xv,  "Machinery  and  Modern  Industry."    Translated 
from  the  third  German  edition  by  Samuel  Moore  and  Edward 
Aveling,  and  edited  by  Frederick  Engels.    London,  1908. 

^5)  Hobson,  John  A.  Problems  of  Poverty.  An  inquiry  into  the 
industrial  condition  of  the  poor.  London,  1891. 

(6)  Kydd,  Samuel  [Alfred,  pseud.]     The  History  of  the  Factory  Move- 
ment.   From  the  year  1802  to  the  enactment  of  the  ten  hours' 
bill  in  1847.     2  vols.    London,  1857. 

(7)  Rowntree,  B.  S.,  and  Lasker,  Bruno.     Unemployment,  a  Social 
Study.     London,  1911.     . 

(8)  Beveridge.  William  Henry.     Unemployment.    A  problem  of  indus- 
try.   3d  ed.    London,  1912. 

(9)  Parmelee,  Maurice.    Poverty  and  Social  Progress.    New  York, 
1916. 

(10)  Gillin,  John  L.  Poverty  and  Dependency.  Their  relief  and  pre- 
vention. New  York,  1921. 

(n)  Sombart,  Werner.  Das  Proeltariat;  Bilder  und  Studien.  Frank- 
furt am  Main,  1906. 

(12)  Riis,  Jacob  A.    How  the  Other  Half  Lives.    Studies  among  the 
tenements  of  New  York.    New  York,  1890. 

(13)  Nevinson,  Margaret  W.     Workhouse  Characters  and  Other  Sketches 
of  the  Life  of  the  Poor.    London,  1918. 

(14)  Sims,   George  R.     How  the  Poor  Live;  and  Horrible  London. 
London, 1898. 

C.   The  Industrially  Handicapped 

(i)  Best,  Harry.  The  Deaf.  Their  position  in  society  and  the  pro- 
vision for  their  education  in  the  United  States.  New  York,  1914. 

(2) .  The  Blind.  Their  condition  and  the  work  being  done 

for  them  in  the  United  States.  New  York,  1919. 

(3)  United  States  Bureau  of  the  Census.     The  Blind  and  the  Deaf, 
i  poo.    Washington,  1906. 

(4)  .    Deaf-Mutes  in  the  United  States.    Analysis  of  the  census 

of  1910  with  summary  of  state  laws  relating  to  the  deaf  as  of 
January  i,  1918.     Washington,  1918. 

(5)  .     The  Blind  in  the  United  States  ipio.    Washington,  1917. 

(6)  Niceforo,  Alfredo.    Les  Classes  pauvres.    Recherches  anthropolo- 
giques  et  sociales.    Paris,  1905. 


568          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(7)  Goddard,  Henry  H.    Feeble-mindedness,  Its  Causes  and  Conse- 
quences.    Chap,  i,  "Social  Problems,"  pp.  1-20.    New  York,  1914. 

(8)  Popenoe,  Paul  B.,  and  Johnson,  Roswell  H.    Applied  Eugenics. 
Chap,  ix,  "The  Dysgenic  Classes,"  pp.  176-83.    New  York,  1918. 

(9)  Pintner,    Rudolf,    and   Toops,    Herbert   A.    "Mental   Test   of 
Unemployed   Men,"  Journal  of  Applied  Psychology,   I   (1917), 
325-41;  II  (1918),  15-25- 

(10)  Oliver,  Thomas.  Dangerous  Trades.  The  historical,  social,  and 
legal  aspects  of  industrial  occupations  affecting  health,  by  a  number 
of  experts.  New  York,  1902. 

(n)  Jarrett,  Mary  C.  "The  Psychopathic  Employee:  a  Problem  of 
Industry,"  Bulletin  of  the  Massachusetts  Commission  on  Mental 
Diseases,  I  (1917-18),  Nos.  3-4,  223-38.  Boston,  1918. 

(12)  Thompson,    W.     Oilman.     The    Occupational    Diseases.    Their 
causation,  treatment,  and  prevention.    New  York,  1914. 

(13)  Kober,  George  M.,  and  Hanson,  William  C.,  editors.    Diseases  of 
Occupation  and  Vocational  Hygiene.    Philadelphia,  1916. 

(14)  Great  Britain  Ministry  of  Munitions.     Health  of  Munition  Workers 
Committee.    Hours,    fatigue,    and    health    in    British    munition 
factories.    .Reprints  of  the  memoranda  of  the  British  Health  of 
Munition  Workers  Committee,  April,  1917.    Washington,  1917. 

(15)  Great  Britain  Home  Department.    Report  of  the  Committee  on  Com- 
pensation for  Industrial  Diseases.    London,  1907. 

(16)  McMurtrie,  Douglas  C.     The  Disabled  Soldier.    With  an  intro- 
duction by  Jeremiah  Milbank.    New  York,  1919. 

(17)  Rubinow,  I.  M.     "A  Statistical  Consideration  of  the  Number  of 
Men  Crippled  in  War  and  Disabled  in  Industry,"  Publication  of 
Red  Cross  Institute  for  Crippled  and  Disabled  Men.    Series  I,  No.  4, 
Feb.  14,  1918. 

(18)  Love,  Albert  G.,  and  Davenport,  C.  B.    Defects  Found  in  Drafted 
Men.    Statistical  information  compiled  from  the  draft  records 
showing  the  physical  condition  of  the  men  registered  and  examined 
in  pursuance  of  the  requirements  of  the  selective-service  act. 
War  Department,  U.S.  Surgeon  General's  Office,  Washington,  1920. 

D.  Alcoholism  and  Drug  Addiction 

(1)  Partridge,  George  E.    Studies  in  the  Psychology  of  Intemperance. 
New  York,  1912. 

(2)  Kelynack,  T.  N.     The  Drink  Problem  of  Today  in  Its  Medico- 
sociological  Aspects.    New  York,  1916. 

(3)  Kerr,  Norman  S.    Inebriety  or  Narcomania.    Its  etiology,  path- 
ology, treatment,  and  jurisprudence.    3d  ed.    London,  1894. 


COMPETITION  569 

(4)  Elderton,  Ethel  M.    "A  First  Study  of  the  Influence  of  Parental 
Alcoholism  on  the  Physique  and  Ability  of  the  Offspring."    Eugen- 
ics Laboratory  Memoirs,  University  of  London,  Francis  Galton 
Laboratory  for  National  Eugenics.    London,  1910. 

(5)  Koren,  John.    Economic  Aspects  of  the  Liquor  Problem.    An  inves- 
tigation made  for  the  Committee  of  Fifty  under  the  direction  of 
Henry  W.  Farnam.    Boston,  1899. 

(6)  Towns,  Charles  B.    Habits  that  Handicap.    The  menace  of  opium, 
alcohol,  and  tobacco,  and  the  remedy.    New  York,  1916. 

(7)  Wilbert,  Martin  I.    "The  Number  and  Kind  of  Drug  Addicts," 
U.S.  PuWic  Health  Reprint,  No.  294.    Washington,  1915. 

(8)  Rowntree,  B.  Seebohm.    Land  and  Labour:  Lessons  from  Belgium. 
Chap,  xxvi,  "The  Drink  Problem."    London,  1910. 

(9)  Mclver,  J.,  and  Price,  G.  F.     "Drug  Addiction,"  Journal  of  the 
American  Medical  Association,  LXVI  (1915),  476-80.     [A  study 
of  147  cases.] 

(10)  Stanley,  L.  L.  "Drug  Addictions,"  Journal  of  the  American 
Institute  of  Criminal  Law  and  Criminology,  X  (1919),  62-70. 
[Four  case  studies.] 

E.  Crime  and  Competition 

(1)  Parmelee,  Maurice.    Criminology.    Chap,  vi,  pp.  67-91.    New 
York,  1918. 

(2)  Bonger,    William    A.    Criminality    and    Economic    Conditions. 
Translated  from  the  French  by  H.  P.  Horton,  with  editorial 
preface  by  Edward  Lindsey  and  with  an  introduction  by  Frank 
H.  Norcross.    Boston,  1916. 

(3)  Tarde,  G.     "La  Criminalite  et  les  phenome'nes  6conomiques," 
Archives  d'anthropologie  criminelle,  XVI  (1901),  565-75. 

(4)  Kan,  J.  Van    Les  Causes  economiques  de  la  criminalite.    Etude 
historique  et  critique  d'etiologie  criminelle.    Lyon,  1903. 

(5)  Fornasari  di  Verce,  E.    La  Criminalita  e  le  vicende  economiche 
d' Italia,  dal  1873  al  i8go,  con  prefazione  di  Ces.  Lombroso.    Torino, 
1894. 

(6)  Devon,  J.     The  Criminal  and  the  Community.    London  and  New 
York,  1912. 

(7)  Breckinridge,  Sophonisba,  and  Abbott,  Edith.     The  Delinquent 
Child  and  the  Home.     Chap,  iv,  "The  Poor  Child:   The  Problem 
of  Poverty,"  pp.  70-89.    New  York,  1912. 

(8)  Donovan,  Frances.     The  Woman  Who  Waits.    Boston,  1920. 

(9)  Fernald,  Mabel  R.,  Hayes,  Mary  H.  S.,  and  Dawley,  Almena. 
A  Study  of  Women  Delinquents  in  New  York  State.    With  statistical 


570  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

chapter  by  Beardsley  Rural;  preface  by  Katharine  Bement 
Davis.  Chap,  xi,  "Occupational  History  and  Economic  Effi- 
ciency," pp.  304-79.  New  York,  1920. 

(10)  Miner,  Maude.  The  Slavery  of  Prostitution.  A  plea  for  emanci- 
pation. Chap,  iii,  "Social  Factors  Leading  to  Prostitution," 
pp.  53-88.  New  York,  1916. 

(n)  Ryckere,  Raymond  de.  La  Seroante  criminelle.  Etude  de  crimi- 
nologie  professionelle.  Paris,  1908. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  The  Struggle  for  Existence  and  the  Survival  of  the  Fittest 

2.  Economic  Competition  and  the  Economic  Equilibrium 

3.  "Unfair"  Competition  and  Social  Control 

4.  Competition  versus  Sentiment 

5.  The  History  of  the  Market,  the  Exchange,  the  Board  of  Trade 

6.  The  Natural  History  of  the  Laissez-Faire  Theory  in  Economics  and 
Politics 

7.  Competition,  Money,  and  Freedom 

8.  Competition  and  Segregation  in  Industry  and  in  Society 

9.  The  Neo-Malthusian  Movement  and  Race  Suicide 

10.  The  Economic  Order  of  Competition  and  "the  Inner  Enemies" 

11.  The  History  of  the  English  Poor  Law 

12.  Unemployment  and  Poverty  in  a  Competitive,  Secondary  Society 

13.  Modern  Economy  and  the  Psychology  of  Intemperance 

14.  Modern   Industry,    the   Physically   Handicapped   and   Programs   of 
Rehabilitation 

15.  Crime  in  Relation  to  Economic  Conditions 

1 6.  Methods  of  Spcial  Amelioration:    Philanthropy,   Welfare   Work  in 
Industry,  Social  Insurance,  etc. 

17.  Experiments  in  the  Limitation  of  Competition:  Collective  Bargaining, 
Trade  Associations,  Trade  Boards,  etc. 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  In  what  fields  did  the  popular  conceptions  of  competition  originate? 

2.  In  what  way  does  competition  as  a  form  of  interaction  differ  from 
conflict,  accommodation,  and  assimilation  ? 

3.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  difference  between  struggle,  con- 
flict, competition,  and  rivalry? 

4.  What  are  the  different  forms  of  the  struggle  for  existence  ? 

5.  In  what  different  meanings  do  you  understand  Darwin  to  use  the  term 
"the  struggle  for  existence"?    How  many  of  these  are  applicable  to 
human  society  ? 


COMPETITION  571 

6.  What  do  you  understand  Darwin  to  m«w.n  when  he  says:  "The  struct- 
ure of  every  organic  being  is  related,  in  the  most  essential  yet  often 
hidden  manner,  to  that  of  all  the  other  organic  beings  with  which  it 
comes  into  competition  for  food  or  residence,  or  from  which  it  has  to 
escape,  or  on  which  it  preys"?    Does  his  principle,  in  your  opinion, 
also  apply  to  the  structure  of  social  groups  ? 

7.  What  examples  of  competition  occur  to  you  in  human  or  social  rela- 
tions?   In  what  respects  are  they  (a)  alike,  (b)  different,  from  com- 
petition in  plant  communities  ? 

8.  To  what  extent  is  biological  competition  present  in  modern  human 
society  ? 

9.  Does  competition  always  lead  to  increased  specialization  and  higher 
organization  ? 

10.  What  evidences  are  there  in  society  of  the  effect  of  competition  upon 
specialization  and  organization  ? 

11.  What  do  you  understand  Crile  to  mean  by  the  sentence:    ''In  every 
case  the  fate  of  each  creature  seems  to  have  been  staked  upon  one 
mechanism"  ?    What  is  this  mechanism  with  man ? 

12.  Do  you  think  that  Crile  has  given  an  adequate  explanation  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  mind  ? 

13.  Is  there  a  difference  in  the  character  of  the  struggle  for  existence  of 
animals  and  of  man  ? 

14.  What  is  the  difference  in  competition  within  a  community  based  on 
likenesses  and  one  based  on  diversities  ? 

15.  Compare   the   ecological   concept    "reaction"    with    the   sociological 
conception  "control." 

1 6.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  expression  "the  reaction  of  a  commu- 
nity is  usually  more  than  the  sum  of  the  reaction  of  the  component 
species  and  individuals"  ?    Explain. 

17.  How  far  can  the  terms  migration,  ecesis,  and  competition,  as  used  by 
Clements  in  his  analysis  of  the  invasion  of  one  plant  community  b> 
another,  be  used  in  the  analysis  of  the  process  by  which  immigrants 
"invade"  this  country,  i.e.,  migrate,  settle,  and  are  assimilated,  "Ameri- 
canized"? 

18.  What  are  the  social  forces  involved  in  (a)  internal,  (b)  foreign,  migra- 
tions ? 

19.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  segregation  ?    To  what  extent 
are  the  social  forces  making  for  segregation  (a)  economic,  (6)  senti- 
mental ?    Illustrate. 

20.  In  what  ways  has  immigration  to  the  United  States  resulted  in  segre- 
gation ? 


572  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

21.  Does  the  segregation  of  the  immigrant  in  our  American  cities  make  for 
or  against  (c)  competition,  (6)  conflict,  (c)  social  control,  (</)  accom- 
modation, and  (e)  assimilation? 

22.  What  are  the  factors  producing  internal  migration  in  the  United  States  ? 

23.  In  what  sense  is  the  drift  to  the  cities  a  result  of  competition  ? 

24.  What  is  Ripley's  conclusion  in  regard  to  urban  selection  and  the  ethnic 
composition  of  cities  ? 

25.  What  are  the  outstanding  results  of  demographic  segregation  and  social 
selection  in  the  United  States  ? 

26.  What,  in  your  judgment,  are  the  chief  characteristics  of  inter-racial 
competition  ? 

27.  To  what  extent  do  you  agree  with  Walker's  analysis  of  the  social  forces 
involved  in  race  suicide  in  the  United  States  ? 

28.  In  what  specific  ways  is  competition  now  a  factor  in  race  suicide  ? 

29.  What  will  be  the  future  effects  of  inter-racial  competition  upon  the 
ethnic  stock  of  the  American  people  ? 

30.  "There  is  a  sense  in  which  much  of  the  orthodox  system  of  political 
economy  is  eternally  true."    Explain. 

31.  To  what  extent  and  in  what  sense  is  economic  competition  unconscious  ? 

32.  What  differences  other  than  innate  mental  ability  enter  into  competition 
between  different  social  groups  and  different  persons  ? 

33.  Who  are  your  competitors  ? 

34.  Of  the  existence  (as  identified  persons)  of  what  proportion  of  these 
competitors  are  you  unconscious  ? 

35.  What  is  meant  by  competitive  co-operation  ?    Illustrate.     (See  pp. 
508,  558.) 

36.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  "economic  equilibrium"  ? 

37.  Is  "economic  equilibrium"  identical  with  "social  solidarity"?    What 
is  the  relation,  if  any,  between  the  two  concepts? 

38.  To  what  extent  does  competition  make  for  a  natural  harmony  of  indi- 
vidual interests  ? 

39.  What  did  Adam  Smith  mean  by  "an  invisible  hand"  ? 

40.  "Civilization  is  the  resultant  not  of  conscious  co-operation  but  of  the 
unconscious  competition  of  individuals. "    Do  you  agree  or  disagree 
with  this  statement  ? 

41.  "By  pursuing  his  own  interest  he  frequently  promotes  that  of  the 
society  more  effectually  than  when  he  really  intends  to  promote  it." 
What  is  the  argument  for  and  against  this  position  ? 

42.  Why  has  the  laissez-faire  theory  in  economics  been  largely  abandoned? 

43.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  "freedom"?    How  far  may 
freedom  be  identified  with  freedom  of  competition  ? 


COMPETITION  573 

44.  Do  you  accept  the  conception  of  Bastiat  that  "competition  is  liberty''  ? 

45.  How  does  money  make  for  freedom?    Does  it  make  for  or  against 
co-operation  ?    Are  co-operation  and  competition  mutually  antagonistic 
terms? 

46.  Under  what  circumstances  do  you  have  competition  between  individuals 
and  competition  between  groups  ? 

47.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  statement  that  anarchism,  socialism, 
and  communism  are  based  upon  the  ecological  conceptions  of  society  ? 

48.  What  is  the  difference  between  an  opinion  or  a  doctrine  taken  (a)  as  a 
datum,  and  (b)  as  a  value  ? 

49.  From  what  point  of  view  may  the  dependent,  the  delinquent,  and  the 
defective  be  regarded  as  "inner  enemies"  ?    Is  this  notion  individual- 
istic, socialistic,  or  how  would  you  characterize  it  ? 


CHAPTER  IX 

CONFLICT 

I.    INTRODUCTION 

i.    The  Concept  of  Conflict 

The  distinction  between  competition  and  conflict  has  already  been 
indicated.  Both  are  forms  of  interaction,  but  competition  is  a 
struggle  between  individuals,  or  groups  of  individuals,  who  are  not 
necessarily  in  contact  and  communication;  while  conflict  is  a  contest 
in  which  contact  is  an  indispensable  condition.  Competition,  unquali- 
fied and  uncontrolled  as  with  plants,  and  in  the  great  impersonal 
life-struggle  of  man  with  his  kind  and  with  all  animate  nature,  is 
unconscious.  Conflict  is  always  conscious,  indeed,  it  evokes  the 
deepest  emotions  and  strongest  passions  and  enlists  the  greatest  con- 
centration of  attention  and  of  effort.  Both  competition  and  conflict 
are  forms  of  struggle.  Competition,  however,  is  continuous  and 
impersonal,  conflict  is  intermittent  and  personal. 

Competition  is  a  struggle  for  position  in  an  economic  order.  The 
distribution  of  populations  in  the  world-economy,  the  industrial 
organization  in  the  national  economy,  and  the  vocation  of  the  indi- 
vidual in  the  division  of  labor — all  these  are  determined,  in  the  long 
run,  by  competition.  The  status  of  the  individual,  or  a  group  of 
individuals,  in  the  social  order,  on  the  other  hand,  is  determined  by 
rivalry,  by  war,  or  by  subtler  forms  of  conflict. 

"Two  is  company,  three  is  a  crowd"  suggests  how  easily  the  social 
equilibrium  is  disturbed  by  the  entrance  of  a  new  factor  in  a  social 
situation.  The  delicate  nuances  and  grades  of  attention  given  to 
different  individuals  moving  in  the  same  social  circle  are  the  super- 
ficial reflections  of  rivalries  and  conflicts  beneath  the  smooth  and 
decorous  surfaces  of  polite  society. 

In  general,  we  may  say  that  competition  determines  the  position 
of  the  individual  in  the  community;  conflict  fixes  his  place  in  society. 
Location,  position,  ecological  interdependence — these  are  the  char- 

574 


CONFLICT  575 

acteristics  of  the  community.  Status,  subordination  and  super- 
ordination,  control — these  are  the  distinctive  marks  of  a  society. 

The  notion  of  conflict,  like  the  fact,  has  its  roots  deep  in  human 
interest.  Mars  has  always  held  a  high  rank  in  the  hierarchy  of  the 
gods.  Whenever  and  wherever  struggle  has  taken  the  form  of  con- 
flict, whether  of  races,  of  nations,  or  of  individual  men,  it  has  invari- 
ably captured  and  held  the  attention  of  spectators.  And  these 
spectators,  when  they  did  not  take  part  in  the  fight,  always  took 
sides.  It  was  this  conflict  of  the  non-combatants  that  made  public 
opinion,  and  public  opinion  has  always  played  an  important  role  in  the 
struggles  of  men.  It  is  this  that  has  raised  war  from  a  mere  play  of 
physical  forces  and  given  it  the  tragic  significance  of  a  moral  struggle, 
a  conflict  of  good  and  evil. 

The  result  is  that  war  tends  to  assume  the  character  of  litigation, 
a  judicial  procedure,  in  which  custom  determines  the  method  of 
procedure,  and  the  issue  of  the  struggle  is  accepted  as  a  judgment  in 
the  case. 

The  duello,  as  distinguished  from  the  wager  of  battle,  although  it 
never  had  the  character  of  a  judicial  procedure,  developed  a  strict 
code  which  made  it  morally  binding  upon  the  individual  to  seek 
redress  for  wrongs,  and  determined  in  advance  the  methods  of  oro- 
cedure  by  which  such  redress  could  and  should  be  obtained.  The 
penalty  was  a  loss  of  status  in  the  particular  group  of  which  the 
individual  was  a  member. 

It  was  the  presence  of  the  public,  the  ceremonial  character  of  the 
proceedings,  and  the  conviction  that  the  invisible  powers  were  on  the 
side  of  truth  and  justice  that  gave  the  trial  by  ordeal  and  the  trial 
by  battle  a  significance  that  neither  the  duello  nor  any  other  form  of 
private  vengeance  ever  had. 

It  is  interesting  in  this  connection,  also,  that  political  and  judicial 
forms  of  procedure  are  conducted  on  a  conflict  pattern.  An  election 
is  a  contest  in  which  we  count  noses  when  we  do  not  break  heads. 
A  trial  by  jury  is  a  contest  in  which  the  parties  are  represented  by 
champions,  as  in  the  judicial  duels  of  an  earlier  time. 

In  general,  then,  one  may  say  competition  becomes  conscious  and 
personal  in  conflict.  In  the  process  of  transition  competitors  are 
transformed  into  rivals  and  enemies.  In  its  higher  forms,  however, 
conflict  becomes  impersonal — a  struggle  to  establish  and  maintain 


576  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

rules  of  justice  and  a  moral  order.  In  this  case  the  welfare  not 
merely  of  individual  men  but  of  the  community  is  involved.  Such 
are  the  struggles  of  political  parties  and  religious  sects.  Here  the 
issues  are  not  determined  by  the  force  and  weight  of  the  contestants 
immediately  involved,  but  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  by  the  force 
and  weight  of  public  opinion  of  the  community,  and  eventually  by 
the  judgment  of  mankind. 

2.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  materials  on  conflict  have  been  organized  in  the  readings 
under  four  heads:  (a)  conflict  as  conscious  competition;  (b)  war, 
instincts,  and  ideals;  (c)  rivalry,  cultural  conflicts,  and  social  organi- 
zation; and  (d)  race  conflicts. 

c)  Conscious  competition. — Self-consciousness  in  the  individual 
arises  hi  the  contacts  and  conflicts  of  the  person  with  other  persons. 
It  manifests  itself  variously  in  pride  and  in  humility,  vanity  and  self- 
respect,  modesty  and  arrogance,  pity  and  disdain,  as  well  as  in  race 
prejudice,  chauvinism,  class  and  caste  distinctions,  and  in  every  other 
social  device  by  which  the  social  distances  are  maintained. 

It  is  hi  these  various  responses  called  forth  by  social  contacts 
and  intercourse  that  the  personality  of  the  individual  is  developed 
and  his  status  defined.  It  is  in  the  effort  to  maintain  this  status  or 
improve  it;  to  defend  this  personality,  enlarge  its  possessions,  extend 
its  privileges,  and  maintain  its  prestige  that  conflicts  arise.  This 
applies  to  all  conflicts,  whether  they  are  personal  and  party  squabbles, 
sectarian  differences,  or  national  and  patriotic  wars,  for  the  personality 
of  the  individual  is  invariably  so  bound  up  with  the  interests  and 
order  of  his  group  and  clan,  that,  in  a  struggle,  he  makes  the  group 
cause  his  own. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  about  the  economic  causes  of 
war,  but  whatever  may  be  the  ultimate  sources  of  our  sentiments, 
it  is  probably  true  that  men  never  go  to  war  for  economic  reasons 
merely.  It  is  because  wealth  and  possessions  are  bound  up  with 
prestige,  honor,  and  position  in  the  world,  that  men  and  nations  fight 
about  them. 

ft)  War,  instincts,  and  ideals. — War  is  the  outstanding  and  the 
typical  example  of  conflict.  In  war,  where  hostility  prevails  over 


CONFLICT  577 

every  interest  of  sentiment  or  utility  which  would  otherwise  unite 
the  contending  parties  or  groups,  the  motives  and  the  role  of  conflict 
in  social  life  present  themselves  in  their  clearest  outline.  There  is, 
moreover,  a  practical  reason  for  fixing  upon  war  as  an  illustration 
of  conflict.  The  tremendous  interest  in  all  times  manifested  in  war, 
the  amazing  energies  and  resources  released  in  peoples  organized  for 
military  aggression  or  defense,  the  colossal  losses  and  sacrifices 
endured  for  the  glory,  the  honor,  or  the  security  of  the  fatherland 
have  made  wars  memorable.  Of  no  other  of  the  larger  aspects  of 
collective  life  have  we  such  adequate  records. 

The  problem  of  the  relation  of  war  to  human  instincts,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  to  human  ideals,  on  the  other,  is  the  issue  about  which 
most  recent  observation  and  discussion  has  centered.  It  seems  idle 
to  assert  that  hostility  has  no  roots  in  man's  original  nature.  The 
concrete  materials  given  in  this  chapter  show  beyond  question  how 
readily  the  wishes  and  the  instincts  of  the  person  may  take  the  form 
of  the  fighting  pattern.  On  the  other  hand,  the  notion  that  tradition, 
culture,  and  collective  representations  have  no  part  in  determining 
the  attitudes  of  nations  toward  war  seems  equally  untenable.  The 
significant  sociological  inquiry  is  to  determine  just  in  what  ways  a 
conjunction  of  the  tendencies  in  original  nature,  the  forces  of  tradition 
and  culture,  and  the  exigencies  of  the  situation  determine  the  organi- 
zation of  the  fighting  pattern.  We  have  historical  examples  of  war- 
like peoples  becoming  peaceful  and  of  pacific  nations  militaristic.  An 
understanding  of  the  mechanism  of  the  process  is  a  first  condition  to 
any  exercise  of  control. 

c)  Rivalry,  cultural  conflicts,  and,  social  organization. — Rivalry  is 
a  sublimated  form  of  conflict  where  the  struggle  of  individuals  is 
subordinated  to  the  welfare  of  the  group.  In  the  rivalry  of  groups, 
likewise,  conflict  or  competition  is  subordinated  to  the  interests  of  an 
inclusive  group.  Rivalry  may  then  be  defined  as  conflict  controlled 
by  the  group  in  its  interest.  A  survey  of  the  phenomena  of  rivalry 
brings  out  its  role  as  an  organizing  force  in  group  life. 

In  the  study  of  conflict  groups  it  is  not  always  easy  to  apply  with 
certainty  the  distinction  between  rivalry  and  conflict  made  here. 
The  sect  is  a  conflict  group.  In  its  struggle  for  survival  and  success 
with  other  groups,  its  aim  is  the  highest  welfare  of  the  inclusive 


578          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

society.  Actually,  however,  sectarian  warfare  may  be  against  the 
moral,  social,  and  religious  interests  of  the  community.  The  denomi- 
nation, which  is  an  accommodation  group,  strives  through  rivalry 
and  competition,  not  only  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the  inclusive 
society,  but  also  of  its  other  component  groups. 

In  cultural  and  political  conflict  the  function  of  conflict  in  social 
life  becomes  understandable  and  reasonable.  The  r61e  of  mental 
conflicts  in  the  life  of  the  individual  is  for  the  purpose  of  making 
adjustments  to  changing  situations  and  of  assimilating  new  expe- 
riences. It  is  through  this  process  of  conflict  of  divergent  impulses 
to  act  that  the  individual  arrives  at  decisions — as  we  say,  "  makes  up 
his  mind."  Only  where  there  is  conflict  is  behavior  conscious  and 
self-conscious;  only  here  are  the  conditions  for  rational  conduct. 

d)  Race  conflicts. — Nowhere  do  social  contacts  so  readily  provoke 
conflicts  as  in  the  relations  between  the  races,  particularly  when 
racial  differences  are  re-enforced,  not  merely  by  differences  of  culture, 
but  of  color.  Nowhere,  it  might  be  added,  are  the  responses  to  social 
contact  so  obvious  and,  at  the  same  time,  so  difficult  to  analyze  and 
define. 

Race  prejudice,  as  we  call  the  sentiments  that  support  the  racial 
taboos,  is  not,  in  America  at  least,  an  obscure  phenomenon.  But 
no  one  has  yet  succeeded  in  making  it  wholly  intelligible.  It  is 
evident  that  there  is  in  race  prejudice,  as  distinguished  from  class  and 
caste  prejudice,  an  instinctive  factor  based  on  the  fear  of  the  unfamil- 
iar and  the  uncomprehended.  Color,  or  any  other  racial  mark  that 
emphasizes  physical  differences,  becomes  the  symbol  of  moral  diver- 
gences which  perhaps  do  not  exist.  We  at  once  fear  and  are  fascinated 
by  the  stranger,  and  an  individual  of  a  different  race  always  seems 
more  of  a  stranger  to  us  than  one  of  our  own.  This  naive  prejudice, 
unless  it  is  re-enforced  by  other  factors,  is  easily  modified,  as  the 
intimate  relations  of  the  Negroes  and  white  man  in  slavery  show. 

A  more  positive  factor  in  racial  antagonism  is  the  conflict  of 
cultures:  the  unwillingness  of  one  race  to  enter  into  personal  compe- 
tition with  a  race  of  a  different  or  inferior  culture.  This  turns  out, 
in  the  long  run,  to  be  the  unwillingness  of  a  people  or  a  class  occupying 
a  superior  status  to  compete  on  equal  terms  with  a  people  of  a  lower 
status.  Race  conflicts  like  wars  are  fundamentally  the  struggles  of 
racial  groups  for  status.  In  this  sense  and  from  this  point  of  view 


CONFLICT  579 

the  struggles  of  the  European  nationalities  and  the  so-called  "  subject 
peoples"  for  independence  and  self-determination  are  actually 
struggles  for  status  in  the  family  of  nations. 

Under  the  conditions  of  this  struggle,  racial  or  national  con- 
sciousness as  it  manifests  itself,  for  example,  in  Irish  nationalism, 
Jewish  Zionism,  and  Negro  race  consciousness,  is  the  natural  and 
obvious  response  to  a  conflict  situation.  The  nationalistic  move- 
ments in  Europe,  in  India,  and  in  Egypt  are,  like  war,  rivalry  and 
more  personal  forms  of  conflict,  mainly  struggles  for  recognition — 
that  is,  honor,  glory,  and  prestige. 

II.     MATERIALS 

A.      CONFLICT  AS   CONSCIOUS   COMPETITION 
i.     The  Natural  History  of  Conflict1 

All  classes  of  society,  and  the  two  sexes  to  about  the  same  degree, 
are  deeply  interested  in  all  forms  of  contest  involving  skill  and 
chance,  especially  where  the  danger  or  risk  is  great.  Everybody  will 
stop  to  watch  a  street  fight,  and  the  same  persons  would  show  an 
equal  interest  in  a  prize  fight  or  a  bull  fight,  if  certain  scruples  did 
not  stand  in  the  way  of  their  looking  on.  Our  socially  developed 
sympathy  and  pity  may  recoil  from  witnessing  a  scene  where  physical 
hurt  is  the  object  of  the  game,  but  the  depth  of  our  interest  in  the 
conflict  type  of  activity  is  attested  by  the  fascination  which  such  a 
game  as  football  has  for  the  masses,  where  our  instinctive  emotional 
reaction  to  a  conflict  situation  is  gratified  to  an  intense  degree  by  a 
scene  of  the  conflict  pattern. 

If  we  examine,  in  fact,  our  pleasures  and  pains,  our  moments  of 
elation  and  depression,  we  find  that  they  go  back  for  the  most  part 
to  instincts  developed  in  the  struggle  for  food  and  rivalry  for  mates. 
The  structure  of  the  organism  has  been  built  up  gradually  through 
the  survival  of  the  most  efficient  structures.  Corresponding  with  a 
structure  mechanically  adapted  to  successful  movements,  there  is 
developed  on  the  psychic  side  an  interest  in  the  conflict  situation  as 
complete  and  perfect  as  is  the  structure  itself.  The  emotional  states 
are,  indeed,  organic  preparations  for  action,  corresponding  broadly  with 

'Adapted  from  William  I.  Thomas,  "The  Gaming  Instinct,"  in  the  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  VI  (1900-1901),  750-63.  " 


580  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

a  tendency  to  advance  or  retreat;  and  a  connection  has  even  been 
made  out  between  pleasurable  states  and  the  extensor  muscles,  and 
painful  states  and  the  flexor  muscles.  We  can  have  no  adequate 
idea  of  the  time  consumed  and  the  experiments  made  in  nature  be- 
fore the  development  of  these  types  of  structure  and  interest  of  the 
conflict  pattern,  but  we  know  from  the  geological  records  that  the 
time  and  experiments  were  long  and  many,  and  the  competition  so 
sharp  that  finally,  not  in  man  alone,  but  in  all  the  higher  classes  of 
animals,  body  and  mind,  structure  and  interest,  were  working  perfectly 
in  motor  actions  of  the  violent  type  involved  in  a  life  of  conflict,  com- 
petition, and  rivalry.  There  could  not  have  been  developed  an 
organism  depending  on  offensive  and  defensive  movements  for  food 
and  life  without  an  interest  in  what  we  call  a  dangerous  or  precarious 
situation.  A  type  without  this  interest  would  have  been  defective, 
and  would  have  dropped  out  in  the  course  of  development. 

The  fact  that  our  interests  and  enthusiasms  are  called  out  in 
situations  of  the  conflict  type  is  shown  by  a  glance  at  the  situations 
which  arouse  them  most  readily.  War  is  simply  an  organized  form 
of  fight,  and  as  such  is  most  attractive,  or,  to  say  the  least,  arouses 
the  interests  powerfully.  With  the  accumulation  of  property  and  the 
growth  of  sensibility  and  intelligence  it  becomes  apparent  that  war 
is  a  wasteful  and  unsafe  process,  and  public  and  personal  interests  lead 
us  to  avoid  it  as  much  as  possible.  But,  however  genuinely  war 
may  be  deprecated,  it  is  certainly  an  exciting  game.  The  Rough 
Riders  in  this  country  recently,  and  more  recently  the  young  men  of 
the  aristocracy  of  England,  went  to  war  from  motives  of  patriotism, 
no  doubt,  but  there  are  unmistakable  evidences  that  they  also 
regarded  it  as  the  greatest  sport  they  were  likely  to  have  a  chance 
at  in  a  lifetime.  And  there  is  evidence  in  plenty  that  the  emotional 
attitude  of  women  toward  war  is  no  less  intense.  Grey  relates  that 
half  a  dozen  old  women  among  the  Australians  will  drive  the  men 
to  war  with  a  neighboring  tribe  over  a  fancied  injury.  The  Jewish 
maidens  went  out  with  music  and  dancing  and  sang  that  Saul  had 
slain  his  thousands,  but  David  his  ten  thousands.  The  young  women 
of  Havana  are  alleged,  during  the  late  Spanish  War,  to  have  sent 
pieces  of  their  wardrobe  to  young  men  of  their  acquaintance  who 
hesitated  to  join  the  rebellion,  with  the  suggestion  that  they  wear 
these  until  they  went  to  the  war. 


CONFLICT  581 

The  feud  is  another  mode  of  reaction  of  the  violent,  instinctive, 
and  attractive  type.  The  feud  was  originally  of  defensive  value  to 
the  individual  and  to  the  tribe,  since  in  the  absence  of  criminal  law 
the  feeling  that  retaliation  would  follow  was  a  deterrent  from  acts 
of  aggression.  But  it  was  an  expensive  method  of  obtaining  order  in 
early  society,  since  response  to  stimulus  reinstated  the  stimulus,  and 
every  death  called  for  another  death;  so,  finally,  after  many  experi- 
ments and  devices,  the  state  has  forbidden  the  individual  to  take 
justice  into  his  own  hands.  In  out-of-the-way  places,  however, 
where  governmental  control  is  weak,  men  still  settle  their  disputes 
personally,  and  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  course  of  a  feud  cannot 
avoid  the  conclusion  that  this  practice  is  kept  up,  not  because  there 
is  no  law  to  resort  to,  but  because  the  older  mode  is  more  immediate 
and  fascinating.  I  mean  simply  that  the  emotional  possibilities  and 
actual  emotional  reactions  in  the  feud  are  far  more  powerful  than  in 
due  legal  process. 

Gladiatorial  shows,  bear  baiting,  bull  fighting,  dog  and  cock 
fighting,  and  prize  fighting  afford  an  opportunity  to  gratify  the  inter- 
est in  conflict.  The  spectator  has  by  suggestion  emotional  reactions 
analogous  to  those  of  the  combatant,  but  without  personal  danger; 
and  vicarious  contests  between  slaves,  captives,  and  animals,  whose 
blood  and  life  are  cheap,  are  a  pleasure  which  the  race  allowed  itself 
until  a  higher  stage  of  morality  was  reached.  Pugilism  is  the  modi- 
fication of  the  fight  in  a  slightly  different  way.  The  combatants  are 
members  of  society,  not  slaves  or  captives,  but  the  conflict  is  so  quali- 
fied as  to  safeguard  their  lives,  though  injury  is  possible  and  is 
actually  planned.  The  intention  to  do  hurt  is  the  point  to  which 
society  and  the  law  object.  But  the  prize  fight  is  a  fight  as  far  as 
it  goes,  and  the  difficulties  which  men  will  surmount  to  "pull  off" 
and  to  witness  these  contests  are  sufficient  proof  of  their  fascination. 
A  football  game  is  also  a  fight,  with  the  additional  qualification  that 
no  injury  is  planned,  and  with  an  advantage  over  the  prize  fight  in 
the  fact  that  it  is  not  a  single-handed  conflict,  but  an  organized 
melee — a  battle  where  the  action  is  more  massive  and  complex  and 
the  strategic  opportunities  are  multiplied.  It  is  a  fact  of  interest 
in  this  connection  that,  unless  appearances  are  deceptive,  altogether 
the  larger  number  of  visitors  to  a  university  during  the  year  are 
visitors  to  the  football  field.  It  is  the  only  phase  of  university  life 


582  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

which  appeals  directly  and  powerfully  to  the  instincts,  and  it  is 
consequently  the  only  phase  of  university  life  which  appeals  equally 
to  the  man  of  culture,  the  artist,  the  business  man,  the  man  about 
town,  the  all-round  sport,  and,  in  fact,  to  all  the  world. 

The  instincts  of  man  are  congenital;  the  arts  and  industries  are 
acquired  by  the  race  and  must  be  learned  by  the  individual  after 
birth.  We  have  seen  why  the  instinctive  activities  are  pleasurable 
and  the  acquired  habits  irksome.  The  gambler  represents  a  class  of 
men  who  have  not  been  weaned  from  their  instincts.  There  are  in 
every  species  biological  "sports"  and  reversions,  and  there  are  indi- 
viduals of  this  kind  among  sporting  men  who  are  not  reached  by 
ordinary  social  suggestion  and  stimuli.  But  granting  that  what  we 
may  call  the  instinctive  interests  are  disproportionately  strong  in  the 
sporting  class,  as  compared  with,  say,  the  merchant  class,  yet  these 
instincts  are  also  strongly  marked  in  what  may  roughly  be  called  the 
artist  class  and  in  spite  of  a  marked  psychic  disposition  for  stimuli  of 
the  emotional  type;  and  precisely  because  of  this  disposition,  the  artist 
class  has  a  very  high  social  value.  Art  products  are,  indeed,  perhaps 
more  highly  esteemed  than  any  other  products  whatever.  The  artist 
class  is  not,  therefore,  socially  unmanageable  because  of  its  instinctive 
interest,  though  perhaps  we  may  say  that  some  of  its  members  are 
saved  from  social  vagabondage  only  because  their  emotional  predis- 
position has  found  an  expression  in  emotional  activities  to  which  some 
social  value  can  be  attached. 

2.     Conflict  as  a  Type  of  Social  Interaction1 

That  conflict  has  sociological  significance  inasmuch  as  it  either 
produces  or  modifies  communities  of  interest,  unifications,  organiza- 
tions, is  in  principle  never  contested.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must 
appear  paradoxical  to  the  ordinary  mode  of  thinking  to  ask  whether 
conflict  itself,  without  reference  to  its  consequences  or  its  accompani- 
ments, is  not  a  form  of  socialization.  This  seems,  at  first  glance,  to 
be  merely  a  verbal  question.  If  every  reaction  among  men  is  a 
socialization,  of  course  conflict  must  count  as  such,  since  it  is  one  of 
the  most  intense  reactions  and  is  logically  impossible  if  restricted  to  a 

1  Adapted  from  a  translation  of  Georg  Simmel,  Soziokgie,  by  Albion  W.  Small, 
"The  Sociology  of  Conflict,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  IX  (1903-4), 
490-501. 


CONFLICT  583 

single  element.  The  actually  dissociating  elements  are  the  causes  of 
the  conflict — hatred  and  envy,  want  and  desire.  If,  however,  from 
these  impulses  conflict  has  once  broken  out,  it  is  in  reality  the  way 
to  remove  the  dualism  and  to  arrive  at  some  form  of  unity,  even  if 
through  annihilation  of  one  of  the  parties.  The  case  is,  in  a  way, 
illustrated  by  the  most  violent  symptoms  of  disease.  They  fre- 
quently represent  the  efforts  of  the  organism  to  free  itself  from 
disorders  and  injuries.  This  is  by  no  means  equivalent  merely  to 
the  triviality,  si  vis  pacem  para  bellum,  but  it  is  the  wide  generaliza- 
tion of  which  that  special  case  is  a  particular.  Conflict  itself  is  the 
resolution  of  the  tension  between  the  contraries.  That  it  eventuates 
in  peace  is  only  a  single,  specially  obvious  and  evident,  expression  of 
the  fact  that  it  is  a  conjunction  of  elements. 

As  the  individual  achieves  the  unity  of  his  personality,  not  in 
such  fashion  that  its  contents  invariably  harmonize  according  to 
logical  or  material,  religious  or  ethical,  standards,  but  rather  as 
contradiction  and  strife  not  merely  precede  that  unity  but  are 
operative  in  it  at  every  moment  of  life;  so  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected 
that  there  should  be  any  social  unity  in  which  the  converging  tenden- 
cies of  the  elements  are  not  incessantly  shot  through  with  elements 
of  divergence.  A  group  which  was  entirely  centripetal  and  harmo- 
nious— that  is,  "unification"  merely — is  not  only  impossible  empiri- 
cally, but  it  would  also  display  no  essential  life-process  and  no  stable 
structure.  As  the  cosmos  requires  Liebe  und  Hass,  attraction  and 
repulsion,  in  order  to  have  a  form,  society  likewise  requires  some 
quantitative  relation  of  harmony  and  disharmony,  association  and 
dissociation,  liking  and  disliking,  in  order  to  attain  to  a  definite 
formation.  Society,  as  it  is  given  in  fact,  is  the  result  of  both  cate- 
gories of  reactions,  and  in  so  far  both  act  in  a  completely  positive  way. 
The  misconception  that  the  one  factor  tears  down  what  the  othsr 
builds  up,  and  that  what  at  last  remains  is  the  result  of  subtracting 
the  one  from  the  other  (while  in  reality  it  is  much  rather  to  be  regarded 
as  the  addition  of  one  to  the  other),  doubtless  springs  from  the 
equivocal  sense  of  the  concept  of  unity. 

We  describe  as  unity  the  agreement  and  the  conjunction  of 
social  elements  in  contrast  with  their  disjunctions,  separations,  dis- 
harmonies. We  also  use  the  term  unity,  however,  for  the  total 
synthesis  of  the  persons,  energies,  and  forms  in  a  group,  in  which  the 


584  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

final  wholeness  is  made  up,  not  merely  of  those  factors  which  are 
unifying  in  the  narrower  sense,  but  also  of  those  which  are,  in  the 
narrower  sense,  dualistic.  We  associate  a  corresponding  double 
meaning  with  disunity  or  opposition.  Since  the  latter  displays  its 
nullifying  or  destructive  sense  between  the  individual  elements,  the 
conclusion  is  hastily  drawn  that  it  must  work  in  the  same  manner  upon 
the  total  relationship.  In  reality,  however,  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
the  factor  which  is  something  negative  and  diminutive  in  its  action 
between  individuals,  considered  in  a  given  direction  and  separately, 
has  the  same  working  throughout  the  totality  of  its  relationships. 
In  this  larger  circle  of  relationships  the  perspective  may  be  quite 
different.  That  which  was  negative  and  dualistic  may,  after  de- 
duction of  its  destructive  action  in  particular  relationships,  on  the 
whole,  play  an  entirely  positive  role.  This  visibly  appears  especially 
in  those  instances  where  the  social  structure  is  characterized  by 
exactness  and  carefully  conserved  purity  of  social  divisions  and 
gradations. 

The  social  system  of  India  rests  not  only  upon  the  hierarchy  of 
the  castes  but  also  directly  upon  the  reciprocal  repulsion.  Enmities 
not  merely  prevent  gradual  disappearance  of  the  boundaries  within 
the  society — and  for  this  reason  these  enmities  may  be  consciously 
promoted,  as  guaranty  of  the  existing  social  constitution — but  more 
than  this,  the  enmities  are  directly  productive  sociologically.  They 
give  classes  and  personalities  their  position  toward  each  other,  which 
they  would  not  have  found  if  these  objective  causes  of  hostility  had 
been  present  and  effective  in  precisely  the  same  way  but  had  not 
been  accompanied  by  the  feeling  of  enmity.  It  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  a  secure  and  complete  community  life  would  always 
result  if  these  energies  should  disappear  which,  looked  at  in  detail, 
seem  repulsive  and  destructive,  just  as  a  qualitatively  unchanged  and 
richer  property  results  when  unproductive  elements  disappear;  but 
there  would  ensue  rather  a  condition  as  changed,  and  often  as  un- 
realizable, as  after  the  elimination  of  the  forces  of  co-operation — 
sympathy,  assistance,  harmony  of  interests. 

The  opposition  of  one  individual  element  to  another  in  the  same 
association  is  by  no  means  merely  a  negative  social  factor,  but  it  is  in 
many  ways  the  only  means  through  which  coexistence  with  individuals 
intolerable  in  themselves  could  be  possible.  If  we  had  not  power 


CONFLICT  585 

and  right  to  oppose  tyranny  and  obstinacy,  caprice  and  tactlessness, 
we  could  not  endure  relations  with  people  who  betray  such  character- 
istics. We  should  be  driven  to  deeds  of  desperation  which  would 
put  the  relationships  to  an  end.  This  follows  not  alone  for  the  self- 
evident  reason — which,  however,  is  not  here  essential — that  such 
disagreeable  circumstances  tend  to  become  intensified  if  they  are 
endured  quietly  and  without  protest;  but,  more  than  this,  opposition 
affords  us  a  subjective  satisfaction,  diversion,  relief,  just  as  under 
other  psychological  conditions,  whose  variations  need  not  here  be 
discussed,  the  same  results  are  brought  about  by  humility  and 
patience.  Our  opposition  gives  us  the  feeling  that  we  are  not  com- 
pletely crushed  in  the  relationship.  It  permits  us  to  preserve  a 
consciousness  of  energy,  and  thus  lends  a  vitality  and  a  reciprocity 
to  relationships  from  which,  without  this  corrective,  we  should  have 
extricated  ourselves  at  any  price.  In  case  the  relationships  are 
purely  external,  and  consequently  do  not  reach  deeply  into  the 
practical,  the  latent  form  of  conflict  discharges  this  service,  i.e., 
aversion,  the  feeling  of  reciprocal  alienation  and  repulsion,  which  in 
the  moment  of  a  more  intimate  contact  of  any  sort  is  at  once  trans- 
formed into  positive  hatred  and  conflict.  Without  this  aversion  life 
in  a  great  city,  which  daily  brings  each  into  contact  with  countless 
others,  would  have  no  thinkable  form.  The  activity  of  our  minds 
responds  to  almost  every  impression  received  from  other  people  in 
some  sort  of  a  definite  feeling,  all  the  unconsciousness,  transience, 
and  variability  of  which  seem  to  remain  only  in  the  form  of  a  certain 
indifference.  In  fact,  this  latter  would  be  as  unnatural  for  us  as  it 
would  be  intolerable  to  be  swamped  under  a  multitude  of  suggestions 
among  which  we  have  no  choice.  Antipathy  protects  us  against  these 
two  typical  dangers  of  the  great  city.  It  is  the  initial  stage  of  practical 
antagonism.  It  produces  the  distances  and  the  buffers  without  which 
this  kind  of  life  could  not  be  led  at  all.  The  mass  and  the  mixtures 
of  this  life,  the  forms  in  which  it  is  carried  on,  the  rhythm  of  its  rise 
and  fall — these  unite  with  the  unifying  motives,  in  the  narrower 
sense,  to  give  to  a  great  city  the  character  of  an  indissoluble  whole. 
Whatever  in  this  whole  seems  to  be  an  element  of  division  is  thus  in 
reality  only  one  of  its  elementary  forms  of  socialization. 

A  struggle  for  struggle's  sake  seems  to  have  its  natural  basis  in  a 
certain  formal  impulse  of  hostility,  which  forces  itself  sometimes  upon 


5  86  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

psychological  observation,  and  in  various  forms.  In  the  first  place, 
it  appears  as  that  natural  enmity  between  man  and  man  which  is 
often  emphasized  by  skeptical  moralists.  The  argument  is:  Since 
there  is  something  not  wholly  displeasing  to  us  in  the  misfortune  of 
our  best  friends,  and,  since  the  presupposition  excludes,  in  this 
instance,  conflict  of  material  interests,  the  phenomenon  must  be 
traced  back  to  an  a  priori  hostility,  to  that  homo  homini  lupus,  as  the 
frequently  veiled,  but  perhaps  never  inoperative,  basis  of  all  our 
relationships. 

3.    Types  of  Conflict  Situations1 

a)  War. — The  reciprocal  relationship  of  primitive  groups  is 
notoriously,  and  for  reasons  frequently  discussed  almost  invariably, 
one  of  hostility.  The  decisive  illustration  is  furnished  perhaps  by 
the  American  Indians,  among  whom  every  tribe  on  general  principles 
was  supposed  to  be  on  a  war  footing  toward  every  other  tribe  with 
which  it  had  no  express  treaty  of  peace.  It  is,  however,  not  to  be 
forgotten  that  in  early  stages  of  culture  war  constitutes  almost  the 
only  form  in  which  contact  with  an  alien  group  occurs.  So  long  as 
inter-territorial  trade  was  undeveloped,  individual  tourneys  unknown, 
and  intellectual  community  did  not  extend  beyond  the  group  bounda- 
ries, there  was,  outside  of  war,  no  sociological  relationship  whatever 
between  the  various  groups.  In  this  case  the  relationship  of  the 
elements  of  the  group  to  each  other  and  that  of  the  primitive  groups 
to  each  other  present  completely  contrasted  forms.  Within  the 
closed  circle  hostility  signifies,  as  a  rule,  the  severing  of  relationships, 
voluntary  isolation,  and  the  avoidance  of  contact.  Along  with  these 
negative  phenomena  there  will  also  appear  the  phenomena  of  the 
passionate  reaction  of  open  struggle.  On  the  other  hand,  the  group 
as  a  whole  remains  indifferently  side  by  side  with  similar  groups  so 
long  as  peace  exists.  The  consequence  is  that  these  groups  become 
significant  for  each  other  only  when  war  breaks  out.  That  the 
attitude  of  hostility,  considered  likewise  from  this  point  of  view,  may 
arise  independently  in  the  soul  is  the  less  to  be  doubted  since  it  repre- 
sents here,  as  in  many  another  easily  observable  situation,  the 

1  Adapted  from  a  translation  of  Georg  Simmel,  Soziologie,  by  Albion  W.  Small, 
"The  Sociology  of  Conflict,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  IX  (1903-4), 
505-8. 


CONFLICT  587 

embodiment  of  an  impulse  which  is  in  the  first  place  quite  general, 
but  which  also  occurs  in  quite  peculiar  forms,  namely,  the  impulse  to 
act  in  relationships  with  others. 

In  spite  of  this  spontaneity  and  independence,  which  we  may 
thus  attribute  to  the  antagonistic  impulse,  there  still  remains  the 
question  whether  it  suffices  to  account  for  the  total  phenomena  of 
hostility.  This  question  must  be  answered  in  the  negative.  In  the 
first  place,  the  spontaneous  impulse  does  not  exercise  itself  upon 
every  object  but  only  upon  those  that  are  in  some  way  promising. 
Hunger,  for  example,  springs  from  the  subject.  It  does  not  have  its 
origin  in  the  object.  Nevertheless,  it  will  not  attempt  to  satisfy 
itself  with  wood  or  stone  but  it  will  select  only  edible  objects.  In 
the  same  way,  love  and  hatred,  however  little  their  impulses  may 
depend  upon  external  stimuli,  will  yet  need  some  sort  of  opposing 
object,  and  only  with  such  co-operation  will  the  complete  phenomena 
appear.  On  the  other  hand,  it  seems  to  me  probable  that  the  hostile 
impulse,  on  account  of  its  formal  character,  in  general  intervenes, 
only  as  a  reinforcement  of  conflicts  stimulated  by  material  interest, 
and  at  the  same  time  furnishes  a  foundation  for  the  conflict.  And 
where  a  struggle  springs  up  from  sheer  formal  love  of  fighting,  which  is 
also  entirely  impersonal  and  indifferent  both  to  the  material  at  issue 
and  to  the  personal  opponent,  hatred  and  fury  against  the  opponent 
as  a  person  unavoidably  increase  in  the  course  of  the  conflict,  and 
probably  also  the  interest  in  the  stake  at  issue,  because  these  affections 
stimulate  and  feed  the  psychical  energy  of  the  struggle.  It  is  ad- 
vantageous to  hate  the  opponent  with  whom  one  is  for  any  reason 
struggling,  as  it  is  useful  to  love  him  with  whom  one's  lot  is  united 
and  with  whom  one  must  co-operate.  The  reciprocal  attitude  of 
men  is  often  intelligible  only  on  the  basis  of  the  perception  that 
actual  adaptation  to  a  situation  teaches  us  those  feelings  which  are 
appropriate  to  it;  feelings  which  are  the  most  appropriate  to  the 
employment  or  the  overcoming  of  the  circumstances  of  the  situation; 
feelings  which  bring  us,  through  psychical  association,  the  energies 
necessary  for  discharging  the  momentary  task  and  for  defeating  the 
opposing  impulses. 

Accordingly,  no  serious  struggle  can  long  continue  without  being 
supported  by  a  complex  of  psychic  impulses.  These  may,  to  be  sure, 
gradually  develop  into  effectiveness  in  the  course  of  the  struggle. 


588  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  purity  of  conflict  merely  for  conflict's  sake,  accordingly,  under- 
goes adulteration,  partly  through  the  admixture  of  objective  interests, 
partly  by  the  introduction  of  impulses  which  may  be  satisfied  other- 
wise than  by  struggle,  and  which,  in  practice,  form  a  bridge  between 
struggle  and  other  forms  of  reciprocal  relationship.  I  know  in  fact 
only  a  single  case  in  which  the  stimulus  of  struggle  and  of  victory  in 
itself  constitutes  the  exclusive  motive,  namely,  the  war  game,  and  only 
in  the  case  that  no  further  gain  is  to  arise  than  is  included  in  the 
outcome  of  the  game  itself.  In  this  case  the  pure  sociological  attrac- 
tion of  self-assertion  and  predominance  over  another  in  a  struggle  of 
skill  is  combined  with  purely  individual  pleasure  in  the  exercise 
of  purposeful  and  successful  activity,  together  with  the  excitement  of 
taking  risks  with  the  hazard  of  fortune  which  stimulates  us  with  a 
sense  of  mystic  harmony  of  relationship  to  powers  beyond  the  indi- 
vidual, as  well  as  the  social  occurrences.  At  all  events,  the  war  game, 
in  its  sociological  motivation,  contains  absolutely  nothing  but  struggle 
itself.  The  worthless  markers,  for  the  sake  of  which  men  often 
play  with  the  same  earnestness  with  which  they  play  for  gold  pieces, 
indicate  the  formalism  of  this  impulse  which,  even  in  the  play  for 
gold  pieces,  often  far  outweighs  the  material  interest.  The  thing  to 
be  noticed,  however,  is  that,  in  order  that  the  foregoing  situations 
may  occur,  certain  sociological  forms — in  the  narrower  sense,  uni- 
fications— are  presupposed.  There  must  be  agreement  in  order  to 
struggle,  and  the  struggle  occurs  under  reciprocal  recognition  of 
norms  and  rules.  In  the  motivation  of  the  whole  procedure  these 
unifications,  as  said  above,  do  not  appear,  but  the  whole  transaction 
shapes  itself  under  the  forms  which  these  explicit  or  implicit  agree- 
ments furnish.  They  create  the  technique.  Without  this,  such  a 
conflict,  excluding  all  heterogeneous  or  objective  factors,  would  not 
be  possible.  Indeed,  the  conduct  of  the  war  game  is  often  so  rigorous, 
so  impersonal,  and  observed  on  both  sides  with  such  nice  sense  of  honor 
that  unities  of  a  corporate  order  can  seldom  in  these  respects  compare 
with  it. 

b)  Feud  and  faction. — The  occasion  for  separate  discussion  of 
the  feud  is  that  here,  instead  of  the  consciousness  of  difference,  an 
entirely  new  motive  emerges — the  peculiar  phenomenon  of  social 
hatred,  that  is,  of  hatred  toward  a  member  of  a  group,  not  from 
personal  motives,  but  because  he  threatens  the  existence  of  the  group. 


CONFLICT  589 

In  so  far  as  such  a  danger  threatens  through  feud  within  the  group, 
the  one  party  hates  the  other,  not  alone  on  the  material  ground 
which  instigated  the  quarrel,  but  also  on  the  sociological  ground, 
namely,  that  we  hate  the  enemy  of  the  group  as  such;  that  is,  the  one 
from  whom  danger  to  its  unity  threatens.  Inasmuch  as  this  is  a 
reciprocal  matter,  and  each  attributes  the  fault  of  endangering  the 
whole  to  the  other,  the  antagonism  acquires  a  severity  which  does 
not  occur  when  membership  in  a  group-unity  is  not  a  factor  in  the 
situation.  Most  characteristic  in  this  connection  are  the  cases  in 
which  an  actual  dismemberment  of  the  group  has  not  yet  occurred. 
If  this  dismemberment  has  already  taken  place,  it  signifies  a  certain 
termination  of  the  conflict.  The  individual  difference  has  found  its 
sociological  termination,  and  the  stimulus  to  constantly  renewed 
friction  is  removed.  To  this  result  the  tension  between  antagonism 
and  still  persisting  unity  must  directly  work.  As  it  is  fearful  to  be 
at  enmity  with  a  person  to  whom  one  is  nevertheless  bound,  from 
whom  one  cannot  be  freed,  whether  externally  or  subjectively,  even 
if  one  will,  so  there  is  increased  bitterness  if  one  will  not  detach  him- 
self from  the  community  because  he  is  not  willing  to  give  up  the  value 
of  membership  in  the  containing  unity,  or  because  he  feels  this  unity 
as  an  objective  good,  the  threatening  of  which  deserves  conflict  and 
hatred.  From  such  a  correlation  as  this  springs  the  embittering 
with  which,  for  example,  quarrels  are  fought  out  within  a  political 
faction  or  a  trade  union  or  a  family. 

The  individual  soul  offers  an  analogy.  The  feeling  that  a  con- 
flict between  sensuous  and  ascetic  feelings,  or  selfish  and  moral 
impulses,  or  practical  and  intellectual  ambitions,  within  us  not 
merely  lowers  the  claims  of  one  or  both  parties  and  permits  neither 
to  come  to  quite  free  self-realization  but  also  threatens  the  unity,  the 
equilibrium,  and  the  total  energy  of  the  soul  as  a  whole — this  feeling 
may  in  many  cases  repress  conflict  from  the  beginning.  In  case  the 
feeling  cannot  avail  to  that  extent,  it,  on  the  contrary,  impresses  upon 
the  conflict  a  character  of  bitterness  and  desperation,  an  emphasis  as 
though  a  struggle  were  really  taking  place  for  something  much  more 
essential  than  the  immediate  issue  of  the  controversy.  The  energy 
with  which  each  of  these  tendencies  seeks  to  subdue  the  others  is 
nourished  not  only  by  their  egoistic  interest  but  by  the  interest  which 
goes  much  farther  than  that  and  attaches  itself  to  the  unity  of  the 


SQO  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

ego,  for  which  this  struggle  means  dismemberment  and  destruction 
if  it  does  not  end  with  a  victory  for  unity.  Accordingly,  struggle 
within  a  closely  integrated  group  often  enough  grows  beyond  the 
measure  which  its  object  and  its  immediate  interest  for  the  parties 
could  justify.  The  feeling  accumulates  that  this  struggle  is  an  affair 
not  merely  of  the  party  but  of  the  group  as  a  whole;  that  each  party 
must  hate  in  its  opponent,  not  an  opponent  merely,  but  at  the 
same  time  the  enemy  of  its  higher  sociological  unity. 

c)  Litigation. — Moreover,  what  we  are  accustomed  to  call  the 
joy  and  passion  of  conflict  in  the  case  of  a  legal  process  is  probably, 
in  most  cases,  something  quite  different,  namely,  the  energetic  sense 
of  justice,  the  impossibility  of  tolerating  an  actual  or  supposed  invasion 
of  the  sphere  of  right  with  which  the  ego  feels  a  sense  of  solidarity. 
The  whole  obstinacy  and  uncompromising  persistence  with  which 
parties  in  such  struggles  often  maintain  the  controversy  to  their 
own  hurt  has,  even  in  the  case  of  the  aggressive  party,  scarcely  the 
character  of  an  attack  in  the  proper  sense,  but  rather  of  a  defense  in 
a  deeper  significance.  The  point  at  issue  is  the  self-preservation  of 
the  personality  which  so  identifies  itself  with  its  possessions  and  its 
rights  that  any  invasion  of  them  seems  to  be  a  destruction  of  the 
personality;  and  the  struggle  to  protect  them  at  the  risk  of  the 
whole  existence  is  thoroughly  consistent.  This  individualistic 
impulse,  and  not  the  sociological  motive  of  struggle,  will  consequently 
characterize  such  cases. 

With  respect  to  the  form  of  the  struggle  itself,  however,  judicial 
conflict  is,  to  be  sure,  of  an  absolute  sort;  that  is,  the  reciprocal 
claims  are  asserted  with  a  relentless  objectivity  and  with  employment 
of  all  available  means,  without  being  diverted  or  modified  by  personal 
or  other  extraneous  considerations.  The  judicial  conflict  is,  there- 
fore, absolute  conflict  in  so  far  as  nothing  enters  the  whole  action 
which  does  not  properly  belong  in  the  conflict  and  which  does  not 
serve  the  ends  of  conflict;  whereas,  otherwise,  even  in  the  most 
savage  struggles,  someting  subjective,  some  pure  freak  of  fortune, 
some  sort  of  interposition  from  a  third  side,  is  at  least  possible.  In 
the  legal  struggle  everything  of  the  kind  is  excluded  by  the  matter- 
of-factness  with  which  the  contention,  and  absolutely  nothing  out- 
side the  contention,  is  kept  in  view.  This  exclusion  from  the  judicial 
controversy  of  everything  which  is  not  material  to  the  conflict  may, 


CONFLICT  591 

to  be  sure,  lead  to  a  formalism  of  the  struggle  which  may  come  to 
have  an  independent  character  in  contrast  with  the  content  itself. 
This  occurs,  on  the  one  hand,  when  real  elements  are  not  weighed 
against  each  other  at  all  but  only  quite  abstract  notions  maintain 
controversy  with  each  other.  On  the  other  hand,  the  controversy  is 
often  shifted  to  elements  which  have  no  relation  whatever  to  the 
subject  which  is  to  be  decided  by  the  struggle.  Where  legal  con- 
troversies, accordingly,  in  higher  civilizations  are  fought  out  by 
attorneys,  the  device  serves  to  abstract  the  controversy  from  all 
personal  associations  which  are  essentially  irrelevant.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  Otto  the  Great  ordains  that  a  legal  controversy  shall  be  settled 
by  judicial  duel  between  professional  fighters,  there  remains  of  the 
whole  struggle  of  interests  only  the  bare  form,  namely,  that  there 
shall  be  struggle  and  victory. 

This  latter  case  portrays,  in  the  exaggeration  of  caricature,  the 
reduction  of  the  judicial  conflict  to  the  mere  struggle  element.  But 
precisely  through  its  pure  objectivity  because  it  stands  quite  beyond 
the  subjective  antitheses  of  pity  and  cruelty,  this  unpi tying  type  of 
struggle,  as  a  whole,  rests  on  the  presupposition  of  a  unity  and  a 
community  of  the  parties  never  elsewhere  so  severely  and  constantly 
maintained.  The  common  subordination  to  the  law,  the  reciprocal 
recognition  that  the  decision  can  be  made  only  according  to  the 
objective  weight  of  the  evidence,  the  observance  of  forms  which  are 
held  to  be  inviolable  by  both  parties,  the  consciousness  throughout 
the  whole  procedure  of  being  encompassed  by  a  social  power  and  order 
which  are  the  means  of  giving  to  the  procedure  its  significance  and 
security — all  this  makes  the  legal  controversy  rest  upon  a  broad 
basis  of  community  and  consensus  between  the  opponents.  It  is 
really  a  unity  of  a  lesser  degree  which  is  constituted  by  the  parties 
to  a  compact  or  to  a  commercial  transaction,  a  presupposition  of 
which  is  the  recognition,  along  with  the  antithesis  of  interests,  that 
they  are  subject  to  certain  common,  constraining,  and  obligatory 
rules.  The  common  presuppositions,  which  exclude  everything  that 
is  merely  personal  from  the  legal  controversy,  have  that  character  of 
pure  objectivity  to  which,  on  its  side,  the  sharpness,  the  inexorableness, 
and  the  absoluteness  of  the  species  of  struggle  correspond.  The 
reciprocity  between  the  dualism  and  the  unity  of  the  sociological 
relationship  is  accordingly  shown  by  the  judicial  struggle  not  less 


SQ2  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

than  by  the  war  game.  Precisely  the  most  extreme  and  unlimited 
phases  of  struggle  occur  in  both  cases,  since  the  struggle  is  surrounded 
and  maintained  by  the  severe  unity  of  common  norms  and  limitations. 
d)  The  conflict  of  impersonal  ideals. — Finally,  there  is  the  situ- 
ation in  which  the  parties  are  moved  by  an  objective  interest;  that 
is,  where  the  interest  of  the  struggle,  and  consequently  the  struggle 
itself,  is  differentiated  from  the  personality.  The  consciousness  of 
being  merely  the  representative  of  superindividual  claims — that  is, 
of  fighting  not  for  self  but  only  for  the  thing  itself — may  lend  to  the 
struggle  a  radicalism  and  mercilessness  which  have  their  analogy  in 
the  total  conduct  of  many  very  unselfish  and  high-minded  men. 
Because  they  grant  themselves  no  consideration,  they  likewise  have 
none  for  others  and  hold  themselves  entirely  justified  in  sacrificing 
everybody  else  to  the  idea  to  which  they  are  themselves  a  sacrifice. 
Such  a  struggle,  into  which  all  the  powers  of  the  person  are  thrown, 
while  victory  accrues  only  to  the  cause,  carries  the  character  of 
respectability,  for  the  reputable  man  is  the  wholly  personal,  who, 
however,  understands  how  to  hold  his  personality  entirely  in  check. 
Hence  objectivity  operates  as  noblesse.  When,  however,  this  dif- 
ferentiation is  accomplished,  and  struggle  is  objectified,  it  is  not 
subjected  to  a  further  reserve,  which  would  be  quite  inconsistent; 
indeed,  that  would  be  a  sin  against  the  content  of  the  interest  itself 
upon  which  the  struggle  had  been  localized.  On  the  basis  of  this 
common  element  between  the  parties — namely,  that  each  defends 
merely  the  issue  and  its  right,  and  excludes  from  consideration 
everything  selfishly  personal — the  struggle  is  fought  out  without  the 
sharpness,  but  also  without  the  mollifyings,  which  come  from  inter- 
mingling of  the  personal  element.  Merely  the  immanent  logic  of  the 
situation  is  obeyed  with  absolute  precision.  This  form  of  antithesis 
between  unity  and  antagonism  intensifies  conflict  perhaps  most 
perceptibly  in  cases  where  both  parties  actually  pursue  one  and  the 
same  purpose;  for  example,  in  the  case  of  scientific  controversies,  in 
which  the  issue  is  the  establishment  of  the  truth.  In  such  a  case, 
every  concession,  every  polite  consent  to  stop  short  of  exposing  the 
errors  of  the  opponent  in  the  most  unpitying  fashion,  every  conclusion 
of  peace  previous  to  decisive  victory,  would  be  treason  against  that 
reality  for  the  sake  of  which  the  personal  element  is  excluded  from 
the  conflict. 


CONFLICT  593 

With  endless  varieties  otherwise,  the  social  struggles  since  Marx 
have  developed  themselves  in  the  above  form.  Since  it  is  recognized 
that  the  situation  of  laborers  is  determined  by  the  objective  organiza- 
tion and  formulas  of  the  productive  system,  independent  of  the  will  and 
power  of  individual  persons,  the  personal  embitterment  incident  to  the 
struggle  in  general  and  to  local  conflicts  exemplifying  the  general 
conflict  necessarily  diminishes.  The  entrepreneur  is  no  longer,  as 
such,  a  blood-sucker  and  damnable  egotist;  the  laborer  is  no  longer 
universally  assumed  to  act  from  sinful  greed;  both  parties  begin,  at 
least,  to  abandon  the  program  of  charging  the  other  with  demands 
and  tactics  inspired  by  personal  malevolence.  This  literalizing  of 
the  conflict  has  come  about  in  Germany  rather  along  the  lines  of 
theory;  in  England,  through  the  operation  of  the  trade  unions,  in 
the  course  of  which  the  individually  personal  element  of  the  antago- 
nism has  been  overcome.  In  Germany  this  was  effected  largely 
through  the  more  abstract  generalization  of  the  historical  and  class 
movement.  In  England  it  came  about  through  the  severe  super- 
individual  unity  in  the  actions  of  the  unions  and  of  the  combinations 
of  employers.  The  intensity  of  the  struggle,  however,  has  not  on  that 
account  diminished.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  become  much  more 
conscious  of  its  purpose,  more  concentrated,  and  at  the  same  time 
more  aggressive,  through  the  consciousness  of  the  individual  that  he 
is  struggling  not  merely,  and  often  not  at  all,  for  himself  but  rather 
for  a  vast  superpersonal  end. 

A  most  interesting  symptom  of  this  correlation  was  presented  by 
the  boycotting  of  the  Berlin  breweries  by  the  labor  body  in  the  year 
1894.  This  was  one  of  the  most  intense  local  struggles  of  the  last 
decade.  It  was  carried  on  by  both  sides  with  extraordinary  energy, 
yet  without  any  personal  offensiveness  on  either  side  toward  the  other, 
although  the  stimulus  was  close  at  hand.  Indeed,  two  of  the  party 
leaders,  in  the  midst  of  the  struggle,  published  their  opinions  about 
it  in  the  same  journal.  They  agreed  in  their  formulation  of  the  objec- 
tive facts,  and  disagreed  in  a  partisan  spirit  only  in  the  practical 
conclusions  drawn  from  the  facts.  Inasmuch  as  the  struggle  elimi- 
nated everything  irrelevantly  personal,  and  thereby  restricted  antago- 
nism quantitatively,  facilitating  an  understanding  about  everything 
personal,  producing  a  recognition  of  being  impelled  on  both  sides  by 
historical  necessities,  this  common  basis  did  not  reduce  but  rather 


594  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

increased,   the  intensity,   the  irreconcilability,   and   the  obstinate 
consistency  of  the  struggle. 

B.      WAR,  INSTINCTS,  AND  IDEALS 
i.    War  and  Human  Nature1 

What  can  be  said  of  the  causes  of  war — not  its  political  and 
economic  causes,  nor  yet  the  causes  that  are  put  forth  by  the  nations 
engaged  in  the  conflict,  but  its  psychological  causes  ? 

The  fact  that  war  to  no  small  extent  removes  cultural  repres- 
sions and  allows  the  instincts  to  come  to  expression  in  full  force  is 
undoubtedly  a  considerable  factor.  In  his  unconscious  man  really 
takes  pleasure  in  throwing  aside  restraints  and  permitting  him- 
self the  luxury  of  the  untrammeled  expression  of  his  primitive 
animal  tendencies.  The  social  conventions,  the  customs,  the  forms, 
and  institutions  which  he  has  built  up  in  the  path  of  his  cultural 
progress  represent  so  much  energy  in  the  service  of  repression. 
Repression  represents  continuous  effort,  while  a  state  of  war  permits 
a  relaxation  of  this  effort  and  therefore  relief. 

We  are  familiar,  in  other  fields,  with  the  phenomena  of  the 
unconscious,  instinctive  tendencies  breaking  through  the  bounds 
imposed  upon  them  by  repression.  The  phenomena  of  crime  and  of 
so-called  "insanity"  represent  such  examples,  while  drunkenness  is 
one  instance  familiar  to  all.  In  vino  veritas  expresses  the  state  of  the 
drunken  man  when  his  real,  that  is,  his  primitive,  self  frees  itself 
from  restraint  and  runs  riot.  The  psychology  of  the  crowd  shows 
this  mechanism  at  work,  particularly  in  such  sinister  instances  as 
lynching,  while  every  crowd  of  college  students  marching  yelling  and 
howling  down  the  main  street  of  the  town  after  a  successful  cane 
rush  exhibits  the  joy  of  unbottling  the  emotions  in  ways  that  no 
individual  would  for  a  moment  think  of  availing  himself. 

In  addition  to  these  active  demonstrations  of  the  unconscious 
there  are  those  of  a  more  passive  sort.  Not  a  few  men  are  only  too 
glad  to  step  aside  from  the  burden  of  responsibilities  which  they  are 
forced  to  carry  and  seek  refuge  in  a  situation  in  which  they  no  longer 
have  to  take  the  initiative  but  must  only  do  as  they  are  directed  by 
a  superior  authority.  The  government  in  some  of  its  agencies  takes 

1  Adapted  from  William  A.  White,  Thoughts  of  a  Psychiatrist  on  the  War  and 
After,  pp.  75-87.  (Paul  B.  Hoeber,  1919.) 


CONFLICT  595 

over  certain  of  their  obligations,  such  as  the  support  of  wife  and 
children,  and  they  clear  out,  free  from  the  whole  sordid  problem  of 
poverty,  into  a  situation  filled  with  dramatic  interest.  Then,  too, 
if  anything  goes  wrong  at  home  they  are  not  to  blame,  they  have  done 
their  best,  and  what  they  have  done  meets  with  public  approval. 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  an  inhabitant  of  the  slums  should  be  glad  to 
exchange  poverty  and  dirt,  a  sick  wife  and  half-starved  children,  for 
glorious  freedom,  especially  when  he  is  urged  by  every  sort  of  appeal 
to  patriotism  and  duty  to  do  so  ? 

But  all  these  are  individual  factors  that  enter  into  the  causes  of 
war.  They  represent  some  of  the  reasons  why  men  like  to  fight,  for 
it  is  difficult  not  to  believe  that  if  no  one  wanted  to  fight  war  would 
be  possible  at  all.  They  too  represent  the  darker  side  of  the  picture. 
War  as  already  indicated  offers,  on  the  positive  side,  the  greatest 
opportunities  for  the  altruistic  tendencies;  it  offers  the  most  glorious 
occasion  for  service  and  returns  for  such  acts  the  greatest  possible 
premium  in  social  esteem.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  causes  of 
war  lie  much  deeper,  that  they  involve  primarily  the  problems  of  the 
herd  rather  than  the  individual,  and  I  think  there  are  good  biological 
analogies  which  make  this  highly  probable. 

The  mechanism  of  integration  explains  how  the  development  of 
the  group  was  dependent  upon  the  subordination  of  the  parts  to  the 
whole.  This  process  of  integration  tends  to  solve  more  and  more 
effectively  the  problems  of  adjustment,  particularly  in  some  aspects, 
in  the  direction  of  ever-increasing  stability.  It  is  the  process  of  the 
structuralization  of  function.  This  increase  in  stability,  however, 
while  it  has  the  advantage  of  greater  certainty  of  reaction,  has  the 
disadvantage  of  a  lessened  capacity  for  variation,  and  so  is  dependent 
for  its  efficiency  upon  a  stable  environment.  As  long  as  nothing 
unusual  is  asked  of  such  a  mechanism  it  works  admirably,  but  as  soon 
as  the  unusual  arises  it  tends  to  break  down  completely.  Life,  how- 
ever, is  not  stable;  it  is  fluid,  in  a  continuous  state  of  flux,  so,  while 
the  development  of  structure  to  meet  certain  demands  of  adaptation 
is  highly  desirable  and  necessary,  it  of  necessity  has  limits  which 
must  sooner  or  later  be  reached  in  every  instance.  The  most  typical 
example  of  this  is  the  process  of  growing  old.  The  child  is  highly 
adjustable  and  for  that  reason  not  to  be  depended  upon;  the  adult 
is  more  dependable  but  less  adjustable;  the  old  man  has  become 


596  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

stereotyped  in  his  reactions.  Nature's  solution  of  this  impasse  is 
death.  Death  insures  the  continual  removal  of  the  no  longer  adjust- 
able, and  the  places  of  those  who  die  are  filled  by  new  material 
capable  of  the  new  demands.  But  it  is  the  means  that  nature  takes 
to  secure  the  renewal  of  material  still  capable  of  adjustment  that  is 
of  significance.  From  each  adult  sometime  during  the  course  of  his 
life  nature  provides  that  a  small  bit  shall  be  detached  which,  in  the 
higher  animals,  in  union  with  a  similar  detached  bit  of  another  indi- 
vidual will  develop  into  a  child  and  ultimately  be  ready  to  replace 
the  adult  when  he  becomes  senile  and  dies.  Life  is  thus  maintained 
by  a  continuous  stream  of  germ  plasm  and  is  not  periodically  inter- 
rupted in  its  course,  as  it  seems  to  be,  by  death. 

The  characteristics  of  this  detached  bit  of  germ  plasm  are  inter- 
esting. It  does  not  manifest  any  of  that  complicated  structure  which 
we  meet  with  in  the  other  parts  of  the  body.  The  several  parts  of 
the  body  are  highly  differentiated,  each  for  a  specific  function.  Gland 
cells  are  developed  to  secrete,  muscle  cells  to  contract,  bone  cells  to 
withstand  mechanical  stresses,  etc.  Manifestly  development  along 
any  one  of  these  lines  would  not  produce  an  individual  possessing,  in 
its  several  parts,  all  of  these  qualities.  Development  has  to  go  back 
of  the  point  of  origin  of  these  several  variations  in  order  to  include 
them  all.  In  other  words,  regeneration  has  to  start  with  relatively 
undifferentiated  material.  This  is  excellently  illustrated  by  many  of 
the  lower,  particularly  the  unicellular,  animals,  in  which  reproduc- 
tion is  not  yet  sexual,  but  by  the  simple  method  of  division.  A  cell 
comes  to  rest,  divides  into  two,  and  each  half  then  leads  an  independ- 
ent existence.  Before  such  a  division  and  while  the  cell  is  quiescent — 
in  the  resting  stage,  as  it  is  called — the  differentiations  of  structure 
which  it  had  acquired  in  its  life  tune  disappear;  it  becomes  undiffer- 
entiated, relatively  simple  in  structure.  This  process  has  been  called 
dedifferentiation.  When  all  the  differentiations  which  had  been 
acquired  have  been  eliminated,  then  division — rejuvenescence — 
takes  place. 

From  this  point  of  view  we  may  see  in  war  the  preliminary  process 
of  rejuvenescence.  International  adjustments  and  compromises  are 
made  until  they  can  be  made  no  longer;  a  condition  is  brought  about 
which  in  Europe  has  been  termed  the  balance  of  power,  until  the  situ- 


CONFLICT  597 

ation  becomes  so  complicated  that  each  new  adjustment  has  such 
wide  ramifications  that  it  threatens  the  whole  structure.  Finally,  as 
the  result  of  the  accumulated  structure  of  diplomatic  relations  and 
precedents,  a  situation  arises  to  which  adjustment,  with  the  machinery 
that  has  been  developed,  is  impossible  and  the  whole-  house  of  cards 
collapses.  The  collapse  is  a  process  of  dedifferentiation  during  which 
the  old  structures  are*  destroyed,  precedents  are  disavowed,  new 
situations  occur  with  bewildering  rapidity,  for  dealing  with  which 
there  is  no  recognized  machinery  available.  Society  reverts  from  a 
state  in  which  a  high  grade  of  individual  initiative  and  development 
was  possible  to  a  relatively  communistic  and  paternalistic  state,  the 
slate  is  wiped  clear,  and  a  start  can  be  made  anew  along  lines  of 
progress  mapped  out  by  the  new  conditions — rejuvenescence  is 
possible. 

War,  from  this  point  of  view,  is  a  precondition  for  development 
along  new  lines  of  necessity,  and  the  dedifferentiation  is  the  first 
stage  of  a  constructive  process.  Old  institutions  have  to  be  torn 
down  before  the  bricks  with  which  they  were  built  can  be  made 
available  for  new  structures.  This  accounts  for  the  periodicity  of 
war,  which  thus  is  the  outward  and  evident  aspect  of  the  progress 
of  the  life-force  which  in  human  societies,  as  elsewhere,  advances 
in  cycles.  It  is  only  by  such  means  that  an  impasse  can  be  over- 
come. 

War  is  an  example  of  ambivalency  on  the  grandest  scale.  That 
is,  it  is  at  once  potent  for  the  greatest  good  and  the  greatest  evil: 
in  the  very  midst  of  death  it  calls  for  the  most  intense  living;  in  the 
face  of  the  greatest  renunciation  it  offers  the  greatest  premium;  for 
the  maximum  of  freedom  it  demands  the  utmost  giving  of  one's  self; 
in  order  to  live  at  one's  best  it  demands  the  giving  of  life  itself.  "No 
man  has  reached  his  ethical  majority  who  would  not  die  if  the  real 
interests  of  the  community  could  thus  be  furthered.  What  would 
the  world  be  without  the  values  that  have  been  bought  at  the  price 
of  death?"  In  this  sense  the  great  creative  force,  love,  and  the 
supreme  negation,  death,  become  one.  That  the  larger  life  of 
the  race  should  go  forward  to  greater  things,  the  smaller  life  of  the 
individual  must  perish.  In  order  that  man  shall  be  born  again,  he 
must  first  die. 


598  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Does  all  this  necessarily  mean  that  war,  from  time  to  time,  in 
the  process  of  readjustment,  is  essential  ?  I  think  no  one  can  doubt 
that  it  has  been  necessary  in  the  past.  Whether  it  will  be  in  the  future 
depends  upon  whether  some  sublimated  form  of  procedure  can 
adequately  be  substituted.  We  have  succeeded  to  a  large  extent  in 
dealing  with  our  combative  instincts  by  developing  sports  and  the 
competition  of  business,  and  we  have  largely  sublimated  our  hate 
instinct  in  dealing  with  various  forms  of  anti-social  conduct  as 
exhibited  in  the  so-called  "criminal."  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether 
nations  can  unite  to  a  similar  end  and  perhaps,  by  the  establishment 
of  an  international  court,  and  by  other  means,  deal  in  a  similar  way 
with  infractions  of  international  law. 

2.    War  as  a  Form  of  Relaxation1 

The  fact  is  that  it  does  not  take  a  very  careful  reader  of  the  hu- 
man mind  to  see  that  all  the  Utopias  and  all  the  socialistic  schemes 
are  based  on  a  mistaken  notion  of  the  nature  of  this  mind. 

It  is  by  no  means  sure  that  what  man  wants  is  peace  and  quiet 
and  tranquillity.  That  is  too  close  to  ennui,  which  is  his  greatest 
dread.  What  man  wants  is  not  peace  but  a  battle.  He  must  pit 
his  force  against  someone  or  something.  Every  language  is  most 
rich  in  synonyms  for  battle,  war,  contest,  conflict,  quarrel,  combat, 
fight.  German  children  olay  all  day  long  with  their  toy  soldiers. 
Our  sports  take  the  form  of  contests  in  football,  baseball,  and  hun- 
dreds of  others.  Prize  fights,  dog  fights,  cock  fights,  have  pleased  in 
all  ages.  When  Rome  for  a  season  was  not  engaged  in  real  war, 
Claudius  staged  a  sea  fight  for  the  delectation  of  an  immense  con- 
course, in  which  19,000  gladiators  were  compelled  to  take  a  tragic 
part,  so  that  the  ships  were  broken  to  pieces  and  the  waters  of  the 
lake  were  red  with  blood. 

You  may  perhaps  recall  Professor  James's  astonishing  picture  of 
his  visit  to  a  Chautauqua.  Here  he  found  modern  culture  at  its 
best,  no  poverty,  no  drunkenness,  no  zymotic  diseases,  no  crime,  no 
police,  only  polite  and  refined  and  harmless  people.  Here  was  a 
middle-class  paradise,  kindergarten  and  model  schools,  lectures  and 
classes  and  music,  bicycling  and  swimming,  and  culture  and  kindness 

1  From  G.  T.  W.  Patrick,  "The  Psychology  of  War,"  in  the  Popular  Science 
Monthly,  LXXXVII  (1915),  166-68. 


CONFLICT  599 

and  elysian  peace.     But  at  the  end  of  a  week  he  came  out  into  the 
real  world,  and  he  said: 

Ouf!  What  a  relief!  Now  for  something  primordial  and  savage,  even 
though  it  were  as  bads  as  an  Armenian  massacre,  to  set  the  balance  straight 
again.  This  order  is  too  tame,  this  culture  too  second-rate,  this  goodness 
too  uninspiring.  This  human  drama,  without  a  villain  or  a  pang;  this 
community  so  refined  that  ice-cream  soda-water  is  the  utmost  offering  it  can 
make  to  the  brute  animal  in  man;  this  city  simmering  in  the  tepid  lakeside 
sun;  this  atrocious  harmlessness  of  all  things — I  cannot  abide  with  them. 

What  men  want,  he  says,  is  something  more  precipitous,  some- 
thing with  more  zest  in  it,  with  more  adventure.  Nearly  all  the 
Utopias  paint  the  life  of  the  future  as  a  kind  of  giant  Chautauqua,  in 
which  every  man  and  woman  is  at  work,  all  are  well  fed,  satisfied,  and 
cultivated.  But  as  man  is  now  constituted  he  would  probably  find 
such  a  life  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable. 

Man  is  not  originally  a  working  animal.  Civilization  has  imposed 
work  upon  man,  and  if  you  work  him  too  hard  he  will  quit  work  and 
go  to  war.  Nietzsche  says  man  wants  two  things — danger  and  play. 
War  represents  danger. 

It  follows  that  all  our  social  Utopias  are  wrongly  conceived.  They 
are  all  based  on  a  theory  of  pleasure  economy.  But  history  and 
evolution  show  that  man  has  come  up  from  the  lower  animals  through 
a  pain  economy.  He  has  struggled  up — fought  his  way  up  through 
never-ceasing  pain  and  effort  and  struggle  and  battle.  The  Utopias 
picture  a  society  in  which  man  has  ceased  to  struggle.  He  works 
his  eight  hours  a  day — everybody  works — and  he  sleeps  and  enjoys 
himself  the  other  hours.  But  man  is  not  a  working  animal,  he  is  a 
fighting  animal.  The  Utopias  are  ideal — but  they  are  not  psy- 
chological. The  citizens  for  such  an  ideal  social  order  are  lacking. 
Human  beings  will  not  serve. 

Our  present  society  tends  more  and  more  in  its  outward  form  in 
time  of  peace  toward  the  Chautauqua  plan,  but  meanwhile  striving 
and  passion  burn  in  the  brain  of  the  human  units,  till  the  time  comes 
when  they  find  this  insipid  life  unendurable.  They  resort  to  amuse- 
ment crazes,  to  narcotic  drugs,  to  political  strife,  to  epidemics  of 
crime,  and  finally  to  war.  The  alcohol  question  well  illustrates  the 
tendencies  we  are  pointing  out.  Science  and  hygiene  have  at  last 


6oo  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

shown  beyond  all  question  that  alcohol,  whether  in  large  or  smaller 
doses,  exerts  a  damaging  effect  upon  both  mind  and  body.  It  lessens 
physical  and  mental  efficiency,  shortens  life,  and  encourages  social 
disorder.  In  spite  of  this  fact  and,  what  is  stjll  more  amazing,  in 
spite  of  the  colossal  effort  now  being  put  forth  to  suppress  by  legisla- 
tive means  the  traffic  in  liquor,  the  per  capita  consumption  of  alcoholic 
drinks  in  the  United  States  increases  from  year  to  year.  From  a 
per  capita  consumption  of  four  gallons  in  1850,  it  has  steadily  risen 
to  nearly  twenty-five  gallons  in  1913. 

Narcotic  drugs,  such  as  alcohol  and  tobacco,  relieve  in  an  artificial 
way  the  tension  upon  the  brain  by  slightly  paralyzing  temporarily 
the  higher  and  more  recently  developed  brain  centers.  The  increase 
in  the  use  of  these  drugs  is  therefore  both  an  index  of  the  tension  of 
modern  life  and  at  the  same  time  a  means  of  relieving  it  to  some 
extent.  Were  the  use  of  these  drugs  suddenly  checked,  no  student 
of  psychology  or  of  history  could  doiflbt  that  there  would  be  an 
immediate  increase  of  social  irritability,  tending  to  social  instability 
and  social  upheavals. 

Psychology,  therefore,  forces  upon  us  this  conclusion.  Neither 
war  nor  alcohol  can  be  banished  from  the  world  by  summary  means 
nor  direct  suppressions.  The  mind  of  man  must  be  made  over. 
As  the  mind  of  man  is  constituted,  he  will  never  be  content  to  be  a 
mere  laborer,  a  producer  and  a  consumer.  He  loves  adventure,  self- 
sacrifice,  heroism,  relaxation. 

These  things  must  somehow  be  provided.  And  then  there  must 
be  a  system  of  education  of  our  young  differing  widely  from  our 
present  system.  The  new  education  will  not  look  to  efficiency  merely 
and  ever  more  efficiency,  but  to  the  production  of  a  harmonized  and 
balanced  personality.  We  must  cease  our  worship  of  American 
efficiency  and  German  Streberthwn  and  go  back  to  Aristotle  and  his 
teaching  of  "the  mean." 

3.     The  Fighting  Animal  and  the  Great  Society1 

We  must  agree  that  man  as  he  has  existed,  so  far  as  we  can  read 
the  story  of  his  development,  has  been,  and  as  he  exists  today  still 
is,  a  fighting  animal — that  is  to  say  that  he  has  in  the  past  answered, 

'Adapted  from  Henry  Rutgers  Marshall,  War  and  the  Ideal  of  Peace, 
pp.  96-110.  (Duffield  &  Co.,  1915.) 


CONFLICT  60 1 

and  still  answers,  certain  stimuli  by  the  immediate  reactions  which 
constitute  fighting. 

We  find  evidence  of  the  existence  of  this  fighting  instinct  in  the 
ordinary  men  around  us.  Remove  but  for  a  moment  the  restraints 
given  in  our  civilized  lands  and  this  tendency  is  likely  to  become 
prominent  upon  the  slightest  stimulation.  We  see  this  exemplified 
in  the  lives  of  the  pioneer  and  adventurer  the  world  over:  in  that  of 
the  cowboy  of  the  far  West,  in  that  of  the  rubber  collector  on  the 
Amazon,  in  that  of  the  ivory  trader  on  the  Congo. 

Then,  too,  the  prize  fighter  is  still  a  prominent  person  in  our 
community,  taken  as  a  whole,  and  even  in  our  sports,  as  engaged  in 
by  "gentlemen  amateurs,"  we  find  it  necessary  to  make  rigid  rules 
to  prevent  the  friendly  contest  from  developing  into  a  fierce  struggle 
for  individual  physical  dominance. 

But  man  gained  his  pre-eminent  position  among  the  animals 
mainly  through  his  ability  to  form  co-operative  groups  working  to 
common  ends;  and  long  before  the  times  of  which  anthropological 
research  give  us  any  clear  knowledge,  man  had  turned  his  individual- 
istic fighting  instincts  to  the  service  of  his  group  or  clan.  That  is 
to  say,  he  had  become  a  warrior,  giving  his  best  strength  to  co- 
operative aggression  in  behalf  of  satisfactions  that  could  not  be 
won  by  him  as  an  individual  acting  for  himself. 

Our  earlier  studies  have  taught  us  also  that  if  man's  instinctive 
tendencies  could  in  any  manner  be  inhibited  or  modified,  so  that  he 
came  to  display  other  characteristics  than  those  observed  in  the 
present  expression  of  these  inborn  instincts,  then  the  law  of  his  nature 
would  in  that  very  fact  be  changed.  We  are  thus  led  to  ask  whether 
the  biologist  finds  evidence  that  an  animal's  instincts  can  be  thus 
changed  in  mode  of  expression. 

The  biologist  speaks  to  us  somewhat  as  follows.  Although  new 
racial  characteristics  have  very  rarely,  if  ever,  been  gained  by  the 
obliteration  of  instincts,  changes  in  racial  characteristics  have  not 
infrequently  occurred  as  the  result  of  the  control,  rather  than  the 
loss,  of  these  inherited  instincts. 

This  control  may  become  effective  in  either  one  of  two  ways: 
first,  by  the  thwarting  or  inhibition  of  the  expression  of  the  instincts; 
or  secondly,  by  the  turning  of  its  expression  to  other  uses  than  that 
which  originally  resulted  in  its  fixation. 


6o2  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

As  an  example  of  the  thwarting  of  the  expression  of  an  instinct 
we  may  take  the  functioning  of  the  sexual  instinct,  which,  as  we  see 
it  in  animals  in  general,  has  been  inhibited  in  the  human  animal  by 
the  habits  acquired  by  man  as  he  has  risen  in  the  scale. 

This  mode  of  change — that  of  the  mere  chaining  of  the  instinc- 
tive tendency — is  subject  to  one  great  difficulty.  The  chain  may 
by  chance  be  broken;  the  inhibition  may  be  removed;  then  the 
natural  instinctive  tendency  at  once  shows  itself.  Remove  the 
restraints  of  civilized  society  but  a  little,  and  manifestations  of  the 
sexual  instinct  of  our  race  appear  in  forms  that  are  not  far  removed 
from  those  observed  in  the  animal.  Place  a  man  under  conditions 
of  starvation  and  he  shows  himself  as  greedy  as  the  dog. 

The  second  mode  of  change — that  of  the  transference  of  func- 
tioning of  the  instincts  into  new  channels — meets  this  special  dif- 
ficulty, for  it  does  not  depend  upon  the  chaining  of  the  instinct.  It 
actually  makes  use  of  the  instinct.  And  the  more  important  to  the 
race  the  newer  reference  of  the  instinct's  functioning  turns  out  to  be, 
the  more  certain  is  it  to  replace  the  original  reference.  If  the  new 
mode  of  functioning  brings  marked  advantage  that  is  lost  by  reversion 
to  the  earlier  manifestation  of  the  instinct,  so  that  such  a  reversion 
to  this  earlier  manifestation  is  a  detriment  to  the  race,  then  the 
change  is  likely  to  become  a  permanent  one. 

No  better  example  of  this  second  mode  of  change  of  an  instinct's 
functioning  can  be  found  than  in  the  very  existence  of  war  itself. 
The  basic  instinct  is  one  that  led  the  savage  man  to  fight  to  protect 
himself  or  to  gain  something  for  himself  by  aggressive  attack.  War 
has  come  into  being  as  the  result  of  a  transfer  of  the  functioning  of 
this  instinct,  which  at  first  had  only  an  individualistic  reference,  so 
that  it  has  come  to  have  a  clan  or  national  reference.  The  early  man 
found  he  could  not  have  success  as  an  individual  unless  he  joined 
with  his  fellow-men  in  defense  and  aggression;  and  that  meant  war. 

And  note  that  this  transfer  of  reference  of  the  expression  of  this 
fighting  instinct  soon  became  so  important  to  the  race  that  reversion 
to  its  primal  individualistic  reference  had  to  be  inhibited.  Aggressive 
attack  by  an  individual  upon  another  of  his  own  clan  or  nation 
necessarily  tended  to  weaken  the  social  unit  and  to  reduce  its  strength 
in  its  protective  and  aggressive  wars;  and  thus  such  attacks  by  indi- 


CONFLICT  603 

viduals  came  to  be  discountenanced  and  finally  in  large  measure 
repressed. 

Here,  it  will  be  observed,  the  fighting  instinct  of  the  individual 
has  not  been  obliterated;  it  has  not  even  been  bound  with  chains; 
but  its  modes  of  expression  have  been  altered  to  have  racial  signifi- 
cance, and  to  have  so  great  a  significance  in  this  new  relation  that 
reversion  to  its  primary  form  of  expression  has  become  a  serious 
obstacle  to  racial  advance. 

So  it  appears  after  all  that,  although  instincts  can  rarely  if  ever 
be  obliterated,  their  manifestations  may  be  so  altered  as  to  give  the 
animal  quite  new  characteristics.  And  this  means  that  if  the  char- 
acteristics which  we  describe  as  the  expressions  of  man's  fighting 
instincts  could  be  so  changed  that  these  expressions  were  inhibited 
or  turned  into  quite  new  channels,  the  man  would  no  longer  be 
describable  as  a  fighting  animal. 

The  first  indication  in  our  conscious  life  of  any  tendency  to  inhibit 
or  modify  the  functioning  of  any  instinct  or  habit  must  appear  in 
the  form  of  a  dislike  of,  a  revulsion  from,  the  resultants  of  this  func- 
tioning; and  in  the  creation  of  an  ideal  of  functioning  that  shall 
avoid  the  discomforts  attendant  upon  this  revulsion.  And  when 
such  an  ideal  has  once  been  gained,  it  is  possible,  as  we  have  seen, 
that  the  characteristics  of  nature  may  be  changed  by  our  creative 
efficiency  through  the  devising  of  means  looking  to  the  realization  of 
the  ideal. 

We  have  the  clearest  evidence  that  this  process  is  developing  in 
connection  with  these  special  instincts  that  make  for  war;  for  we  men 
and  women  in  these  later  times  are  repelled  by  the  results  of  the 
functioning  of  these  fighting  instincts,  and  we  have  created  the  ideal 
of  peace,  the  conception  of  a  condition  that  is  not  now  realized  in 
nature,  but  which  we  think  of  as  possible  of  realization. 

But  the  very  existence  of  an  ideal  is  indicative  of  a  tendency,  on 
the  part  of  the  man  who  entertains  it,  to  modify  his  characteristic 
activities.  Thus  it  appears  that  we  have  in  the  very  existence  of  this 
ideal  of  peace  the  evidence  that  we  may  look  for  a  change  in  man's 
nature,  the  result  of  which  will  be  that  we  shall  no  longer  be  war- 
ranted in  describing  him  as  a  fighting  animal. 


604  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

C.      RIVALRY,   CULTURAL  CONFLICTS,   AND   SOCIAL  ORGANIZATION 

I.     Animal  Rivalry1 

Among  mammals  the  instinct  of  one  and  all  is  to  lord  it  over  the 
others,  with  the  result  that  the  one  more  powerful  or  domineering 
gets  the  mastery,  to  keep  it  thereafter  as  long  as  he  can.  The  lower 
animals  are,  in  this  respect,  very  much  like  us;  and  in  all  kinds  that 
are  at  all  fierce- tempered  the  mastery  of  one  over  all,  and  of  a  few 
under  him  over  the  others,  is  most  salutary;  indeed,  it  is  inconceiv- 
able that  they  should  be  able  to  exist  together  under  any  other  system. 

On  cattle-breeding  establishments  on  the  pampas,  where  it  is 
usual  to  keep  a  large  number  of  fierce-tempered  dogs,  I  have  observed 
these  animals  a  great  deal  and  presume  they  are  much  like  feral  dogs 
and  wolves  in  their  habits.  Their  quarrels  are  incessant;  but  when 
a  fight  begins,  the  head  of  the  pack  as  a  rule  rushes  to  the  spot,  where- 
upon the  fighters  separate  and  march  off  in  different  directions  or 
else  cast  themselves  down  and  deprecate  their  tyrant's  wrath  with 
abject  gestures  and  whines.  If  the  combatants  are  both  strong  and 
have  worked  themselves  into  a  mad  rage  before  their  head  puts  in 
an  appearance,  it  may  go  hard  with  him;  they  know  him  no  longer 
and  all  he  can  do  is  to  join  in  the  fray;  then  if  the  fighters  turn  on 
him  he  may  be  so  injured  that  his  power  is  gone  and  the  next  best 
dog  in  the  pack  takes  his  place.  The  hottest  contests  are  always 
between  dogs  that  are  well  matched;  neither  will  give  place  to  the 
other  and  so  they  fight  it  out;  but  from  the  foremost  in  power  down 
to  the  weakest  there  is  a  gradation  of  authority;  each  one  knows 
just  how  far  he  can  go,  which  companion  he  can  bully  when  he  is  in 
a  bad  temper  or  wishes  to  assert  himself,  and  to  which  he  must 
humbly  yield  in  his  turn.  In  such  a  state  the  weakest  one  must 
yield  to  all  the  others  and  cast  himself  down,  seeming  to  call  himself 
a  slave  and  worshiper  of  any  other  member  of  the  pack  that  chances  to 
snarl  at  him  or  command  him  to  give  up  his  bone  with  good  grace. 

This  masterful  or  domineering  temper,  so  common  among  social 
mammals,  is  the  cause  of  the  persecution  of  the  sick  and  weakly. 
When  an  animal  begins  to  ail  he  can  no  longer  hold  his  own;  he  ceases 
to  resent  the  occasional  ill-natured  attacks  made  on  him;  his  non- 

1  Adapted  from  William  H.  Hudson,  "The  Strange  Instincts  of  Cattle," 
Longman's  Magazine,  XVIII  (1891),  393-94. 


CONFLICT  605 

combative  condition  is  quickly  discovered,  and  he  at  once  drops  down 
to  a  place  below  the  lowest;  it  is  common  knowledge  in  the  herd  that 
he  may  be  buffeted  with  impunity  by  all,  even  by  those  that  have 
hitherto  suffered  buffets  but  have  given  none.  But  judging  from  my 
own  observation,  this  persecution  is  not,  as  a  rule,  severe,  and  is 
seldom  fatal. 

2.     The  Rivalry  of  Social  Groups1 

Conflict,  competition,  and  rivalry  are  the  chief  causes  which  force 
human  beings  into  groups  and  largely  determine  what  goes  on  within 
them.  Conflicts,  like  wars,  revolutions,  riots,  still  persist,  but 
possibly  they  may  be  thought  of  as  gradually  yielding  to  competitions 
which  are  chiefly  economic.  Many  of  these  strivings  seem  almost 
wholly  individual,  but  most  of  them  on  careful  analysis  turn  out  to 
be  intimately  related  to  group  competition.  A  third  form,  rivalry, 
describes  struggle  for  status,  for  social  prestige,  for  the  approval  of 
inclusive  publics  which  form  the  spectators  for  such  contests.  The 
nation  is  an  arena  of  competition  and  rivalry. 

Much  of  this  emulation  is  of  a  concealed  sort.  Beneath  the  union 
services  of  churches  there  is  an  element,  for  the  most  part  uncon- 
scious, of  rivalry  to  secure  the  approval  of  a  public  which  in  these 
days  demands  brotherliness  and  good  will  rather  than  proselyting 
and  polemics.  Many  public  subscriptions  for  a  common  cause  are 
based  upon  group  rivalry  or  upon  individual  competition  which  is 
group-determined.  The  Rhodes  scholarships  are  in  one  sense  a 
means  of  furthering  imperial  interest.  Christmas  presents  lavished 
upon  children  often  have  a  bearing  upon  the  ambition  of  the  family 
to  make  an  impression  upon  rival  domestic  groups.  In  the  liberal 
policy  of  universities  which  by  adding  to  the  list  of  admission  subjects 
desire  to  come  into  closer  relations  with  the  public  schools,  there  is 
some  trace  of  competition  for -students  and  popular  applause.  The 
interest  which  nations  manifest  in  the  Hague  Tribunal  is  tinged  with 
a  desire  to  gain  the  good  will  of  the  international,  peace-praising 
public.  The  professed  eagerness  of  one  or  both  parties  in  a  labor 
dispute  to  have  the  differences  settled  by  arbitration  is  a  form  of 
competition  for  the  favor  of  the  onlooking  community.  Thus  in 

1  Adapted  from  George  E.  Vincent,  "The  Rivalry  of  Social  Groups,"  in  the 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XVI  (1910-  u),  471-84. 


606  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

international  relationships  and  in  the  life-process  of  each  nation  count- 
less groups  are  in  conflict,  competition,  or  rivalry. 

This  idea  of  the  group  seeking  survival,  mastery,  aggrandizement, 
prestige,  in  its  struggles  with  other  groups  is  a  valuable  means  of 
interpretation.  Let  us  survey  rapidly  the  conditions  of  success  as  a 
group  carries  on  its  life  of  strife  and  emulation.  In  order  to  survive 
or  to  succeed  the  group  must  organize,  cozen,  discipline,  and  stimulate 
its  members.  Fortunately  it  finds  human  nature  in  a  great  measure 
fashioned  for  control. 

Collective  pride  or  group  egotism  is  an  essential  source  of  strength 
in  conflict.  Every  efficient  group  cultivates  this  sense  of  honor, 
importance,  superiority,  by  many  devices  of  symbol,  phrase,  and 
legend,  as  well  as  by  scorn  and  ridicule  of  rivals.  The  college 
fraternity's  sublime  self-esteem  gives  it  strength  in  its  competition 
for  members  and  prestige.  There  is  a  chauvinism  of  "boom"  towns 
and  religious  sects,  as  well  as  of  nations.  What  pride  and  self- 
confidence  are  to  the  individual,  ethnocentrism,  patriotism,  local 
loyalty  are  to  social  unities.  Diffidence,  humility,  self-distrust,  toler- 
ance, are  as  dangerous  to  militant  groups  as  to  fighting  men. 

Then  too  the  group  works  out  types  of  personality,  hero  types  to 
be  emulated,  traitor  types  to  be  execrated.  These  personality  types 
merge  into  abstract  ideals  and  standards.  "''  Booster  "  and  "  knocker" 
bring  up  pictures  of  a  struggling  community  which  must  preserve  its 
hopefulness  and  self-esteem  at  all  hazards.  "  Statesman  "  and  "  dema- 
gogue" recall  the  problem  of  selection  which  every  self-governing 
community  must  face.  "Defender  of  the  faith"  and  "heretic"  are 
eloquent  of  the  Church's  dilemma  between  rigid  orthodoxy  and 
flexible  accommodation  to  a  changing  order. 

With  a  shifting  in  the  conflict  or  rivalry  crises,  types  change  in 
value  or  emphasis,  or  new  types  are  created  in  adjustment  to  the 
new  needs.  The  United  Stated  at  war  with  Spain  sought  martial 
heroes.  The  economic  and  political  ideals  of  personality,  the  cap- 
tains of  industry,  the  fascinating  financiers,  the  party  idols,  were  for 
the  time  retired  to  make  way  for  generals  and  admirals,  soldiers  and 
sailors,  the  heroes  of  camp  and  battleship.  The  war  once  over,  the 
displaced  types  reappeared  along  with  others  which  are  being  created 
to  meet  new  administrative,  economic,  and  ethical  problems.  The 
competing  church  retires  its  militant  and  disputatious  leaders  in  an 


CONFLICT  607 

age  which  gives  its  applause  to  apostles  of  concord,  fraternal  feeling, 
and  co-operation.  At  a  given  time  the  heroes  and  traitors  of  a  group 
reflect  its  competitions  and  rivalries  with  other  groups. 

Struggle  forces  upon  the  group  the  necessity  of  cozening,  be- 
guiling, managing  its  members.  The  vast  majority  of  these  fall  into 
a  broad  zone  of  mediocrity  which  embodies  group  character  and 
represents  a  general  adjustment  to  life-conditions.  From  this 
medial  area  individuals  vary,  some  in  ways  which  aid  the  group  in 
its  competition,  others  in  a  fashion  which  imperils  group  success. 
It  is  the  task  of  the  group  both  to  preserve  the  solidarity  of  the 
medial  zone  and  to  discriminate  between  the  serviceable  and 
the  menacing  variants.  The  latter  must  be  coerced  or  sup- 
pressed, the  former  encouraged  and  given  opportunity.  In  Plato's 
Republic  the  guardians  did  this  work  of  selection  which  in  modern 
groups  is  cared  for  by  processes  which  seem  only  slightly  conscious 
and  purposeful. 

The  competing  group  in  seeking  to  insure  acquiescence  and  loyalty 
elaborates  a  protective  philosophy  by  which  it  creates  within  its 
members  the  belief  that  their  lot  is  much  to  be  preferred  to  that  of 
other  comradeships  and  associations.  Western  Americans  take 
satisfaction  in  living  in  a  free,  progressive,  hospitable  way  in  "  God's 
country."  They  try  not  to  be  pharisaical  about  the  narrowness  of 
the  East,  but  they  achieve  a  sincere  scorn  for  the  hidebound  con- 
ventions of  an  effete  society.  Easterners  in  turn  count  themselves 
fortunate  in  having  a  highly  developed  civilization,  and  they  usually 
attain  real  pity  for  those  who  seem  to  live  upon  a  psychic,  if  not  a 
geographic,  frontier.  The  middle  class  have  a  philosophy  with 
which  they  protect  themselves  against  the  insidious  suggestions  that 
come  from  the  life  of  the  conspicuous  rich.  These,  on  the  other  hand, 
half  suspecting  that  simplicity  and  domesticity  may  have  some 
virtue,  speak  superciliously  of  middle-class  smugness  and  the  bourgeois 
"home."  The  less  prosperous  of  the  professional  classes  are  prone 
to  lay  a  good  deal  of  stress  upon  their  intellectual  resources  as  com- 
pared with  the  presumptive  spiritual  poverty  of  the  affluent.  Country 
folk  encourage  themselves  by  asserting  their  fundamental  value  to 
society  and  by  extolling  their  own  simple  straightforward  virtues, 
which  present  so  marked  a  contrast  to  the  devious  machinations  of 
city-dwellers.  Booker  Washington's  reiterated  assertion  that  if  he 


608  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

were  to  be  born  again  he  would  choose  to  be  a  Negro  because  the  Negro 
race  is  the  only  one  which  has  a  great  problem  contains  a  suggestion 
of  this  protective  philosophy.  This  tendency  of  a  group  to  fortify 
itself  by  a  satisfying  theory  of  its  lot  is  obviously  related  to  group 
egotism  and  is  immediately  connected  with  group  rivalry. 

The  competing  group  derides  many  a  dissenter  into  conformity. 
This  derision  may  be  spontaneous,  or  reflective  and  concerted.  The 
loud  guffaw  which  greets  one  who  varies  in  dress  or  speech  or  idea 
may  come  instantly  or  there  may  be  a  planned  and  co-operative 
ridicule  systematically  applied  to  the  recalcitrant.  Derision  is  one 
of  the  most  effective  devices  by  which  the  group  sifts  and  tests  the 
variants. 

Upon  the  small  number  of  rebels  who  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  epithets, 
ostracism  is  brought  to  bear.  This  may  vary  from  the  "cold  shoul- 
der" to  the  complete  "  boycott."  Losing  the  friendship  and  approval 
of  comrades,  being  cut  off  from  social  sympathy,  is  a  familiar  form  of 
group  pressure.  Ridicule  and  derision  are  a  kind  of  evanescent 
ostracism,  a  temporary  exclusion  from  the  comradeship.  There  are 
many  degrees  in  the  lowering  of  the  social  temperature:  coolness, 
formality  of  intercourse,  averted  looks,  "cutting  dead,"  "sending  to 
Coventry,"  form  a  progressive  series.  Economic  pressure  is  more 
and  more  a  resort  of  modern  groups.  Loss  of  employment,  trade, 
or  professional  practice  brings  many  a  rebel  to  time.  All  coercion 
obviously  increases  as  the  group  is  hard  pressed  in  its  conflicts,  com- 
petitions, and  rivalries. 

These  crises  and  conflicts  of  a  competing  group  present  problems 
which  must  be  solved — problems  of  organization,  of  inventions  of 
many  kinds,  of  new  ideas  and  philosophies,  of  methods  of  adjustment. 
The  conditions  of  competition  or  rivalry  upset  an  equilibrium  of 
habit  and  custom,  and  a  process  of  problem-solving  ensues.  A  typhoid 
epidemic  forces  the  village  to  protect  itself  against  the  competition 
of  a  more  healthful  rival.  The  resourceful  labor  union  facing  a  cor- 
poration which  offers  profit-sharing  and  retiring  allowances  must 
formulate  a  protective  theory  and  practice.  A  society  clique  too 
closely  imitated  by  a  lower  stratum  must  regain  its  distinction  and 
supremacy.  A  nation  must  be  constantly  alert  to  adjust  itself  to  the 
changing  conditions  of  international  trade  and  to  the  war  equipment 
and  training  of  its  rivals. 


CONFLICT  609 

The  theory  of  group  rivalry  throws  light  upon  the  individual. 
The  person  has  as  many  selves  as  there  are  groups  to  which  he  be- 
longs. He  is  simple  or  complex  as  his  groups  are  few  and  harmonious 
or  many  and  conflicting.  What  skilful  management  is  required  to 
keep  business  and  moral  selves  from  looking  each  other  in  the  eye, 
to  prevent  scientific  and  theological  selves  from  falling  into  dis- 
cussion !  Most  men  of  many  groups  learn,  like  tactful  hosts,  to  invite 
at  a  given  time  only  congenial  companies  of  selves.  A  few  brave 
souls  resolve  to  set  their  house  in  order  and  to  entertain  only  such 
selves  as  can  live  together  with  good  will  and  mutual  respect.  With 
these  earnest  folk  their  groups  have  to  reckon.  The  conflicts  of 
conscience  are  group  conflicts. 

Tolerance  is  a  sign  that  once  vital  issues  within  the  group  are 
losing  their  significance,  or  that  the  group  feels  secure,  or  that  it  is 
slowly,  even  unconsciously,  merging  into  a  wider  grouping.  Theo- 
logical liberality  affords  a  case  in  point.  In  the  earlier  days  of  sec- 
tarian struggle  tolerance  was  a  danger  both  to  group  loyalty  and  to 
the  militant  spirit.  Cynicism  for  other  reasons  is  also  a  menace. 
It  means  loss  of  faith  in  the  collective  ego,  in  the  traditions,  shib- 
boleths, symbols,  and  destiny  of  the  group.  Fighting  groups  cannot 
be  tolerant;  nor  can  they  harbor  cynics.  Tolerance  and  cynicism 
are  at  once  causes  and  results  of  group  decay.  They  portend  dis- 
solution or  they  foreshadow  new  groupings  for  struggle  over  other 
issues  on  another  plane.  Evangelical  churches  are  drawing  together 
with  mutual  tolerance  to  present  a  united  front  against  modern 
skepticism  and  cynicism  which  are  directed  against  the  older  faiths 
and  moralities. 

The  subjective  side  of  group  rivalry  offers  an  important  study. 
The  reflection  of  the  process  of  control  in  personal  consciousness  is 
full  of  interest.  The  means  by  which  the  rebellious  variant  protects 
himself  against  the  coercion  of  his  comrades  have  been  already  sug- 
gested in  the  description  of  ridicule  and  epithet.  These  protective 
methods  resolve  themselves  into  setting  one  group  against  another 
in  the  mind  of  the  derided  or  stigmatized  individual. 

A  national  group  is  to  be  thought  of  an  an  inclusive  unity  with  a 
fundamental  character,  upon  the  basis  of  which  a  multitude  of  groups 
compete  with  and  rival  each  other.  It  is  the  task  of  the  nation  to 
control  and  to  utilize  this  group  struggle,  to  keep  it  on  as  high  a 


6io  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

plane  as  possible,  to  turn  it  to  the  common  account.  Government 
gets  its  chief  meaning  from  the  rivalry  of  groups  to  grasp  political 
power  in  their  own  interests.  Aristocracy  and  democracy  may  be 
interpreted  in  terms  of  group  antagonism,  the  specialized  few  versus 
the  undifferentiated  many.  The  ideal  merges  the  two  elements  of 
efficiency  and  solidarity  in  one  larger  group  within  which  mutual 
confidence  and  emulation  take  the  place  of  conflict.  Just  as  persons 
must  be  disciplined  into  serving  their  groups,  groups  must  be  sub- 
ordinated to  the  welfare  of  the  nation.  It  is  in  conflict  or  competi- 
tion with  other  nations  that  a  country  becomes  a  vivid  unity  to  the 
members  of  constituent  groups.  It  is  rivalry  which  brings  out  the 
sense  of  team  work,  the  social  consciousness. 

3.    Cultural  Conflicts  and  the  Organization  of  Sects1 

It  is  assumed,  I  suppose,  that  contradictions  among  ideas  and 
beliefs  are  of  various  degrees  and  of  various  modes  besides  that 
specific  one  which  we  call  logical  incompatibility.  A  perception,  for 
example,  may  be  pictorially  inconsistent  or  tonically  discordant  with 
another  perception;  a  mere  faith  unsupported  by  objective  evidence 
may  be  emotionally  antagonistic  to  another  mere  faith,  as  truly  as 
a  judgment  may  be  logically  irreconcilable  with  another  judgment. 
And  this  wide  possibility  of  contradiction  is  particularly  to  be  rec- 
ognized when  the  differing  ideas  or  beliefs  have  arisen  not  within  the 
same  individual  mind  but  in  different  minds,  and  are  therefore 
colored  by  personal  or  partisan  interest  and  warped  by  idiosyncrasy 
of  mental  constitution.  The  contradictions  of,  or  rather  among, 
ideas  and  beliefs,  with  which  we  are  now  concerned,  are  more  extensive 
and  more  varied  than  mere  logical  duels;  they  are  also  less  definite, 
less  precise.  In  reality  they  are  culture  conflicts  in  which  the  oppos- 
ing forces,  so  far  from  being  specific  ideas  only  or  pristine  beliefs  only, 
are  in  fact  more  or  less  bewildering  complexes  of  ideas,  beliefs,  preju- 
dices, sympathies,  antipathies,  and  personal  interests. 

It  is  assumed  also,  I  suppose,  that  any  idea  or  group  of  ideas, 
any  belief  or  group  of  beliefs,  may  happen  to  be  or  may  become  a 
common  interest,  shared  by  a  small  or  a  large  number  of  individuals. 

1  Adapted  from  Franklin  H.  Giddings,  "Are  Contradictions  of  Ideas  and 
Beliefs  Likely  to  Play  an  Important  Group-making  R61e  in  the  Future?"  in  the 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XIII  (1907-8),  784-91. 


CONFLICT  6n 

It  may  draw  and  hold  them  together  in  bonds  of  acquaintance,  of 
association,  even  of  co-operation.  It  thus  may  play  a  group-making 
role.  Contradictory  ideas  or  beliefs,  therefore,  may  play  a  group- 
making  role  in  a  double  sense.  Each  draws  into  association  the  indi- 
vidual minds  that  entertain  it  or  find  it  attractive.  Each  also  repels 
those  minds  to  whom  it  is  repugnant,  and  drives  them  toward  the 
group  which  is  being  formed  about  the  contradictory  idea  or  belief. 
Contradictions  among  ideas  and  beliefs,  then,  it  may  be  assumed, 
tend  on  the  whole  to  sharpen  the  lines  of  demarcation  between 
group  and  group. 

These  assumptions  are,  I  suppose,  so  fully  justified  by  the  every- 
day observation  of  mankind  and  so  confirmed  by  history  that  it  is 
unnecessary  now  to  discuss  them  or  in  any  way  to  dwell  upon  them. 
The  question  before  us  therefore  becomes  specific:  "Are  contradic- 
tions among  ideas  and  beliefs  likely  to  play  an  important  group- 
making  role  in  the  future?"  I  shall  interpret  the  word  important 
as  connoting  quality  as  well  as  quantity.  I  shall,  in  fact,  attempt  to 
answer  the  question  set  for  me  by  translating  it  into  this  inquiry, 
namely:  What  kind  or  type  of  groups  are  the  inevitable  contradic- 
tions among  ideas  and  beliefs  most  likely  to  create  and  to  maintain 
within  the  progressive  populations  of  the  world  from  this  time  forth  ? 

Somewhat  more  than  three  hundred  years  ago,  Protestantism 
and  geographical  discovery  had  combined  to  create  conditions  extraor- 
dinarily favorable  to  the  formation  of  groups  or  associations  about 
various  conflicting  ideas  and  beliefs  functioning  as  nuclei;  and  for 
nearly  three  hundred  years  the  world  has  been  observing  a  remarkable 
multiplication  of  culture  groups  of  two  fundamentally  different  types. 
One  type  is  a  sect,  or  denomination,  having  no  restricted  local  habita- 
tion but  winning  adherents  here  and  there  in  various  communes, 
provinces,  or  nations,  and  having,  therefore,  a  membership  either 
locally  concentrated  or  more  or  less  widely  dispersed ;  either  regularly 
or  most  irregularly  distributed.  The  culture  group  of  the  other  type, 
or  kind,  is  a  self-sufficing  community.  It  may  be  a  village,  a  colony, 
a  state,  or  a  nation.  Its  membership  is  concentrated,  its  habitat  is 
defined. 

To  a  very  great  extent,  as  everybody  knows,  American  coloniza- 
tion proceeded  through  the  formation  of  religious  communities. 
Such  were  the  Pilgrim  and  the  Puritan  commonwealths.  Such  were 


6l2  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  Quaker  groups  of  Rhode  Island  and  Pennsylvania.  Such  were 
the  localized  societies  of  the  Dunkards,  the  Moravians,  and  the 
Mennonites. 

As  late  as  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  American 
people  witnessed  the  birth  and  growth  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
religious  communities  known  in  history.  The  Mormon  community 
of  Utah,  which,  originating  in  1830  as  a  band  of  relatives  and 
acquaintances,  clustered  by  an  idea  that  quickly  became  a  dogma, 
had  become  in  fifty  years  a  commonwealth  de  facto,  defying  the 
authority  de  jure  of  the  United  States. 

We  are  not  likely,  however,  again  to  witness  a  phenomenon  of 
this  kind  in  the  civilized  world.  Recently  we  have  seen  the  rise  and 
the  astonishingly  rapid  spread  of  another  American  religion,  namely, 
the  Christian  Science  faith.  But  it  has  created  no  community 
group.  It  has  created  only  a  dispersed  sect.  It  is  obvious  to  any 
intelligent  observer,  however  untrained  in  sociological  discrimination 
he  may  be,  that  the  forces  of  Protestantism,  still  dividing  and  dif- 
ferentiating as  they  are,  no  longer  to  any  great  extent  create  new 
self-sufficing  communities.  They  create  only  associations  of  irregular 
geographical  dispersion,  of  more  or  less  unstable  or  shifting  member- 
ship. In  a  word,  the  conflicting-idea  forces,  which  in  our  colonial 
days  tended  to  create  community  groups  as  well  as  sects,  tend  now  to 
create  sectarian  bodies  only — mere  denominational  or  partisan 
associations. 

A  similar  contrast  between  an  earlier  and  a  later  stage  of  culture 
group-making  may  be  observed  if  we  go  back  to  centuries  before  the 
Protestant  Reformation,  there  to  survey  a  wider  field  and  a  longer 
series  of  historical  periods. 

It  is  a  commonplace  of  historical  knowledge  that  in  all  of  the 
earliest  civilizations  there  was  an  approximate  identification  of 
religion  with  ethnic  consciousness  and  of  political  consciousness  with 
both  religious  and  race  feeling.  Each  people  had  its  own  tribal  or 
national  gods,  who  were  inventoried  as  national  assets  at  valuations 
quite  as  high  as  those  attached  to  tribal  or  national  territory. 

When,  however,  Roman  imperial  rule  had  been  extended  over 
the  civilized  world,  the  culture  conflicts  that  then  arose  expended 
their  group-creating  force  in  simply  bringing  together  like  believers 
in  sectarian  association.  Christianity,  appealing  to  all  bloods,  in 


CONFLICT  613 

some  measure  to  all  economic  classes,  and  spreading  into  all  sections 
of  the  eastern  Mediterranean  region,  did  not  to  any  great  extent 
create  communities.  And  what  was  true  of  Christianity  was  in  like 
manner  true  of  the  Mithras  cult,  widely  diffused  in  the  second  Chris- 
tian century.  Even  Mohammedanism,  a  faith  seemingly  well  cal- 
culated to  create  autonomous  states,  in  contact  with  a  world  prepared 
by  Roman  organization  could  not  completely  identify  itself  with 
definite  political  boundaries. 

The  proximate  causes  of  these  contrasts  are  not  obscure.  We 
must  suppose  that  a  self-sufficing  community  might  at  one  time,  as 
well  as  at  another,  be  drawn  together  by  formative  beliefs.  But 
that  it  may  take  root  somewhere  and,  by  protecting  itself  against 
destructive  external  influences,  succeed  for  a  relatively  long  time 
in  maintaining  its  integrity  and  its  solidarity,  it  must  enjoy  a  relative 
isolation.  In  a  literal  sense  it  must  be  beyond  easy  reach  of  those 
antagonistic  forces  which  constitute  for  it  the  outer  world  of  unbelief 
and  darkness. 

Such  isolation  is  easily  and  often  possible,  however,  only  in  the 
early  stages  of  political  integration.  It  is  always  difficult  and  un- 
usual in  those  advanced  stages  wherein  nations  are  combined  in  world- 
empires.  It  is  becoming  well-nigh  impossible,  now  that  all  the 
continents  have  been  brought  under  the  sovereignty  of  the  so-called 
civilized  peoples,  while  these  peoples  themselves,  freely  communicat- 
ing and  intermingling,  maintain  with  one  another  that  good  under- 
standing which  constitutes  them,  in  a  certain  broad  sense  of  the 
term,  a  world-society.  The  proximate  effects  also  of  the  contrast 
that  has  been  sketched  are  generally  recognized. 

So  long  as  blood  sympathy,  religious  faith,  and  political  con- 
sciousness are  approximately  coterminous,  the  groups  that  they 
form,  whether  local  communities  or  nations,  must  necessarily  be  rather 
sharply  delimited.  They  must  be  characterized  also  by  internal 
solidarity.  Their  membership  is  stable  because  to  break  the  bond  of 
blood  is  not  only  to  make  one's  self  an  outcast  but  is  also  to  be  unfaith- 
ful to  the  ancestral  gods;  to  change  one's  religion  is  not  only  to  be 
impious  but  is  also  to  commit  treason;  to  expatriate  one's  self  is  not 
only  to  commit  treason  but  is  also  to  blaspheme  against  high  heaven. 

But  when  associations  of  believers  or  of  persons  holding  in 
common  any  philosophy  or  doctrine  whatsoever  are  no  longer 


6 14  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

self-sufficing  communities,  and  when  nations  composite  in  blood  have 
become  compound  in  structure,  all  social  groups,  clusters,  or  organi- 
zations, not  only  the  cultural  ones  drawn  together  by  formative 
ideas,  but  also  the  economic  and  the  political  ones,  become  in  some 
degree  plastic.  Their  membership  then  becomes  to  some  extent 
shifting  and  renewable.  Under  these  circumstances  any  given 
association  of  men,  let  it  be  a  village,  a  religious  group,  a  trade  union, 
a  corporation,  or  a  political  party,  not  only  takes  into  itself  new 
members  from  time  to  time;  it  also  permits  old  members  to  depart. 
Men  come  and  men  go,  yet  the  association  or  the  group  itself  persists. 
As  group  or  as  organization  it  remains  unimpaired. 

The  economic  advantage  secured  by  this  plasticity  and  renew- 
ableness  is  beyond  calculation  enormous.  It  permits  and  facilitates 
the  drafting  of  men  at  any  moment  from  points  where  they  are  least 
needed,  for  concentration  upon  points  where  they  are  needed  most. 
The  spiritual  or  idealistic  advantage  is  not  less  great.  The  con- 
centration of  attention  and  of  enthusiasm  upon  strategic  points  gives 
ever-increasing  impetus  to  progressive  movements. 

Let  us  turn  now  from  these  merely  proximate  causes  and  effects 
of  group  formation  to  take  note  of  certain  developmental  processes 
which  lie  farther  back  in  the  evolutionary  sequence  and  which  also 
have  significance  for  our  inquiry,  since,  when  we  understand  them, 
they  may  aid  us  in  our  attempt  to  answer  the  question,  What  kind 
of  group-making  is  likely  to  be  accomplished  by  cultural  conflicts 
from  this  time  forth  ? 

The  most  readily  perceived,  because  the  most  pictorial,  of  the 
conflicts  arising  between  one  belief  and  another  are  those  that  are 
waged  between  beliefs  that  have  been  localized  and  then  through 
geographical  expansion  have  come  into  competition  throughout 
wide  frontier  areas.  Of  all  such  conflicts,  that  upon  which  the  world 
has  now  fully  entered  between  occidental  and  oriental  ideas  is  not 
merely  the  most  extensive;  it  is  also  by  far  the  most  interesting  and 
picturesque. 

Less  picturesque  but  often  more  dramatic  are  the  conflicts  that 
arise  within  each  geographical  region,  within  each  nation,  between 
old  beliefs  and  new — the  conflicts  of  sequent,  in  distinction  from 
coexistent,  ideas;  the  conflicts  in  time,  in  distinction  from  the  con- 
flicts in  space.  A  new  knowledge  is  attained  which  compels  us  to 


CONFLICT  615 

question  old  dogmas.  A  new  faith  arises  which  would  displace  the 
ancient  traditions.  As  the  new  waxes  strong  in  some  region  favor- 
able to  it,  it  begins  there,  within  local  limits,  to  supersede  the  old. 
Only  then,  when  the  conflict  between  the  old  as  old  and  the  new  as 
new  is  practically  over,  does  the  triumphant  new  begin  to  go  forth 
spatially  as  a  conquering  influence  from  the  home  of  its  youth  into 
regions  outlying  and  remote. 

Whatever  the  form,  however,  that  the  culture  conflict  assumes, 
whether  serial  and  dramatic  or  geographical  and  picturesque,  its 
antecedent  psychological  conditions  are  in  certain  great  essentials 
the  same.  Men  array  themselves  in  hostile  camps  on  questions  of 
theory  and  belief,  not  merely  because  they  are  variously  and  con- 
flictingly  informed,  but  far  more  because  they  are  mentally  unlike, 
their  minds  having  been  prepared  by  structural  differentiation  to 
seize  upon  different  views  and  to  cherish  opposing  convictions.  That 
is  to  say,  some  minds  have  become  rational,  critical,  plastic,  open, 
outlooking,  above  all,  intuitive  of  objective  facts  and  relations.  Others 
in  their  fundamental  constitution  have  remained  dogmatic,  intuitive 
only  of  personal  attitudes  or  of  subjective  moods,  temperamentally 
conservative  and  instinctive.  Minds  of  the  one  kind  welcome  the 
new  and  wider  knowledge;  they  go  forth  to  embrace  it.  Minds  of 
the  other  kind  resist  it. 

In  the  segregation  thus  arising,  there  is  usually  discoverable  a 
certain  tendency  toward  grouping  by  sex. 

Whether  the  mental  and  moral  traits  of  women  are  inherent  and 
therefore  permanent,  or  whether  they  are  but  passing  effects  of  cir- 
cumscribed experience  and  therefore  possibly  destined  to  be  modified, 
is  immaterial  for  my  present  purpose.  It  is  not  certain  that  either 
the  biologist  or  the  psychologist  is  prepared  to  answer  the  question. 
It  is  certain  that  the  sociologist  is  not.  It  is  enough  for  the  analysis 
that  I  am  making  now  if  we  can  say  that,  as  a  merely  descriptive 
fact,  women  thus  far  in  the  history  of  the  race  have  generally  been 
more  instinctive,  more  intuitive  of  subjective  states,  more  emotional, 
more  conservative  than  men;  and  that  men,  more  generally  than 
women,  have  been  intuitive  of  objective  relations,  inclined  therefore 
to  break  with  instinct  and  to  rely  on  the  later-developed  reasoning 
processes  of  the  brain,  and  willing,  consequently,  to  take  chances,  to 
experiment,  and  to  innovate. 


6l6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

If  so  much  be  granted,  we  may  perhaps  say  that  it  is  because  of 
these  mental  differences  that  in  conflicts  between  new  and  old  ideas, 
between  new  knowledge  and  old  traditions,  it  usually  happens  that 
a  large  majority  of  all  women  are  found  in  the  camp  of  the  old,  and 
that  the  camp  of  the  new  is  composed  mainly  of  men. 

In  the  camp  of  the  new,  however,  are  always  to  be  found  women 
of  alert  intelligence,  who  happen  also  to  be  temperamentally  radical; 
women  in  whom  the  reasoning  habit  has  asserted  sway  over  instinct, 
and  in  whom  intuition  has  become  the  true  scientific  power  to 
discern  objective  relations.  And  in  the  camp  of  the  old,  together  with 
a  majority  of  all  women,  are  to  be  found  most  of  the  men  of  con- 
servative instinct,  and  most  of  those  also  whose  intuitive  and  reason- 
ing powers  are  unequal  to  the  effort  of  thinking  about  the  world  or 
anything  in  it  in  terms  of  impersonal  causation.  Associated  with  all 
of  these  elements,  both  male  and  female,  may  usually  be  discovered, 
finally,  a  contingent  of  priestly  personalities;  not  necessarily  religious 
priests,  but  men  who  love  to  assert  spiritual  dominion,  to  wield  author- 
ity, to  be  reverenced  and  obeyed,  and  who  naturally  look  for  a 
following  among  the  non-skeptical  and  easily  impressed. 

Such,  very  broadly  and  rudely  sketched,  is  the  psychological 
background  of  culture  conflict.  It  is,  however,  a  background  only, 
a  certain  persistent  grouping  of  forces  and  conditions;  it  is  not  the 
cause  from  which  culture  conflicts  proceed. 

D.      RACIAL   CONFLICTS 
i.     Social  Contacts  and  Race  Conflict1 

There  is  a  conviction,  widespread  in  America  at  the  present  time, 
that  among  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  international  wars  are  racial 
prejudice  and  national  egotism.  This  conviction  is  the  nerve  of  much 
present-day  pacifism.  It  has  been  the  inspiration  of  such  unofficial 
diplomacy,  for  example,  as  that  of  the  Federal  Council  of  the  Churches 
of  Christ  in  its  effort  to  bring  about  a  better  understanding  between 
the  Japanese  and  America.  This  book,  The  Japanese  Invasion,  by 
Jesse  F.  Sterner,  is  an  attempt  to  study  this  phenomenon  of  race 
prejudice  and  national  egotism,  so  far  as  it  reveals  itself  in  the  rela- 
tions of  the  Japanese  and  the  Americans  in  this  country,  and  to  esti- 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  Introduction  to  Jesse  F.  Steiner,  The  Japanese  Invasion. 
(A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co.,  1917.) 


CONFLICT  617 

mate  the  role  it  is  likely  to  play  in  the  future  relations  of  the  two 
countries. 

So  far  as  I  know,  an  investigation  of  precisely  this  nature  has  not 
hitherto  been  made.  One  reason  for  this  is,  perhaps,  that  not  until 
very  recent  times  did  the  problem  present  itself  in  precisely  this  form. 
So  long  as  the  nations  lived  in  practical  isolation,  carrying  on  their 
intercourse  through  the  medium  of  professional  diplomats,  and  know- 
ing each  other  mainly  through  the  products  they  exchanged,  census 
reports,  and  the  discreet  observations  of  polite  travelers,  racial  preju- 
dice did  not  disturb  international  relations.  With  the  extension 
of  international  commerce,  the  increase  of  immigration,  and  the 
interpenetration  of  peoples,  the  scene  changes.  The  railway,  the 
steamship,  and  the  telegraph  are  rapidly  mobilizing  the  peoples  of 
the  earth.  The  nations  are  coming  out  of  their  isolation,  and  distances 
which  separated  the  different  races  are  rapidly  giving  way  before  the 
extension  of  communication. 

The  same  human  motives  which  have  led  men  to  spread  a  network 
of  trade-communication  over  the  whole  earth  in  order  to  bring  about 
an  exchange  of  commodities  are  now  bringing  about  a  new  distri- 
bution of  populations.  When  these  populations  become  as  mobile 
as  the  commodities  of  commerce,  there  will  be  practically  no  limits — 
except  those  artificial  barriers,  like  the  customs  and  immigration 
restrictions,  maintained  by  individual  states — to  a  world-wide  eco- 
nomic and  personal  competition.  Furthermore  when  the  natural 
barriers  are  broken  down,  artificial  barriers  will  be  maintained  with 
increasing  difficulty. 

Some  conception  of  the  extent  of  the  changes  which  are  taking 
place  in  the  world  under  the  influence  of  these  forces  may  be  gathered 
from  the  fact  that  in  1870  the  cost  of  transporting  a  bushel  of  grain 
in  Europe  was  so  great  as  to  prohibit  its  sale  beyond  a  radius  of  two 
hundred  miles  from  a  primary  market.  By  1883  the  importation  of 
grains  from  the  virgin  soil  of  the  western  prairies  in  the  United  States 
had  brought  about  an  agricultural  crisis  in  every  country  in  western 
Europe. 

One  may  illustrate,  but  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  estimate,  the 
economic  changes  which  have  been  brought  about  by  the  enormous 
increase  in  ocean  transportation.  In  1840  the  first  Cunard  liner,  of 
740  horse-power  with  a  speed  of  8 . 5  knots  per  hour,  was  launched. 


6i8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

In  1907,  when  the  Lusitania  was  built,  ocean-going  vessels  had 
attained  a  speed  of  25  knots  an  hour  and  were  drawn  by  engines  of 
70,000  horse-power. 

It  is  difficult  to  estimate  the  economic  changes  which  have  been 
brought  about  by  the  changes  in  ocean  transportation  represented 
by  these  figures.  It  is  still  less  possible  to  predict  the  political 
effects  of  the  steadily  increasing  mobility  of  the  peoples  of  the  earth. 
At  the  present  time  this  mobility  has  already  reached  a  point  at  which 
it  is  often  easier  and  cheaper  to  transport  the  world's  population  to 
the  source  of  raw  materials  than  to  carry  the  world's  manufactures 
to  the  established  seats  of  population. 

With  the  progressive  rapidity,  ease,  and  security  of  transportation, 
and  the  increase  in  communication,  there  follows  an  increasing  detach- 
ment of  the  population  from  the  soil  and  a  concurrent  concentration 
in  great  cities.  These  cities  in  time  become  the  centers  of  vast  num- 
bers of  uprooted  individuals,  casual  and  seasonal  laborers,  tenement 
and  apartment-house  dwellers,  sophisticated  and  emancipated 
urbanites,  who  are  bound  together  neither  by  local  attachment  nor 
by  ties  of  family,  clan,  religion,  or  nationality.  Under  such  conditions 
it  is  reasonable  to  expect  that  the  same  economic  motive  which  leads 
every  trader  to  sell  in  the  highest  market  and  to  buy  in  the  lowest 
will  steadily  increase  and  intensify  the  tendency,  which  has  already 
reached  enormous  proportions  of  the  population  in  overcrowded 
regions  with  diminished  resources,  to  seek  their  fortunes,  either 
permanently  or  temporarily,  in  the  new  countries  of  undeveloped 
resources. 

Already  the  extension  of  commerce  and  the  increase  of  immigration 
have  brought  about  an  international  and  inter-racial  situation  that 
has  strained  the  inherited  political  order  of  the  United  States.  It  is 
this  same  expansive  movement  of  population  and  of  commerce, 
together  with  the  racial  and  national  rivalries  that  have  sprung 
from  them,  which  first  destroyed  the  traditional  balance  of  power  in 
Europe  and  then  broke  up  the  scheme  of  international  control  which 
rested  on  it.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  immediate  causes  of  the 
world-war,  the  more  remote  sources  of  the  conflict  must  undoubtedly 
be  sought  in  the  great  cosmic  forces  which  have  broken  down  the 
barriers  which  formerly  separated  the  races  and  nationalities  of  the 


CONFLICT  619 

world,  and  forced  them  into  new  intimacies  and  new  forms  of 
competition,  rivalry,  and  conflict. 

Since  1870  the  conditions  which  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  have 
steadily  forced  upon  America  and  the  nations  of  Europe  the  problem 
of  assimilating  their  heterogeneous  populations.  What  we  call  the 
race  problem  is  at  once  an  incident  of  this  process  of  assimilation  and 
an  evidence  of  its  failure. 

The  present  volume,  The  Japanese  Invasion:  A  Study  in  the 
Psychology  of  Inter-racial  Contact,  touches  but  does  not  deal  with  the 
general  situation  which  I  have  briefly  sketched.  It  is,  as  its  title 
suggests,  a  study  in  "racial  contacts,"  and  is  an  attempt  to  distinguish 
and  trace  to  their  sources  the  attitudes  and  the  sentiments — that  is 
to  say,  mutual  prejudices — which  have  been  and  still  are  a  source 
of  mutual  irritation  and  misunderstanding  between  the  Japanese 
and  American  peoples. 

Fundamentally,  prejudice  against  the  Japanese  in  the  United 
States  is  merely  the  prejudice  which  attaches  to  every  alien  and 
immigrant  people.  The  immigrant  from  Europe,  like  the  immigrant 
from  Asia,  comes  to  this  country  because  he  finds  here  a  freedom  of 
individual  action  and  an  economic  opportunity  which  he  did  not  find 
at  home.  It  is  an  instance  of  the  general  tendency  of  populations  to 
move  from  an  area  of  relatively  closed,  to  one  of  relatively  open, 
resources.  The  movement  is  as  inevitable  and,  in  the  long  run,  as 
resistless  as  that  which  draws  water  from  its  mountain  sources  to  the 
sea.  It  is  one  way  of  redressing  the  economic  balance  and  bringing 
about  an  economic  equilibrium. 

The  very  circumstances  under  which  this  modern  movement 
of  population  has  arisen  implies  then  that  the  standard  of  living,  if 
not  the  cultural  level,  of  the  immigrant  is  lower  than  that  of  the  native 
population.  The  consequence  is  that  immigration  brings  with  it  a 
new  and  disturbing  form  of  competition,  the  competition,  namely, 
of  peoples  of  a  lower  and  of  a  higher  standard  of  living.  The  effect 
of  this  competition,  where  it  is  free  and  unrestricted,  is  either  to  lower 
the  living  standards  of  the  native  population;  to  expel  them  from  the 
vocations  in  which  the  immigrants  are  able  or  permitted  to  compete; 
or  what  may,  perhaps,  be  regarded  as  a  more  sinister  consequence, 
to  induce  such  a  restriction  of  the  birth  rate  of  the  native  population 


620  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

as  to  insure  its  ultimate  extinction.  The  latter  is,  in  fact,  what  seems 
to  be  happening  in  the  New  England  manufacturing  towns  where  the 
birth  rate  in  the  native  population  for  some  years  past  has  fallen  below 
the  death  rate,  so  that  the  native  stock  has  long  since  ceased  to  repro- 
duce itself.  The  foreign  peoples,  on  the  other  hand,  are  rapidly 
replacing  the  native  stocks,  not  merely  by  the  influence  of  new 
immigration,  but  because  of  a  relatively  high  excess  of  births  over 
deaths. 

It  has  been  assumed  that  the  prejudice  which  blinds  the  people 
of  one  race  to  the  virtues  of  another  and  leads  them  to  exaggerate 
that  other's  faults  is  in  the  nature  of  a  misunderstanding  which 
further  knowledge  will  dispel.  This  is  so  far  from  true  that  it  would 
be  more  exact  to  say  that  our  racial  misunderstandings  are  merely 
the  expression  of  our  racial  antipathies.  Behind  these  antipathies 
are  deep-seated,  vital,  and  instinctive  impulses.  Racial  antipathies 
represent  the  collision  of  invisible  forces,  the  clash  of  interests,  dimly 
felt  but  not  yet  clearly  perceived.  They  are  present  in  every  situa- 
tion where  the  fundamental  interests  of  races  and  peoples  are  not  yet 
regulated  by  some  law,  custom,  or  any  other  modus  vivendi  which 
commands  the  assent  and  the  mutual  support  of  both  parties.  We 
hate  people  because  we  fear  them,  because  our  interests,  as  we  under- 
stand them  at  any  rate,  run  counter  to  theirs.  On  the  other  hand, 
good  will  is  founded  in  the  long  run  upon  co-operation.  The  extension 
of  our  so-called  altruistic  sentiments  is  made  possible  only  by  the 
organization  of  our  otherwise  conflicting  interests  and  by  the  extension 
of  the  machinery  of  co-operation  and  social  control. 

Race  prejudice  may  be  regarded  as  a  spontaneous,  more  or  less 
instinctive,  defense-reaction,  the  practical  effect  of  which  is  to  restrict 
free  competition  between  races.  Its  importance  as  a  social  function 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  free  competition,  particularly  between  people 
with  different  standards  of  living,  seems  to  be,  if  not  the  original 
source,  at  least  the  stimulus  to  which  race  prejudice  is  the  response. 

From  this  point  of  view  we  may  regard  caste,  or  even  slavery, 
as  one  of  those  accommodations  through  which  the  race  problem 
found  a  natural  solution.  Caste,  by  relegating  the  subject  race  to 
an  inferior  status,  gives  to  each  race  at  any  rate  a  monopoly  of  its  own 
tasks.  When  this  status  is  accepted  by  the  subject  people,  as  is  the 
case  where  the  caste  or  slavery  systems  become  fully  established, 


CONFLICT  621 

racial  competition  ceases  and  racial  animosity  tends  to  disappear. 
That  is  the  explanation  of  the  intimate  and  friendly  relations  which 
so  often  existed  in  slavery  between  master  and  servant.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  we  hear  it  said  today  that  the  Negro  is  all  right  in 
his  place.  In  his  place  he  is  a  convenience  and  not  a  competitor. 
Each  race  being  in  its  place,  no  obstacle  to  racial  co-operation  exists. 

The  fact  that  race  prejudice  is  due  to,  or  is  in  some  sense  dependent 
upon,  race  competition  is  further  manifest  by  a  fact  that  Mr.  Steiner 
has  emphasized,  namely,  that  prejudice  against  the  Japanese  is 
nowhere  uniform  throughout  the  United  States.  It  is  only  where  the~ 
Japanese  are  present  in  sufficient  numbers  to  actually  disturb  the 
economic  status  of  the  white  population  that  prejudice  has  manifested 
itself  to  such  a  degree  as  to  demand  serious  consideration.  It  is  an 
interesting  fact  also  that  prejudice  against  the  Japanese  is  now  more 
intense  than  it  is  against  any  other  oriental  people.  The  reason  for 
this,  as  Mr.  Steiner  has  pointed  out,  is  that  the  Japanese  are  more 
aggressive,  more  disposed  to  test  the  sincerity  of  that  statement  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  which  declares  that  all  men  are 
equally  entitled  to  "life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness" — a 
statement,  by  the  way,  which  was  merely  a  forensic  assertion  of  the 
laissez  faire  doctrine  of  free  and  unrestricted  competition  as  applied 
to  the  relations  of  individual  men. 

The  Japanese,  the  Chinese,  they  too  would  be  all  right  in  their 
place,  no  doubt.  That  place,  if  they  find  it,  will  be  one  in  which  they 
do  not  greatly  intensify  and  so  embitter  the  struggle  for  existence  of 
the  white  man.  The  difficulty  is  that  the  Japanese  is  still  less  disposed 
than  the  Negro  or  the  Chinese  to  submit  to  the  regulations  of  a  caste 
system  and  to  stay  in  his  place.  The  Japanese  are  an  organized  and 
morally  efficient  nation.  They  have  the  national  pride  and  the 
national  egotism  which  rests  on  the  consciousness  of  this  efficiency. 
In  fact,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  national  egotism,  if  one  pleases 
to  call  it  such,  is  essential  to  national  efficiency,  just  as  a  certain 
irascibility  of  temper  seems  to  be  essential  to  a  good  fighter. 

Another  difficulty  is  that  caste  and  the  limitation  of  free  competi- 
tion is  economically  unsound,  even  though  it  be  politically  desirable. 
A  national  policy  of  national  efficiency  demands  that  every  individual 
have  not  merely  the  opportunity  but  the  preparation  necessary  to 
perform  that  particular  service  for  the  community  for  which  his 


622  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

natural  disposition  and  aptitude  fit  him,  irrespective  of  race  or 
' '  previous  condition. ' ' 

Finally,  caste  and  the  limitation  of  economic  opportunity  is 
contrary,  if  not  to  our  traditions,  at  least  to  our  political  principles. 
That  means  that  there  will  always  be  an  active  minority  opposed  to 
any  settlement  based  on  the  caste  system  as  applied  to  either  the 
black  or  the  brown  races,  on  grounds  of  political  sentiment.  This 
minority  will  be  small  in  parts  of  the  country  immediately  adversely 
affected  by  the  competition  of  the  invading  race.  It  will  be  larger  in 
regions  which  are  not  greatly  affected.  It  will  be  increased  if  immigra- 
tion is  so  rapid  as  to  make  the  competition  more  acute.  We  must 
look  to  other  measures  for  the  solution  of  the  Japanese  problem,  if  it 
should  prove  true,  as  seems  probable,  that  we  are  not  able  or,  for 
various  reasons,  do  not  care  permanently  to  hold  back  the  rising  tide 
of  the  oriental  invasion. 

I  have  said  that  fundamentally  and  in  principle  prejudice  against 
the  Japanese  in  America  today  was  identical  with  the  prejudice 
which  attaches  to  any  immigrant  people.  There  is,  as  Mr.  Steiner 
has  pointed  out,  a  difference.  This  is  due  to  the  existence  in  the 
human  mind  of  a  mechanism  by  which  we  inevitably  and  auto- 
matically classify  every  individual  human  being  we  meet.  When 
a  race  bears  an  external  mark  by  which  every  individual  member  of 
it  can  infallibly  be  identified,  that  race  is  by  that  fact  set  apart  and 
segregated.  Japanese,  Chinese,  and  Negroes  cannot  move  among  us 
with  the  same  freedom  as  the  members  of  other  races  because  they 
bear  marks  which  identify  them  as  members  of  their  race.  This  fact 
isolates  them.  In  the  end  the  effect  of  this  isolation,  both  in  its 
effects  upon  the  Japanese  themselves  and  upon  the  human  environ- 
ment in  which  they  live,  is  profound.  Isolation  is  at  once  a  cause  and 
an  effect  of  race  prejudice.  It  is  a  vicious  circle — isolation,  prejudice; 
prejudice,  isolation.  Were  there  no  other  reasons  which  urge  us  to 
consider  the  case  of  the  Japanese  and  the  oriental  peoples  in  a  category 
different  from  that  of  the  European  immigrant,  this  fact,  that  they 
are  bound  to  live  in  the  American  community  a  more  or  less  isolated 
life,  would  impel  us  to  do  so. 

In  conclusion,  I  may  perhaps  say  in  a  word  what  seems  to  me  the 
practical  bearing  of  Mr.  Steiner 's  book.  Race  prejudice  is  a  mechan- 
ism of  the  group  mind  which  acts  reflexly  and  automatically  in 


CONFLICT  623 

response  to  its  proper  stimulus.  That  stimulus  seems  to  be,  in  the 
cases  where  I  have  met  it,  unrestricted  competition  of  peoples  with 
different  standards  of  living.  Racial  animosities  and  the  so-called 
racial  misunderstandings  that  grow  out  of  them  cannot  be  explained 
or  argued  away.  They  can  only  be  affected  when  there  has  been  a 
readjustment  of  relations  and  an  organization  of  interests  in  such  a 
way  as  to  bring  about  a  larger  measure  of  co-operation  and  a  lesser 
amount  of  friction  and  conflict.  This  demands  something  more  than 
a  diplomacy  of  kind  words.  .It  demands  a  national  policy  based  on  an 
unflinching  examination  of  the  facts. 

2.     Conflict  and  Race  Consciousness1 

The  Civil  War  weakened  but  did  not  fully  destroy  the  modus 
vivendi  which  slavery  had  established  between  the  slave  and  his 
master.  With  emancipation  the  authority  which  had  formerly  been 
exercised  by  the  master  was  transferred  to  the  state,  and  Wash- 
ington, B.C.,  began  to  assume  in  the  mind  of  the  freedman  the  posi- 
tion that  formerly  had  been  occupied  by  the  "big  house"  on  the 
plantation.  The  masses  of  the  Negro  people  still  maintained  their 
habit  of  dependence,  however,  and  after  the  first  confusion  of  the 
change  had  passed,  life  went  on,  for  most  of  them,  much  as  it  had 
before  the  war.  As  one  old  farmer  explained,  the  only  difference 
he  could  see  was  that  in  slavery  he  "was  working  for  old  Marster  and 
now  he  was  working  for  himself." 

There  was  one  difference  between  slavery  and  freedom,  never- 
theless, which  was  very  real  to  the  freedman.  And  this  was  the 
liberty  to  move.  To  move  from  one  plantation  to  another  in  case 
he  was  discontented  was  one  of  the  ways  in  which  a  freedman  was 
able  to  realize  his  freedom  and  to  make  sure  that  he  possessed  it. 
This  liberty  to  move  meant  a  good  deal  more  to  the  plantation 
Negro  than  one  not  acquainted  with  the  situation  in  the  South  is 
likely  to  understand. 

If  there  had  been  an  abundance  of  labor  in  the  South;  if  the 
situation  had  been  such  that  the  Negro  laborer  was  seeking  the 
opportunity  to  work,  or  such  that  the  Negro  tenant  farmers  were 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  "Racial  Assimilation  in  Secondary  Groups,"  in  Publi- 
cations of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  VIII  (1913),  75-82. 


624          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

competing  for  the  opportunity  to  get  a  place  on  the  land,  as  is  so 
frequently  the  case  in  Europe,  the  situation  would  have  been  funda- 
mentally different  from  what  it  actually  was.  But  the  South  was, 
and  is  today,  what  Nieboer  called  a  country  of  "open,"  in  contra- 
distinction to  a  country  of  "closed"  resources.  In  other  words,  there 
is  more  land  in  the  South  than  there  is  labor  to  till  it.  Land  owners 
are  driven  to  competing  for  laborers  and  tenants  to  work  their 
plantations. 

Owing  to  his  ignorance  of  business  matters  and  to  a  long- 
established  habit  of  submission,  the  Negro  after  emancipation  was 
placed  at  a  great  disadvantage  in  his  dealings  with  the  white  man. 
His  right  to  move  from  one  plantation  to  another  became,  therefore, 
the  Negro  tenant's  method  of  enforcing  consideration  from  the 
planter.  He  might  not  dispute  the  planter's  accounts,  because  he 
was  not  capable  of  doing  so,  and  it  was  unprofitable  to  attempt  it, 
but  if  he  felt  aggrieved  he  could  move. 

This  was  the  significance  of  the  exodus  in  some  of  the  southern 
states  which  took  place  about  1879,  when  40,000  people  left  the 
plantations  in  the  Black  Belts  of  Louisiana  and  Mississippi  and 
went  to  Kansas.  The  masses  of  the  colored  people  were  dissatisfied 
with  the  treatment  they  were  receiving  from  the  planters  and  made 
up  their  minds  to  move  to  "a  free  country,"  as  they  described  it. 
At  the  same  time  it  was  the  attempt  of  the  planter  to  bind  the  Negro 
tenant  who  was  in  debt  to  him  to  his  place  on  the  plantation  that 
gave  rise  to  the  system  of  peonage  that  still  exists  in  a  mitigated 
form  in  the  South  today. 

When  the  Negro  moved  off  the  plantation  upon  which  he  was 
reared  he  severed  the  personal  relations  which  bound  him  to  his 
master's  people.  It  was  just  at  this  point  that  the  two  races  began 
to  lose  touch  with  each  other.  From  this  time  on  the  relations  of 
the  black  man  and  white,  which  in  slavery  had  been  direct  and 
personal,  became  every  year,  as  the  old  associations  were  broken, 
more  and  more  indirect  and  secondary.  There  lingers  still  the  dis- 
position on  the  part  of  the  white  man  to  treat  every  Negro  familiarly, 
and  the  disposition  on  the  part  of  every  Negro  to  treat  every  white 
man  respectfully.  But  these  are  habits  which  are  gradually  dis- 
appearing. The  breaking  down  of  the  instincts  and  habits  of  servi- 
tude and  the  acquisition  by  the  masses  of  the  Negro  people  of  the 


CONFLICT  625 

instincts  and  habits  of  freedom  have  proceeded  slowly  but  steadily. 
The  reason  the  change  seems  to  have  gone  on  more  rapidly  in  some 
cases  than  others  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  at  the  time  of  emanci- 
pation 10  per  cent  of  the  Negroes  in  the  United  States  were  already 
free,  and  others,  those  who  had  worked  in  trades,  many  of  whom  had 
hired  their  own  time  from  their  masters,  had  become  more  or  less 
adapted  to  the  competitive  conditions  of  free  society. 

One  of  the  effects  of  the  mobilization  of  the  Negro  has  been  to 
bring  him  into  closer  and  more  intimate  contact  with  his  own  people. 
Common  interests  have  drawn  the  blacks  together,  and  caste  senti- 
ment has  kept  the  black  and  white  apart.  The  segregation  of  the 
races,  which  began  as  a  spontaneous  movement  on  the  part  of  both, 
has  been  fostered  by  the  policy  of  the  dominant  race.  The  agitation 
of  the  Reconstruction  period  made  the  division  between  the  races 
in  politics  absolute.  Segregation  and  separation  in  other  matters 
have  gone  on  steadily  ever  since.  The  Negro  at  the  present  time 
has  separate  churches,  schools,  libraries,  hospitals,  Y.M.C.A.  asso- 
ciations, and  even  separate  towns.  There  are,  perhaps,  a  half- 
dozen  communities  in  the  United  States,  every  inhabitant  of  which 
is  a  Negro.  Most  of  these  so-called  Negro  towns  are  suburban 
villages;  two  of  them,  at  any  rate,  are  the  centers  of  a  considerable 
Negro  farming  population.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  where 
the  Negro  schools,  churches,  and  Y.M.C.A.  associations  are  not 
separate  they  do  not  exist. 

It  is  hard  to  estimate  the  ultimate  effect  of  this  isolation  of  the 
black  man.  One  of  the  most  important  effects  has  been  to  estab- 
lish a  common  interest  among  all  the  different  colors  and  classes  of 
the  race.  This  sense  of  solidarity  has  grown  up  gradually  with  the 
organization  of  the  Negro  people.  It  is  stronger  in  the  South, 
where  segregation  is  more  complete,  than  it  is  in  the  North  where, 
twenty  years  ago,  it  would  have  been  safe  to  say  it  did  not  exist. 
Gradually,  imperceptibly,  within  the  larger  world  of  the  white  man, 
a  smaller  world,  the  world  of  the  black  man,  is  silently  taking  form 
and  shape. 

Every  advance  in  education  and  intelligence  puts  the  Negro  in 
possession  of  the  technique  of  communication  and  organization  of 
the  white  man,  and  so  contributes  to  the  extension  and  consolidation 
of  the  Negro  world  within  the  white. 


626  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  motive  for  this  increasing  solidarity  is  furnished  by  the 
increasing  pressure,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  by  the  increasing  sen- 
sibility of  Negroes  to  the  pressure  and  the  prejudice  without.  The 
sentiment  of  racial  loyalty,  which  is  a  comparatively  recent  mani- 
festation of  the  growing  self-consciousness  of  the  race,  must  be 
regarded  as  a  response  and  "accommodation"  to  changing  internal 
and  external  relations  of  the  race.  The  sentiment  which  Negroes 
are  beginning  to  call  "race  pride"  does  not  exist  to  the  same  extent 
in  the  North  as  in  the  South,  but  an  increasing  disposition  to  enforce 
racial  distinctions  in  the  North,  as  in  the  South,  is  bringing  it  into 
existence. 

One  or  two  incidents  in  this  connection  are  significant.  A  few 
years  ago  a  man  who  is  the  head  of  the  largest  Negro  publishing 
business  in  this  country  sent  to  Germany  and  had  a  number  of 
Negro  dolls  manufactured  according  to  specifications  of  his  own. 
At  the  time  this  company  was  started,  Negro  children  were  in  the 
habit  of  playing  with  white  dolls.  There  were  already  Negro  dolls 
on  the  market,  but  they  were  for  white  children  and  represented 
the  white  man's  conception  of  the  Negro  and  not  the  Negro's  ideal 
of  himself.  The  new  Negro  doll  was  a  mulatto  with  regular 
features  slightly  modified  in  favor  of  the  conventional  Negro  type. 
It  was  a  neat,  prim,  well-dressed,  well-behaved,  self-respecting  doll. 
Later  on,  as  I  understand,  there  were  other  dolls,  equally  tidy  and 
respectable  in  appearance,  but  in  darker  shades,  with  Negro  features 
a  little  more  pronounced.  The  man  who  designed  these  dolls  was 
perfectly  clear  in  regard  to  the  significance  of  the  substitution  that 
he  was  making.  He  said  that  he  thought  it  was  a  good  thing  to  let 
Negro  girls  become  accustomed  to  dolls  of  their  own  color.  He 
thought  it  important,  as  long  as  the  races  were  to  be  segregated, 
that  the  dolls,  which,  like  other  forms  of  art,  are  patterns  and  rep- 
resent ideals,  should  be  segregated  also. 

This  substitution  of  the  Negro  model  for  the  white  is  a  very 
interesting  and  a  very  significant  fact.  It  means  that  the  Negro 
has  begun  to  fashion  his  own  ideals  and  in  his  own  image  rather  than 
in  that  of  the  white  man.  It  is  also  interesting  to  know  that  the 
Negro  doll  company  has  been  a  success  and  that  these  dolls  are  now 
widely  sold  in  every  part  of  the  United  States.  Nothing  exhibits 
more  clearly  the  extent  to  which  the  Negro  had  become  assimilated 


CONFLICT  627 

in  slavery  or  the  extent  to  which  he  has  broken  with  the  past  in  recent 
years  than  this  episode  of  the  Negro  doll. 

The  incident  is  typical.  It  is  an  indication  of  the  nature  of 
tendencies  and  of  forces  that  are  stirring  in  the  background  of  the 
Negro's  mind,  although  they  have  not  succeeded  in  forcing  them- 
selves, except  in  special  instances,  into  clear  consciousness. 

In  this  same  category  must  be  reckoned  the  poetry  of  Paul 
Lawrence  D  unbar,  in  whom,  as  William  Dean  Ho  wells  has  said,  the 
Negro  "attained  civilization."  Before  Paul  Lawrence  Dunbar, 
Negro  literature  had  been  either  apologetic  or  self-assertive,  but 
Dunbar  "studied  the  Negro  objectively."  He  represented  him  as 
he  found  him,  not  only  without  apology,  but  with  an  affectionate 
understanding  and  sympathy  which  one  can  have  only  for  what  is 
one's  own.  In  Dunbar,  Negro  literature  attained  an  ethnocentric 
point  of  view.  Through  the  medium  of  his  verses  the  ordinary 
shapes  and  forms  of  the  Negro's  life  have  taken  on  the  color  of  his 
affections  and  sentiments,  and  we  see  the  black  man,  not  as  he  looks, 
but  as  he  feels  and  is. 

It  is  a  significant  fact  that  a  certain  number  of  educated — or 
rather  the  so-called  educated — Negroes  were  not  at  first  disposed 
to  accept  at  their  full  value  either  Dunbar's  dialect  verse  or  the 
familiar  pictures  of  Negro  life  which  are  the  symbols  in  which  his 
poetry  usually  found  expression.  The  explanation  sometimes  offered 
for  the  dialect  poems  was  that  "they  were  made  to  please  white 
folk."  The  assumption  seems  to  have  been  that  if  they  had  been 
written  for  Negroes  it  would  have  been  impossible  in  his  poetry  to 
distinguish  black  people  from  white.  This  was  a  sentiment  which 
was  never  shared  by  the  masses  of  the  people,  who,  upon  the 
occasions  when  Dunbar  recited  to  them,  were  fairly  bowled  over 
with  amusement  and  delight  because  of  the  authenticity  of  the 
portraits  he  offered  them.  At  the  present  time  Dunbar  is  so  far 
accepted  as  to  have  hundreds  of  imitators. 

Literature  and  art  have  played  a  similar  and  perhaps  more 
important  role  in  the  racial  struggles  of  Europe  than  of  America. 
One  reason  seems  to  be  that  racial  conflicts,  as  they  occur  in  second- 
ary groups,  are  primarily  sentimental  and  secondarily  economic. 
Literature  and  art,  when  they  are  employed  to  give  expression  to 
racial  sentiment  and  form  to  racial  ideals,  serve,  along  with  other 


628  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

agencies,  to  mobilize  the  group  and  put  the  masses  en  rapport  with 
their  leaders  and  with  each  other.  In  such  cases  art  and  literature 
are  like  silent  drummers  which  summon  into  action  the  latent  in- 
stincts and  energies  of  the  race.  . 

These  struggles,  I  might  add,  in  which  a  submerged  people  seek 
to  rise  and  make  for  themselves  a  place  in  a  world  occupied  by 
superior  and  privileged  races,  are  not  less  vital  or  less  important 
because  they  are  bloodless.  They  serve  to  stimulate  ambitions 
and  inspire  ideals  which  years,  perhaps,  of  subjection  and  subordi- 
nation have  suppressed.  In  fact,  it  seems  as  if  it  were  through 
conflicts  of  this  kind,  rather  than  through  war,  that  the  minor 
peoples  were  destined  to  gain  the  moral  concentration  and  discipline 
that  fit  them  to  share,  on  anything  like  equal  terms,  in  the  conscious 
life  of  the  civilized  world. 

Until  the  beginning  of  the  last  century  the  European  peasant, 
like  the  Negro  slave,  bound  as  he  was  to  the  soil,  lived  in  the  little 
world  of  direct  and  personal  relations,  under  what  we  may  call  a 
domestic  regime.  It  was  military  necessity  that  first  turned  the 
attention  of  statesmen  like  Frederick  the  Great  of  Prussia  to  the 
welfare  of  the  peasant.  It  was  the  overthrow  of  Prussia  by  Napo- 
leon in  1807  that  brought  about  his  final  emancipation  in  that  country. 
In  recent  years  it  has  been  the  international  struggle  for  economic 
efficiency  which  has  contributed  most  to  mobilize  the  peasant  and 
laboring  classes  in  Europe. 

As  the  peasant  slowly  emerged  from  serfdom  he  found  himself  a 
member  of  a  depressed  class,  without  education,  political  privileges, 
or  capital.  It  was  the  struggle  of  this  class  for  wider  opportunity 
and  better  conditions  of  life  that  made  most  of  the  history  of  the 
previous  century.  Among  the  peoples  in  the  racial  borderland  the 
effect  of  this  struggle  has  been,  on  the  whole,  to  substitute  for  a 
horizontal  organization  of  society — in  which  the  upper  strata,  that 
is  to  say,  the  wealthy  or  privileged  class,  was  mainly  of  one  race  and 
the  poorer  and  subject  class  was  mainly  of  another — a  vertical 
organization  in  which  all  classes  of  each  racial  group  were  united 
under  the  title  of  their  respective  nationalities.  Thus  organized, 
the  nationalities  represent,  on  the  one  hand,  intractable  minorities 
engaged  in  a  ruthless  partisan  struggle  for  political  privilege  or 
economic  advantage  and,  on  the  other,  they  represent  cultural 


CONFLICT  629 

groups,  each  struggling  to  maintain  a  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  the  dis- 
tinctive traditions,  language,  and  institutions  of  the  race  they  represent. 

This  sketch  of  the  racial  situation  in  Europe  is,  of  course,  the 
barest  abstraction  and  should  not  be  accepted  realistically.  It  is 
intended  merely  as  an  indication  of  similarities,  in  the  broader  out- 
lines, of  the  motives  that  have  produced  nationalities  in  Europe  and 
are  making  the  Negro  in  America,  as  Booker  Washington  says,  "a 
nation  within  a  nation." 

It  may  be  said  that  there  is  one  profound  difference  between 
the  Negro  and  the  European  nationalities,  namely,  that  the  Negro 
has  had  his  separateness  and  consequent  race  consciousness  thrust 
upon  him  because  of  his  exclusion  and  forcible  isolation  from  white 
society.  The  Slavic  nationalities,  on  the  contrary,  have  segregated 
themselves  in  order  to  escape  assimilation  and  escape  racial  extinc- 
tion in  the  larger  cosmopolitan  states. 

The  difference  is,  however,  not  so  great  as  it  seems.  With  the 
exception  of  the  Poles,  nationalistic  sentiment  may  be  said  hardly 
to  have  existed  fifty  years  ago.  Forty  years  ago  when  German  was 
the  language  of  the  educated  classes,  educated  Bohemians  were  a 
little  ashamed  to  speak  their  own  language  in  public.  Now  nationalist 
sentiment  is  so  strong  that,  where  the  Czech  nationality  has  gained 
control,  it  has  sought  to  wipe  out  every  vestige  of  the  German  lan- 
guage. It  has  changed  the  names  of  streets,  buildings,  and  public 
places.  In  the  city  of  Prag,  for  example,  all  that  formerly  held 
German  associations  now  fairly  reeks  with  the  sentiment  of  Bohemian 
nationality. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  masses  of  the  Polish  people  cherished 
very  little  nationalist  sentiment  until  after  the  Franco-Prussian 
War.  The  fact  is  that  nationalist  sentiment  among  the  Slavs,  like 
racial  sentiment  among  the  Negroes,  has  sprung  up  as  the  result  of 
a  struggle  against  privilege  and  discrimination  based  upon  racial 
distinctions.  The  movement  is  not  so  far  advanced  among  Negroes; 
sentiment  is  not  so  intense,  and  for  several  reasons  probably  never 
will  be. 

From  what  has  been  said  it  seems  fair  to  draw  one  conclusion, 
namely:  under  conditions  of  secondary  contact,  that  is  to  say,  con- 
ditions of  individual  liberty  and  individual  competition,  charac- 
teristic of  modern  civilization,  depressed  racial  groups  tend  to  assume 


630  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  form  of  nationalities.  A  nationality,  in  this  narrower  sense,  may 
be  defined  as  the  racial  group  which  has  attained  self-consciousness,  no 
matter  whether  it  has  at  the  same  time  gained  political  independence 
or  not. 

In  societies  organized  along  horizontal  lines  the  disposition  of 
individuals  in  the  lower  strata  is  to  seek  their  models  in  the 
strata  above  them.  Loyalty  attaches  to  individuals,  particularly  to 
the  upper  classes,  who  furnish,  in  their  persons  and  in  their  lives,  the 
models  for  the  masses  of  the  people  below  them.  Long  after 
the  nobility  has  lost  every  other  social  function  connected  with  its 
vocation  the  ideals  of  the  nobility  have  survived  in  our  conception  of 
the  gentleman,  genteel  manners  and  bearing — gentility. 

The  sentiment  of  the  Negro  slave  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  not 
merely  loyalty  to  his  master  but  to  the  white  race.  Negroes  of  the 
older  generations  speak  very  frequently,  with  a  sense  of  proprietor- 
ship, of  "our  white  folks."  This  sentiment  was  not  always  confined 
to  the  ignorant  masses.  An  educated  colored  man  once  explained 
to  me  "that  we  colored  people  always  want  our  white  folks  to  be 
superior."  He  was  shocked  when  I  showed  no  particular  enthusiasm 
for  that  form  of  sentiment. 

The  fundamental  significance  of  the  nationalist  movement  must 
be  sought  in  the  effort  of  subject  races,  sometimes  consciously, 
sometimes  unconsciously,  to  substitute,  for  those  supplied  them  by 
aliens,  models  based  on  their  own  racial  individuality  and  embodying 
sentiments  and  ideals  which  spring  naturally  out  of  their  own  lives. 

After  a  race  has  achieved  in  this  way  its  moral  independence, 
assimilation,  in  the  sense  of  copying,  will  still  continue.  Nations 
and  races  borrow  from  those  whom  they  fear  as  well  as  from  those 
whom  they  admire.  Materials  taken  over  in  this  way,  however, 
are  inevitably  stamped  with  the  individuality  of  the  nationalities 
that  appropriate  them.  These  materials  will  contribute  to  the 
dignity,  to  the  pre&tige,  and  to  the  solidarity  of  the  nationality 
which  borrows  them,  but  they  will  no  longer  inspire  loyalty  to  the 
race  from  which  they  are  borrowed.  A  race  which  has  attained 
the  character  of  a  nationality  may  still  retain  its  loyalty  to  the  state 
of  which  it  is  a  part,  but  only  in  so  far  as  that  state  incorporates, 
as  an  integral  part  of  its  organization,  the  practical  interests,  the 
aspirations  and  ideals  of  that  nationality. 


CONFLICT  631 

The  aim  of  the  contending  nationalities  in  Austria-Hungary  at 
the  present  time  seems  to  be  a  federation,  like  that  of  Switzerland, 
based  upon  the  autonomy  of  the  different  races  composing  the 
empire.  In  the  South,  similarly,  the  races  seem  to  be  tending  in 
the  direction  of  a  bi-racial  organization  of  society,  in  which  the 
Negro  is  gradually  gaining  a  limited  autonomy.  What  the  ultimate 
outcome  of  this  movement  may  be  it  is  not  safe  to  predict. 

•    3.     Conflict  and  Accommodation1 

In  the  first  place,  what  is  race  friction?  To  answer  this  ele- 
mentary question  it  is  necessary  to  define  the  abstract  mental  quality 
upon  which  race  friction  finally  rests.  This  is  racial  "antipathy," 
popularly  spoken  of  as  "race  prejudice."  Whereas  prejudice  means 
mere  predilection,  either  for  or  against,  antipathy  means  "natural 
contrariety,"  "incompatibility,"  or  "repugnance  of  qualities."  To 
quote  the  Century  Dictionary,  antipathy  "expresses  most  of  con- 
stitutional feeling  and  least  of  volition";  "it  is  a  dislike  that  seems 
constitutional  toward  persons,  things,  conduct,  etc. ;  hence  it  involves 
a  dislike  for  which  sometimes  no  good  reason  can  be  given."  I 
would  define  racial  antipathy,  then,  as  a  natural  contrariety,  repug- 
nancy of  qualities,  or  incompatibility  between  individuals  or  groups 
which  are  sufficiently  differentiated  to  constitute  what,  for  want  of 
a  more  exact  term,  we  call  races.  What  is  most  important  is  that 
it  involves  an  instinctive  feeling  of  dislike,  distaste,  or  repugnance, 
for  which  sometimes  no  good  reason  can  be  given.  Friction  is  defined 
primarily  as  a  "lack  of  harmony,"  or  a  "mutual  irritation."  In  the 
case  of  races  it  is  accentuated  by  antipathy.  We  do  not  have  to 
depend  on  race  riots  or  other  acts  of  violence  as  a  measure  of  the 
growth  of  race  friction.  Its  existence  may  be  manifested  by  a  look 
or  a  gesture  as  well  as  by  a  word  or  an  act. 

A  verbal  cause  of  much  useless  and  unnecessary  controversy  is 
found  in  the  use  of  the  word  "race."  When  we  speak  of  "race  prob- 
lems "  or  " racial  antipathies,"  what  do  we  mean  by  "  race "  ?  Clearly 
nothing  scientifically  definite,  since  ethnologists  themselves  are  not 
agreed  upon  any  classification  of  the  human  family  along  racial  lines. 

1  Adapted  from  Alfred  H.  Stone,  "  Is  Race  Friction  between  Blacks  and  Whites 
in  the  United  States  Growing  and  Inevitable?"  in  the  American  Journal  of 
Sociology,  XIII  (1907-8),  677-96. 


632          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Nor  would  this  so-called  race  prejudice  have  the  slightest  regard 
for  such  classification,  if  one  were  agreed  upon.  It  is  something  which 
is  not  bounded  by  the  confines  of  a  philological  or  ethnological  defini- 
tion. The  British  scientist  may  tell  the  British  soldier  in  India  that 
the  native  is  in  reality  his  brother,  and  that  it  is  wholly  absurd  and 
illogical  and  unscientific  for  such  a  thing  as  "race  prejudice"  to  exist- 
between  them.  Tommy  Atkins  simply  replies  with  a  shrug  that  to 
him  and  his  messmates  the  native  is  a  "nigger";  and  in  so  far  as  their 
attitude  is  concerned,  that  is  the  end  of  the  matter.  The  same 
suggestion,  regardless  of  the  scientific  accuracy  of  the  parallel,  if 
made  to  the  American  soldier  in  the  Philippines,  meets  with  the  same 
reply.  We  have  wasted  an  infinite  amount  of  tune  in  interminable 
controversies  over  the  relative  superiority  and  inferiority  of  different 
races.  Such  discussions  have  a  certain  value  when  conducted  by 
scientific  men  in  a  purely  scientific  spirit.  But  for  the  purpose  of 
explaining  or  establishing  any  fixed  principle  of  race  relations  they  are 
little  better  than  worthless.  The  Japanese  is  doubtless  quite  well 
satisfied  of  the  superiority  of  his  people  over  the  mushroom  growths 
of  western  civilization,  and  finds  no  difficulty  in  borrowing  from  the 
latter  whatever  is  worth  reproducing,  and  improving  on  it  in  adapting 
it  to  his  own  racial  needs.  The  Chinese  do  not  waste  their  time  in 
idle  chatter  over  the  relative  status  of  their  race  as  compared  with  the 
white  barbarians  who  have  intruded  themselves  upon  them  with  their 
grotesque  customs,  their  heathenish  ideas,  and  their  childishly  new 
religion.  The  Hindu  regards  with  veiled  contempt  the  racial  pre- 
tensions of  his  conqueror,  and,  while  biding  the  time  when  the  darker 
races  of  the  earth  shall  once  more  come  into  their  own,  does  not 
bother  himself  with  such  an  idle  question  as  whether  his  temporary 
overlord  is  his  racial  equal.  Only  the  white  man  writes  volumes  to 
establish  on  paper  the  fact  of  a  superiority  which  is  either  self-evident 
and  not  in  need  of  demonstration,  on  the  one  hand,  or  is  not  a  fact 
and  is  not  demonstrable,  on  the  other.  The  really  important  matter 
is  one  about  which  there  need  be  little  dispute — the  fact  of  racial 
differences.  It  is  the  practical  question  of  differences — the  funda- 
mental differences  of  physical  appearance,  of  mental  habit  and 
thought,  of  social  customs  and  religious  beliefs,  of  the  thousand  and 
one  things  keenly  and  clearly  appreciable,  yet  sometimes  elusive 
and  undefinable — these  are  the  things  which  at  once  create  and  find 


CONFLICT  633 

expression  in  what  we  call  race  problems  and  race  prejudices,  for  want 
of  better  terms.  In  just  so  far  as  these  differences  are  fixed  and 
permanently  associated  characteristics  of  two  groups  of  people  will 
the  antipathies  and  problems  between  the  two  be  permanent. 

Probably  the  closest  approach  we  shall  ever  make  to  a  satisfactory 
classification  of  races  as  a  basis  of  antipathy  will  be  that  of  grouping 
men  according  to  color,  along  certain  broad  lines,  the  color  being 
accompanied  by  various  and  often  widely  different,  but  always  fairly 
persistent,  differentiating  physical  and  mental  characteristics.  This 
would  give  us  substantially  the  white — not  Caucasian,  the  yellow- 
not  Chinese  or  Japanese,  and  the  dark — not  Negro,  races.  The 
antipathies  between  these  general  groups  and  between  certain  of 
their  subdivisions  will  be  found  to  be  essentially  fundamental,  but 
they  will  also  be  found  to  present  almost  endless  differences  of  degrees 
of  actual  and  potential  acuteness.  Here  elementary  psychology  also 
plays  its  part.  One  of  the  subdivisions  of  the  Negro  race  is  composed 
of  persons  of  mixed  blood.  In  many  instances  these  are  more  white 
than  black,  yet  the  association  of  ideas  has  through  several  generations 
identified  them  with  the  Negro — and  in  this  country  friction  between 
this  class  and  white  people  is  on  some  lines  even  greater  than  between 
whites  and  blacks. 

Race  conflicts  are  merely  the  more  pronounced  concrete  expres- 
sions of  such  friction.  They  are  the  visible  phenomena  of  the  abstract 
quality  of  racial  antipathy — the  tangible  evidence  of  the  existence  of 
racial  problems.  The  form  of  such  expressions  of  antipathy  varies 
with  the  nature  of  the  racial  contact  in  each  instance.  Their  different 
and  widely  varying  aspects  are  the  confusing  and  often  contradictory 
phenomena  of  race  relations.  They  are  dependent  upon  diverse 
conditions,  and  are  no  more  susceptible  of  rigid  and  permanent 
classification  than  are  the  whims  and  moods  of  human  nature.  It 
is  more  than  a  truism  to  say  that  a  condition  precedent  to  race  friction 
or  race  conflict  is  contact  between  sufficient  numbers  of  two  diverse 
racial  groups.  There  is  a  definite  and  positive  difference  between 
contact  between  individuals  and  contact  between  masses.  The 
association  between  two  isolated  individual  members  of  two  races 
may  be  wholly  different  from  contact  between  masses  of  the  same 
race  groups.  The  factor  of  numbers  embraces,  indeed,  the  very 
crux  of  the  problems  arising  from  contact  between  different  races. 


634  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

A  primary  cause  of  race  friction  is  the  vague,  rather  intangible, 
but  wholly  real,  feeling  of  "  pressure"  which  comes  to  the  white  man 
almost  instinctively  in  the  presence  of  a  mass  of  people  of  a  different 
race.  In  a  certain  important  sense  all  racial  problems  are  distinctly 
problems  of  racial  distribution.  Certainly  the  definite  action  of  the 
controlling  race,  particularly  as  expressed  in  laws,  is  determined  by 
the  factor  of  the  numerical  difference  between  its  population  and 
that  of  the  inferior  group.  This  fact  stands  out  prominently  in  the 
history  of  our  colonial  legislation  for  the  control  of  Negro  slaves. 
These  laws  increased  in  severity  up  to  a  certain  point  as  the  slave 
population  increased  in  numbers.  The  same  condition  is  disclosed 
in  the  history  of  the  ante-bellum  legislation  of  the  southern,  eastern, 
New  England,  and  middle  western  states  for  the  control  of  the  free 
Negro  population.  So  today  no  state  in  the  Union  would  have 
separate  car  laws  where  the  Negro  constituted  only  10  or  15  per  cent 
of  its  total  population.  No  state  would  burden  itself  with  the 
maintenance  of  two  separate  school  systems  with  a  negro  element 
of  less  than  10  per  cent.  Means  of  local  separation  might  be  found 
but  there  would  be  no  expression  of  law  on  the  subject. 

Just  as  a  heavy  increase  of  Negro  population  makes  for  an  increase 
of  friction,  direct  legislation,  the  protection  of  drastic  social  customs, 
and  a  general  feeling  of  unrest  or  uneasiness  on  the  part  of  the  white 
population,  so  a  decrease  of  such  population,  or  a  relatively  small 
increase  as  compared  with  the  whites,  makes  for  less  friction,  greater 
racial  tolerance,  and  a  lessening  of  the  feeling  of  necessity  for  severely 
discriminating  laws  or  customs.  And  this  quite  aside  from  the  fact 
of  a  difference  of  increase  or  decrease  of  actual  points  of  contact, 
varying  with  differences  of  numbers.  The  statement  will  scarcely  be 
questioned  that  the  general  attitude  of  the  white  race,  as  a  whole, 
toward  the  Negro  would  become  much  less  uncompromising  if  we 
were  to  discover  that  through  two  census  periods  the  race  had  shown 
a  positive  decrease  in  numbers.  Racial  antipathy  would  not  decrease, 
but  the  conditions  which  provoke  its  outward  expression  would  under- 
go a  change  for  the  better.  There  is  a  direct  relation  between  the 
mollified  attitude  of  the  people  of  the  Pacific  coast  toward  the  Chinese 
population  and  the  fact  that  the  Chinese  oooulation  decreased 
between  1890  and  1900.  There  would  in  time  be  a  difference  of  feel- 
ing toward  the  Japanese  now  there  if  the  immigration  of  more  were 


CONFLICT  635 

prohibited  by  treaty  stipulation.  There  is  the  same  immediate 
relation  between  the  tolerant  attitude  of  whites  toward  the  natives 
in  the  Hawaiian  Islands  and  the  feeling  that  the  native  is  a  decadent 
and  dying  race.  Aside  from  the  influence  of  the  Indian's  warlike 
qualities  and  of  his  refusal  to  submit  to  slavery,  the  attitude  and  dis- 
position of  the  white  race  toward  him  have  been  influenced  by  con- 
siderations similar  to  those  which  today  operate  in  Hawaii.  And 
the  same  influence  has  been  a  factor  in  determining  the  attitude  of 
the  English  toward  the  slowly  dying  Maoris  of  New  Zealand. 

At  no  time  in  the  history  of  the  English-speaking  people  and  at 
no  place  of  which  we  have  any  record  where  large  numbers  of  them 
have  been  brought  into  contact  with  an  approximately  equal  number 
of  Negroes  have  the  former  granted  to  the  latter  absolute  equality, 
either  political,  social,  or  economic.  With  the  exception  of  five  New 
England  states,  with  a  total  Negro  population  of  only  16,084  in  1860, 
every  state  in  the  Union  discriminated  against  the  Negro  politically 
before  the  Civil  War.  The  white  people  continued  to  do  so — 
North  as  well  as  South— as  long  as  they  retained  control  of  the 
suffrage  regulations  of  their  states.  The  determination  to  do  so 
renders  one  whole  section  of  the  country  practically  a  political  unit 
to  this  day.  In  South  Africa  we  see  the  same  determination  of  the 
white  man  to  rule,  regardless  of  the  numerical  superiority  of  the 
black.  The  same  determination  made  Jamaica  surrender  the  right 
of  self-government  and  renders  her  satisfied  with  a  hybrid  political 
arrangement  today.  The  presence  of  practically  100,000  Negroes  in 
the  District  of  Columbia  makes  200,000  white  people  content  to  live 
under  an  anomaly  in  a  self-governing  country.  The  proposition  is 
too  elementary  for  discussion  that  the  white  man  when  confronted 
with  a  sufficient  number  of  Negroes  to  create  in  his  mind  a  sense  of 
political  unrest  or  danger  either  alters  his  form  of  government  in 
order  to  be  rid  of  the  incubus  or  destroys  the  political  strength  of 
the  Negro  by  force,  by  evasion,  or  by  direct  action. 

In  the  main,  the  millions  in  the  South  live  at  peace  with  their 
white  neighbors.  The  masses,  just  one  generation  out  of  slavery 
and  thousands  of  them  still  largely  controlled  by  its  influences,  accept 
the  superiority  of  the  white  race  as  a  race,  whatever  may  be  their 
private  opinion  of  some  of  its  members.  And,  furthermore,  they 
accept  this  relation  of  superior  and  inferior  as  a  mere  matter  of 


636  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

course — as  part  of  their  lives — as  something  neither  to  be  ques- 
tioned, wondered  at,  or  worried  over.  Despite  apparent  impressions 
to  the  contrary,  the  average  southern  white  man  gives  no  more  thought 
to  the  matter  than  does  the  Negro.  As  I  tried  to  make  clear  at  the 
outset,  the  status  of  superior  and  inferior  is  simply  an  inherited  part 
of  his  instinctive  mental  equipment — a  concept  which  he  does  not 
have  to  reason  out.  The  respective  attitudes  are  complementary, 
and  under  the  mutual  acceptance  and  understanding  there  still  exist 
unnumbered  thousands  of  instances  of  kindly  and  affectionate  rela- 
tions— relations  of  which  the  outside  world  knows  nothing  and 
understands  nothing.  In  the  mass,  the  southern  Negro  has  not 
bothered  himself  about  the  ballot  for  more  than  twenty  years,  not 
since  his  so-called  political  leaders  let  him  alone;  he  is  not  disturbed 
over  the  matter  of  separate  schools  and  cars,  and  he  neither  knows 
nor  cares  anything  about  "social  equality." 

But  what  of  the  other  class?  The  "masses"  is  at  best  an  un- 
satisfactory and  indefinite  term.  It  is  very  far  from  embracing  even 
the  southern  Negro,  and  we  need  not  forget  that  seven  years  ago 
there  were  900,000  members  of  the  race  living  outside  of  the  South. 
What  of  the  class,  mainly  urban  and  large  in  number,  who  have  lost 
the  typical  habit  and  attitude  of  the  Negro  of  the  mass,  and  who, 
more  and  more,  are  becoming  restless  and  chafing  under  existing 
conditions  ?  There  is  an  intimate  and  very  natural  relation  between 
the  social  and  intellectual  advance  of  the  so-called  Negro  and  the 
matter  of  friction  along  social  lines.  It  is,  in  fact,  only  as  we  touch 
the  higher  groups  that  we  can  appreciate  the  potential  results  of  con- 
tact upon  a  different  plane  from  that  common  to  the  masses  in  the 
South.  There  is  a  large  and  steadily  increasing  group  of  men,  more  or 
less  related  to  the  Negro  by  blood  and  wholly  identified  with  him  by 
American  social  usage,  who  refuse  to  accept  quietly  the  white  man's 
attitude  toward  the  race.  I  appreciate  the  mistake  of  laying  too 
great  stress  upon  the  utterances  of  any  one  man  or  group  of  men, 
but  the  mistakes  in  this  case  lie  the  other  way.  The  American  white 
man  knows  little  or  nothing  about  the  thought  and  opinion  of  the 
colored  men  and  women  who  today  largely  mold  and  direct  Negro 
public  opinion  in  this  country.  Even  the  white  man  who  considers 
himself  a  student  of  "the  race  question"  rarely  exhibits  anything 
more  than  profound  ignorance  of  the  Negro's  side  of  the  problem.  He 


CONFLICT  037 

does  not  know  what  the  other  man  is  thinking  and  saying  on  the 
subject.  This  composite  type  which  we  poetically  call  "black,"  but 
which  in  reality  is  every  shade  from  black  to  white,  is  slowly  develop- 
ing a  consciousness  of  its  own  racial  solidarity.  It  is  finding  its  own 
distinctive  voice,  and  through  its  own  books  and  papers  and  maga- 
zines, and  through  its  own  social  organizations,  is  at  once  giving 
utterance  to  its  discontent  and  making  known  its  demands. 

And  with  this  dawning  consciousness  of  race  there  is  likewise 
coming  an  appreciation  of  the  limitations  and  restrictions  which 
hem  in  its  unfolding  and  development.  One  of  the  best  indices  to 
the  possibilities  of  increased  racial  friction  is  the  Negro's  own  rec- 
ognition of  the  universality  of  the  white  man's  racial  antipathy 
toward  him.  This  is  the  one  clear  note  above  the  storm  of  protest 
against  the  things  that  are,  that  in  his  highest  aspirations  every- 
where the  white  man's  "prejudice"  blocks  the  colored  man's  path. 
And  the  white  man  may  with  possible  profit  pause  long  enough  to 
ask  the  deeper  significance  of  the  Negro's  finding  of  himself.  May  it 
not  be  only  part  of  a  general  awakening  of  the  darker  races  of  the 
earth  ?  Captain  H.  A.  Wilson,  of  the  English  army,  says  that  through 
all  Africa  there  has  penetrated  in  some  way  a  vague  confused  report 
that  far  off  somewhere,  in  the  unknown,  outside  world,  a  great  war 
has  been  fought  between  a  white  and  a  yellow  race,  and  won  by  the 
yellow  man.  And  even  before  the  Japanese-Russian  conflict,  "Ethi- 
opianism"  and  the  cry  of  "Africa  for  the  Africans"  had  begun  to 
disturb  the  English  in  South  Africa.  It  is  said  time  and  again  that 
the  dissatisfaction  and  unrest  in  India  are  accentuated  by  the  results 
of  this  same  war.  There  can  be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  man 
who  carefully  reads  American  Negro  journals  that  their  rejoicing  over 
the  Japanese  victory  sounded  a  very  different  note  from  that  of  the 
white  American.  It  was  far  from  being  a  mere  expression  of  sym- 
pathy with  a  people  fighting  for  national  existence  against  a  power 
which  had  made  itself  odious  to  the  civilized  world  by  its  treatment 
of  its  subjects.  It  was,  instead,  a  quite  clear  cry  of  exultation  over 
the  defeat  of  a  white  race  by  a  dark  one.  The  white  man  is  no  wiser 
than  the  ostrich  if  he  refuses  to  see  the  truth  that  in  the  possibilities 
of  race  friction  the  Negro's  increasing  consciousness  of  race  is  to  play 
a  part  scarcely  less  important  than  the  white  man's  racial  antipathies, 
prejudices,  or  whatever  we  may  elect  to  call  them. 


638  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

III.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 

x.    The  Psychology  and  Sociology  of  Conflict,  Conscious 
Competition,  and  Rivalry 

Consciousness  has  been  described  as  an  effect  of  conflict — conflict 
of  motor  tendencies  in  the  individual,  conflict  of  sentiments,  attitudes, 
and  cultures  in  the  group.  The  individual,  activated  in  a  given 
situation  by  opposing  tendencies,  is  compelled  to  redefine  his  attitude. 
Consciousness  is  an  incident  of  this  readjustment. 

Frequently  adjustment  involves  a  suppression  of  one  tendency  in 
the  interest  of  another,  of  one  wish  in  favor  of  another.  Where  these 
suppressions  are  permanent,  they  frequently  result  in  disorders  of 
conduct  and  disorganization  of  the  personality.  The  suppressed 
wish,  when  suppression  results  in  disturbances  of  the  conscious  life, 
has  been  called  by  psychoanalysts  a  complex.  Freud  and  his  col- 
leagues have  isolated  and  described  certain  of  these  complexes.  Most 
familiar  of  these  are  the  Oedipus  complex,  which  is  explained  as  an 
effect  of  the  unconscious  conflict  of  father  and  son  for  the  love  of 
the  mother;  and  the  Electra  complex,  which  similarly  has  as  its  source 
the  unconscious  struggle  of  mother  and  daughter  for  the  affection 
of  the  father.  Adler,  in  his  description  of  the  "inferiority"  complex, 
explains  it  as  an  effect  of  the  conflict  growing  out  of  the  contrast 
between  the  ideal  and  the  actual  status  of  the  person.  Other  mental 
conflicts  described  by  the  psychoanalysts  are  referred  to  the  "  adopted 
child"  complex,  the  Narcissus  complex,  the  sex  shock,  etc.  These 
conflicts  which  disturb  the  mental  life  of  the  person  are  all  the  reflec- 
tions of  social  relations  and  are  to  be  explained  in  terms  of  status 
and  the  role  of  the  individual  in  the  group. 

Emulation  and  rivalry  represent  conflict  at  higher  social  levels, 
where  competition  has  been  translated  into  forms  that  inure  to  the 
survival  and  success  of  the  group.  Research  in  this  field,  fragmentary 
as  it  is,  confirms  the  current  impression  of  the  stimulation  of  effort 
in  the  person  through  conscious  competition  with  his  fellows.  Adler's 
theory  of  "psychic  compensation"  is  based  on  the  observation  that 
handicapped  individuals  frequently  excel  in  the  very  fields  in  which 
they  are  apparently  least  qualified  to  compete.  Demosthenes,  for 
example,  became  a  great  orator  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  stuttered. 


CONFLICT  639 

Ordahl  presents  the  only  comprehensive  survey  of  the  literature  in 
this  field. 

Simmel  has  made  the  outstanding  contribution  to  the  sociological 
conception  of  conflict.  Just  as  the  attitudes  of  the  individual  person 
represent  an  organization  of  antagonistic  elements,  society,  as  he 
interprets  it,  is  a  unity  of  which  the  elements  are  conflicting  tend- 
encies. Society,  he  insists,  would  be  quite  other  than  it  is,  were 
it  not  for  the  aversions,  antagonisms,  differences,  as  well  as  the 
sympathies,  affections,  and  similarities  between  individuals  and 
groups  of  individuals.  The  unity  of  society  includes  these  opposing 
forces,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  society  is  organized  upon  the  basis 
of  conflict. 

Conflict  is  an  organizing  principle  in  society.  Just  as  the  indi- 
vidual, under  the  influences  of  contact  and  conflict  with  other 
individuals,  acquires  a  status  and  develops  a  personality,  so  groups 
of  individuals,  in  conflict  with  other  groups,  achieve  unity,  organiza- 
tion, group  consciousness,  and  assume  the  forms  characteristic  of 
conflict  groups — that  is  to  say,  they  become  parties,  sects,  nation- 
alities, etc. 

2.     Types  of  Conflict 

Simmel,  in  his  study  of  conflict,  distinguished  four  types — namely, 
war,  feud  and  faction,  litigation,  and  discussion,  i.e.,  the  impersonal 
struggles  of  parties  and  causes.  This  classification,  while  discrimi- 
nating, is  certainly  not  complete.  There  are,  for  example,  the  varied 
forms  of  sport,  in  which  conflict  assumes  the  form  of  rivalry.  These 
are  nevertheless  organized  on  a  conflict  pattern.  Particularly  inter- 
esting in  this  connection  are  games  of  chance,  gambling  and  gambling 
devices  which  appeal  to  human  traits  so  fundamental  that  no  people 
is  without  example  of  them  in  its  folkways. 

Gambling  is,  according  to  Groos,  "a  fighting  play,"  and  the 
universal  human  interest  in  this  sport  is  due  to  the  fact  that  "no 
other  form  of  play  displays  in  so  many-sided  a  fashion  the  combative- 
ness  of  human  nature."1 

The  history  of  the  duel,  either  in  the  form  of  the  judicial  combat, 
the  wager  of  battle  of  the  Middle  Ages,  or  as  a  form  of  private  ven- 
geance, offers  interesting  material  for  psychological  or  sociological 

1  Karl  Groos,  The  Play  of  Man,  p.  213.     (New  York,  1901.) 


640  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

investigation.  The  transition  from  private  vengeance  to  public 
prosecution,  of  which  the  passing  of  the  duel  is  an  example,  has  not 
been  completed.  In  fact,  new  forms  are  in  some  cases  gradually 
gaining  social  sanction.  We  still  have  our  "unwritten  laws"  for 
certain  offenses.  It  is  proverbially  difficult  to  secure  the  conviction, 
in  certain  parts  of  the  country,  Chicago,  for  example,  of  a  woman  who 
kills  her  husband  or  her  lover.  The  practice  of  lynching  Negroes  in 
the  southern  states,  for  offenses  against  women,  and  for  any  other 
form  of  conduct  that  is  construed  as  a  challenge  to  the  dominant  race, 
is  an  illustration  from  a  somewhat  different  field,  not  merely  of  the 
persistence,  but  the  gradual  development  of  the  so-called  unwritten 
law.  The  circumstances  under  which  these  and  all  other  unwritten 
laws  arise,  in  which  custom  controls  in  contravention  of  the  formal 
written  code,  have  not  been  investigated  from  the  point  of  view  of 
sociology  and  in  their  human-nature  aspects. 

Several  studies  of  games  and  gambling,  in  some  respects  the  most 
unique  objectivations  of  human  interest,  have  been  made  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  fundamental  human  traits  involved,  notably 
Thomas'  article  on  The  Gaming  Instinct,  Groos's  chapter  on  "  Fighting 
Play,"  in  his  Play  of  Man,  and  G.  T.  W.  Patrick's  Psychology  of 
Relaxation,  in  which  the  theory  of  catharsis,  familiar  since  Aristotle,  is 
employed  to  explain  play,  laughter,  profanity,  the  drink  habit, 
and  war. 

Original  materials  exist  in  abundance  for  the  study  of  feud,  liti- 
gation, and  war.  -No  attempt  seems  to  have  been  made  to  study 
feud  and  litigation  comparatively,  as  Westermark  has  studied  mar- 
riage institutions.  Something  has  indeed  been  done  in  this  direction 
with  the  subject  of  war,  notably  by  Letourneau  in  France  and  by 
Frobenius  in  Germany.  Sumner's  notable  essay  on  War  is  likewise 
an  important  contribution  to  the  subject.  The  literature  upon  war, 
however,  is  so  voluminous  and  so  important  that  it  will  be  discussed 
later,  separately,  and  in  greater  detail. 

Quite  as  interesting  and  important  as  that  of  war  is  the  natural 
history  of  discussion,  including  under  that  term  political  and  religious 
controversy  and  social  agitation,  already  referred  to  as  impersonal  or 
secondary  conflict. 

The  history  of  discussion,  however,  is  the  history  of  freedom — 
freedom,  at  any  rate,  of  thought  and  of  speech.  It  is  only  when  peace 


CONFLICT  641 

and  freedom  have  been  established  that  discussion  is  practicable  or 
possible.  A  number  of  histories  have  been  written  in  recent  years 
describing  the  rise  of  rationalism,  as  it  is  called,  and  the  role  of  dis- 
cussion and  agitation  in  social  life.  Draper's  History  of  the  Intellectual 
Development  of  Europe  and  Lecky's  History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence 
of  the  Spirit  of  Rationalism  in  Europe  are  among  the  earlier  works  in 
this  field.  Robertson's  History  of  Free  Thought  is  mainly  a  survey 
of  religious  skepticism  but  contains  important  and  suggestive  refer- 
ences to  the  natural  processes  by  which  abstract  thought  has  arisen 
out  of  the  cultural  contacts  and  conflicts  among  peoples,  which  con- 
quest and  commerce  have  brought  into  the  same  universe  of  discourse. 
What  we  seem  to  have  in  these  works  are  materials  for  the  study  of 
the  communal  processes  through  which  thought  is  formulated.  Once 
formulated  it  becomes  a  permanent  factor  in  the  life  of  the  group. 
The  role  of  discussion  in  the  communal  process  will  be  considered 
later  in  connection  with  the  newspaper,  the  press  agent,  propaganda, 
and  the  various  factors  and  mechanisms  determining  the  formation 
of  public  opinion. 

3.    The  Literature  of  War 

The  emphasis  upon  the  struggle  for  existence  which  followed  the 
publication  of  Darwin's  The  Origin  of  Species,  in  1859,  seemed  to 
many  thinkers  to  give  a  biological  basis  for  the  necessity  and  the 
inevitability  of  war.  No  distinction  was  made  by  writers  of  this 
school  of  thought  between  competition  and  conflict.  Both  were 
supposed  to  be  based  on  instinct.  Nicolai's  The  Biology  of  War  is 
an  essay  with  the  avowed  design  of  refuting  the  biological  justification 
of  war. 

Psychological  studies  of  war  have  explained  war  either  as  an 
expression  of  instinct  or  as  a  reversion  to  a  primordial  animal-human 
type  of  behavior.  Patrick,  who  is  representative  of  this  latter  school, 
interprets  war  as  a  form  of  relaxation.  G.  W.  Crile  has  offered  a 
mechanistic  interpretation  of  war  and  peace  based  on  studies  of  the 
chemical  changes  which  men  undergo  in  warfare.  Crile  comes  to 
the  conclusion,  however,  that  war  is  an  action  pattern,  fixed  in  the 
social  heredity  of  the  national  group,  and  not  a  type  of  behavior 
determined  biologically. 


642  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  human  nature  of  war  and  the  motives  which  impel  the  person 
to  the  great  adventure  and  the  supreme  risk  of  war  have  not  been 
subjected  to  sociological  study.  A  mass  of  material,  however,  con- 
sisting of  personal  documents  of  all  types,  letters,  common-sense 
observation,  and  diaries  is  now  available  for  such  study. 

Much  of  the  literature  of  war  has  been  concentrated  on  the 
problem  of  the  abolition  of  war.  There  are  the  idealists  and  the 
conscientious  objectors  who  look  to  good  will,  humanitarian  senti- 
ment, and  pacificism  to  end  war  by  the  transformation  of  attitudes 
of  men  and  the  policies  of  nations.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  the 
hard-headed  and  practical  thinkers  and  statesmen  who  believe,  with 
Hobbes,  that  war  will  not  end  until  there  is  established  a  power 
strong  enough  to  overawe  a  recalcitrant  state.  Finally,  there  is  a 
third  group  of  social  thinkers  who  emphasize  the  significance  of  the 
formation  of  a  world  public  opinion.  This  "international  mind" 
they  regard  of  far  greater  significance  for  the  future  of  humanity  than 
the  problem  of  war  or  peace,  of  national  rivalries,  or  of  future  race 
conflicts. 

4.     Race  Conflict 

A  European  school  of  sociologists  emphasizes  conflict  as  the 
fundamental  social  process.  Gumplowicz,  in  his  book  Der  Rassen- 
kampf,  formulated  a  theory  of  social  contacts  and  conflicts  upon  the 
conception  of  original  ethnic  groups  in  terms  of  whose  interaction 
the  history  of  humanity  might  be  written.  Novicow  and  Ratzen- 
hofer  maintain  similar,  though  not  so  extreme,  theories  of  social 
origins  and  historical  developments. 

With  the  tremendous  extension  of  communication  and  growth  of 
commerce,  the  world  is  today  a  great  community  in  a  sense  that  could 
not  have  been  understood  a  century  ago.  But  the  world,  if  it  is  now 
one  community,  is  not  yet  one  society.  Commerce  has  created  an 
economic  interdependence,  but  contact  and  communication  have  not 
resulted  in  either  a  political  or  a  cultural  solidarity.  Indeed,  the  first 
evidences  of  the  effects  of  social  contacts  appear  to  be  disruptive 
rather  than  unifying.  In  every  part  of  the  world  in  which  the  white 
and  colored  races  have  come  into  intimate  contact,  race  problems 
have  presented  the  most  intractable  of  all  social  problems. 


CONFLICT  643 

Interest  in  this  problem  manifests  itself  in  the  enormous  literature 
on  the  subject.  Most  of  all  that  has  been  written,  however,  is  super- 
ficial. Much  is  merely  sentimental,  interesting  for  the  attitudes  it 
exhibits,  but  otherwise  adding  nothing  to  our  knowledge  of  the  facts. 
The  best  account  of  the  American  situation  is  undoubtedly  Ray 
Stannard  Baker's  Following  the  Color  Line.  The  South  African  situ- 
ation is  interestingly  and  objectively  described  by  Maurice  Evans  in 
Black  and  White  in  South  East  Africa.  Steiner's  book,  The  Japanese  In- 
vasion, is,  perhaps,  the  best  account  of  the  Japanese-American  situation. 

The  race  problem  merges  into  the  problem  of  the  nationalities 
and  the  so-called  subject  races.  The  struggles  of  the  minor  nation- 
alities for  self-determination  is  a  phase  of  racial  conflict;  a  phase, 
however,  in  which  language  rather  than  color  is  the  basis  of  division 
and  conflict. 

5.     Conflict  Groups 

In  chapter  i  conflict  groups  were  divided  into  gangs,  labor  organi- 
zations, sects,  parties,  and  nationalities.1  Common  to  these  groups 
is  an  organization  and  orientation  with  reference  to  conflict  with  other 
groups  of  the  same  kind  or  with  a  more  or  less  hostile  social  environ- 
ment, as  in  the  case  of  religious  sects. 

The  spontaneous  organizations  of  boys  and  youths  called  gangs 
attracted  public  attention  in  American  communities  because  of  the 
relation  of  these  gangs  to  juvenile  delinquency  and  adolescent  crime. 
An  interesting  but  superficial  literature  upon  the  gang  has  developed 
in  recent  years,  represented  typically  by  J.  Adams  Puffer  The  Boy  and 
his  Gang.  The  brief  but  picturesque  descriptions  of  individual  gangs 
seem  to  indicate  that  the  play  group  tends  to  pass  over  into  the  gang 
when  it  comes  into  conflict  with  other  groups  of  like  type  or  with  the 
community.  The  fully  developed  gang  appears  to  possess  a  restricted 
membership,  a  natural  leader,  a  name — usually  that  of  a  leader  or  a 
locality — a  body  of  tradition,  custom  and  a  ritual,  a  rendezvous,  a 
territorial  area  which  it  holds  as  a  sort  of  possession  and  defends 
against  invasion  by  other  groups.  Attention  was  early  called,  as  by 
Mr.  Brewster  Adams  in  an  article  The  Street  Gang  as  a  Factor  in 
Politics,  to  the  facility  with  which  the  gang  graduates  into  a  local 
political  organization,  representing  thus  the  sources  of  political  power 
of  the  typical  American  city. 

1  Supra,  p.  50. 


644  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Although  the  conflict  of  economic  groups  is  not  a  new  nor  even 
a  modern  phenomenon,  no  such  permanent  conflict  groups  as  those 
represented  by  capital  and  labor  existed  until  recent  times.  Veblen 
has  made  an  acute  observation  upon  this  point.  The  American 
Federation  of  Labor,  he  states,  "is  not  organized  for  production  but 
for  bargaining."  It  is,  in  effect,  an  organization  for  the  strategic 
defeat  of  employers  and  rival  organizations,  by  recourse  to  enforced 
unemployment  and  obstruction;  not  for  the  production  of  goods 
and  services.1 

Research  in  the  labor  problem  by  the  Webbs  in  England  and  by 
Commons,  Hoxie,  and  others  in  this  country  has  been  primarily 
concerned  with  the  history  and  with  the  structure  and  functions  of 
trade  unions.  At  present  there  is  a  tendency  to  investigate  the  human- 
nature  aspects  of  the  causes  of  the  industrial  conflict.  The  current 
phrases  "instincts  in  industry,"  "the  human  factor  in  economics," 
"  the  psychology  of  the  labor  movement,"  "industry,  emotion,  and 
unrest"  indicate  the  change  in  attitude.  The  essential  struggle  is 
seen  to  lie  not  in  the  conflict  of  classes,  intense  and  ruthless  as  it  is, 
but  more  and  more  in  the  fundamental  struggle  between  a  mechanical 
and  impersonal  system,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  person  with  his 
wishes  unsatisfied  and  insatiable  on  the  other.  All  attempts  to  put 
the  relations  of  capital  and  labor  upon  a  moral  basis  have  failed 
hitherto.  The  latest  and  most  promising  experiment  hi  this  direction 
is  the  so-called  labor  courts  established  by  the  Amalgamated  Clothing 
Workers  and  their  employers. 

The  literature  upon  sects  and  parties  has  been  written  for  the 
most  part  with  the  purpose  of  justifying,  to  a  critical  and  often  hostile 
pubh'c,  the  sectarian  and  partisan  aims  and  acts  of  then"  several 
organizations.  In  a  few  works  such  as  Sighele's  Psychologic  des  sectes 
and  Michels'  Political  Parties  an  attempt  has  been  made  at  objective 
description  and  analysis  of  the  mechanisms  of  the  behavior  of  the 
sect  and  of  the  party. 

The  natural  history  of  the  state  from  the  tribe  to  the  modern 
nation  has  been  that  of  a  political  society  based  on  conflict.  Franz 
Oppenheimer  maintains  the  thesis  in  his  book  The  State:  Its  History 
and  Development  Viewed  Sociologically  that  conquest  has  been  the 
historical  basis  of  the  state.  The  state  is,  hi  other  words,  an  organi- 

*  The  Dial,  LXVII  (Oct.  4,  1919),  297. 


CONFLICT  645 

zation  of  groups  that  have  been  in  conflict,  i.e.,  classes  and  castes; 
or  of  groups  that  are  in  conflict,  i.e.,  political  parties. 

A  nationality,  as  distinct  from  a  nation,  as  for  instance  the  Irish 
nationality,  is  a  language  and  cultural  group  which  has  become  group 
conscious  through  its  struggle  for  status  in  the  larger  imperial  or 
international  group.  Nationalism  is,  in  other  words,  a  phenomenon 
of  internationalism. 

The  literature  upon  this  subject  is  enormous.  The  most  inter- 
esting recent  works  on  the  general  topic  are  Dominian's  The  Frontiers 
of  Language  and  Nationality  in  Europe,  Pillsbury's  The  Psychology  of 
Nationality  and  Internationalism,  and  Oakesmith's  Race  and  Nation- 
ality. 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 
I.    PSYCHOLOGY  AND  SOCIOLOGY  OF  CONFLICT 

A.  Conflict  and  Social  Process 

(1)  Simmel,  Georg.     "The  Sociology  of  Conflict."    Translated  from 
the  German  by  Albion  W.  Small.    American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
IX  (1903-4),  490-525;  672-89;   798-811. 

(2)  Gumplowicz,  Ludwig.     Der  Rassenkampf.     Sociologische  Unter- 
suchungen.     Innsbruck,  1883. 

(3)  Novicow,   J.    Les  Luttes  entre  societes  humaines  et  leurs  phases 
successive*.     Paris,  1893. 

(4)  Ratzenhofer,  Gustav.     Wesen  und  Zweck  der  Politik.    Als  Theil 
der  Sociologie  und  Grundlage  der  Staatswissenschaften.    3  vols. 
Leipzig,  1893. 

(5)  .    Die  sociologische  Erkennlnis.    Positive  Philosophic  des 

Socialen  Lebens.    Leipzig,  1898. 

(6)  Sorel,  Georges.    Reflections  on  Violence.    New  York,  1914. 

B.  Conflict  and  Mental  Conflict 

(1)  Healy,    William.    Mental    Conflicts    and    Misconduct.    Boston, 
1917. 

(2)  Prince,  Morton.     The  Unconscious.    The  fundamentals  of  person- 
ality, normal  and  abnormal.    Chap,  xv,  "Instincts,  Sentiments,  and 
Conflicts,"  pp.  446-87;  chap,  xvi,  "General  Phenomena  Resulting 
from  Emotional  Conflicts,"  pp.  488-528.     New  York,  1914. 

(3)  Adler,  Alfred.     The  Neurotic  Constitution.    Outlines  of  a  com- 
parative individualistic  psychology  and  psychotherapy.    Trans- 
lated by  Bernard  Glueck  and  John  E.  Lind.    New  York,  1917. 


646  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(4)  Adler,  Alfred.     A  Study  of  Organ  Inferiority  and  Its  Psychical 
Compensation.    A  contribution  to  clinical  medicine.    Translated 
by  S.   E.  Jelliffe.     "Nervous   and    Mental  Disease   Monograph 
Series,"  No.  24.    New  York,  £917. 

(5)  Lay,  Wilfrid.     Man's   Unconscious  Conflict.    A  popular  exposi- 
tion of  psychoanalysis.     New  York,  1917. 

(6)  Blanchard,    Phyllis.     The   Adolescent   Girl.    A   study   from   the 
psychoanalytic  viewpoint.     Chap,  iii,  "The  Adolescent  Conflict," 
pp.  87-115.    New  York,  1920. 

(7)  Weeks,  Arland  D.    Social  Antagonisms.    Chicago,  1918. 

C.  Rivalry 

(1)  Baldwin,  J.   Mark,  editor.    Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psy- 
chology.   Article  on  "Rivalry."    Vol.  II,  pp.  476-78. 

(2)  Vincent,  George  E.     "The  Rivalry  of  Social  Groups,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XVI  (1910-11),  469-84. 

(3)  Ordahl,    George.     "Rivalry:     Its    Genetic    Development    and 
Pedagogy,"    The    Pedagogical   Seminary,    XV    (1908),    492-549. 
[Bibliography.] 

(4)  Ely,  Richard  T.     Studies  in  the  Evolution  of  Industrial  Society. 
Chap,  ii,  "Rivalry  and  Success  in  Economic  Life,"  pp.  152-63. 
New  York,  1903. 

(5)  Cooley,  Charles  H.     Personal  Competition:  Its  Place  in  the  Social 
Order  and  Effect  upon  Individuals;   with  Some  Considerations  on 
Success.     "Economic  Studies,"  Vol.  IV,  No.  2.    New  York,  1899. 

(6)  Triplett,  Norman.     "The  Dynamogenic  Factors  in  Pacemaking 
and  Competition,"  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  IX  (1897-98), 

5°7-33- 

(7)  Baldwin,  J.  Mark.     "La  Concurrence  sociale  et  1'individualisme," 
Revue  Internationale  de  sociologie,  XVIII  (1910),  641-57. 

(8)  Groos,    Karl.     The    Play    of   Man.    Translated    with    author's 
co-operation  by  Elizabeth  L.  Baldwin  with  a  preface  by  J.  Mark 
Baldwin.    New  York,  1901. 

D.  Discussion 

(1)  Bagehot,    Walter.    Physics    and   Politics.     Or    thoughts  on  the 
application  of  the  principles  of  "Natural  Selection"  and  "Inherit- 
ance" to  political  society.     Chap,  v,  "The  Age  of  Discussion," 
pp.  156-204.    New  York,  1875. 

(2)  Robertson,  John  M.    A  Short  History  of  Free  Thought,  Ancient 
and  Modern.     2  vols.     New  York,  1906. 

(3)  Windelband,   Wilhelm.    Geschichte  der  alien  Philosophic.     "Die 
Sophistik  und  Sokrates,"  pp.  63-92.     Miinchen,  1894. 


CONFLICT  647 

(4)  Mackay,  R.  W.     The  Progress  of  the  Intellect  as  Exemplified  in  the 
Religious  Development  of  the  Greeks  and  Hebrews.     2  vols.    London, 
1850. 

(5)  Stephen,  Sir  Leslie.     History  of  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century.     2d  ed.,  2  vols.     London,  1881. 

(6)  Damiron,  J.  Ph.    Memoires  pour  servir  a  I'histoire  de  la  philosophic 
au  iSieme  siecle.    3  vols.     Paris,  1858-64. 

(7)  Draper,  J.  W.    History  of  the  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe. 
Rev.  ed.,  2  vols.    New  York,  1904. 

(8)  .    History   of  the   Conflict   between   Religion  and  Science. 

New  York,  1873. 

(9)  Lecky,  W.  E.  H.    History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the  Spirit 
of  Rationalism  in  Europe.     Rev.  ed.,  2  vols.     New  York,  1903. 

(10)  White,  Andrew  D.     History  of  the  Warfare  of  Science  with  Theology. 

An  expansion  of  an  earlier  essay,  "The  Warfare  of  Science,"  2d.  ed., 

1877.     2  vols.    New  York,  1896. 
(n)  Haynes,  E.  S.  P.    Religious  Persecution.    A  study  in  political 

psychology.    London,  1904. 

II.      TYPES   OF   CONFLICT 

A.  War 

i.  Psychology  and  Sociology  of  War: 

(1)  Darwin,  Charles.     The  Descent  of  Man.     Chaps,  xvii  and  xviii. 
"Secondary   Sexual    Characters   of   Mammals,"   pp.    511-67. 
(Gives  account  of  the  fighting  instinct  in  males  and  the  methods 
of  fighting  of  animals.)     2d  rev.  ed.    New  York,  1907. 

(2)  Johnson.  George  E.   "The  Fighting  Instinct :  Its  Place  in  Life," 
Survey,  XXXV  (1915-16),  243-48. 

(3)  Thorndike,  Edward  L.     The  Original  Nature  of  Man.     ''Fight- 
ing," pp.  68-75.    New  York,  1913. 

(4)  Hall,  G.  Stanley.     "A  Study  of  Anger,"  American  Journal  of 
Psychology,  X  (1898-99),  516-91. 

(5)  Patrick,  G.  T.  W.     The  Psychology  of  Social  Reconstruction. 
Boston,  1920. 

(6)  -     — .     The    Psychology    of    Relaxation.     Chap,    vi,    "The 
Psychology  of  War,"  pp.  219-52.    Boston,  1916. 

(7)  Pillsbury,  W.  B.     The  Psychology  of  Nationalism  and  Inter- 
nationalism.   New  York,  1919. 

(8)  Trotter,  W.    Instincts  of  the  Herd  in  Peace  and  War.    London. 
1916. 

(9)  La  Grasserie,  R.  de.     "De  1'intolerance  comme  phenomene 
social,"  Revue  International  de  Sociologie,  XVIII  (1910),  76-113 


648          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(10)  Percin,  Alexandra.    Le  Combat.    Paris,  1914. 

(n)  Huot,  Louis,  and  Voivenel,  Paul.    Le  Courage.     Paris,  1917. 

(12)  Porter,  W.  T.    Shock  at  the  Front.     Boston,  1918. 

(13)  Lord,  Herbert  Gardiner.     The  Psychology  of  Courage.     Boston, 
1918. 

(14)  Hall,  G.  Stanley.     Morale,  the  Supreme  Standard  of  Life  and 
Conduct.    New  York,  1920. 

(15)  Roussy,  G.,  and  Lhermitte,  J.     The  Psychoneuroses  of  War. 
Translated  by  W.  B.  Christopherson.    London,  1918. 

(16)  Babinski,  J.  F.,  and  Froment,  J.    Hysteria  or  Pilhialism,  and 
Reflex  Nervous  Disorders  in  the  Neurology  of  the  War.    Trans- 
lated by  J.  D.  Rolleston,  with  a  preface  by  E.  Farquhar  Buzzard. 
London,  1918. 

2.  The  Natural  History  of  War: 

(1)  Sumner,  William  G.     War  and  Other  Essays.     Edited  with  an 
introduction  by  Albert  Galloway  Keller.    New  Haven,  1911. 

(2)  Letourneau,  Ch.    La  Guerre  dans  les  diver ses  races  humaines. 
Paris,  1895. 

(3)  Frobenius,    Leo.    Weltgeschichte    des    Krieges.    Unter    Mit- 
wirkung  von  Oberstleutnant  a.D.  H.  Frobenius  u.  Korvetten- 
Kapitan  a.D.  E.  Kohlhauer.    Hannover,  1903. 

(4)  Bakeless,  John.     The  Economic  Causes  of  Modern  Wars.    A 
study  of  the  period  1878-1918.    New  York,  1921. 

(5)  Crosby,  Oscar  T.    International  War,  Its  Causes  and  Its  Cure. 
London,  1919. 

(6)  Sombart,    Werner.    Krieg    und    Kapitalismus.     Studien    zur 
Entwicklungsgeschichte  des  modernen  Kapitalismus.     Vol.  II, 
Miinchen,  1913. 

(7)  Lagorgette,  Jean.    Le  Rdle  de  la  guerre.    Etude  de  sociologie 
generate.    Preface    de    M.    Anatole    Leroy-Beaulieu.    Paris, 
1906. 

(8)  Steinmetz,  S.  R.    Der  Krieg  als  sociologisches  Problem.    Pp. 
21  ff.    Amsterdam,  1899. 

(9)  — •    Die  Philosophic  des  Krieges.     "Natur-  und  kultur- 

philosophische  Bibliothek,"  Band  VI.    Leipzig,  1907. 

(10)  Constantin,  A.  Le  role  sociologique  de  la  guerre  et  le  sentiment 
national.  Suivi  de  la  guerre  comme  moyen  de  selection  col- 
lective, par  S.  R.  Steinmetz.  "Bibliotheque  scientifique  inter- 
nationale,"  Tome  CVHI.  Paris.  1907. 

(n)  Keller,  Albert  G.     Through  War  to  Peace.    New  York,  1918. 


CONFLICT  649 

(12)  Worms,  Rene,  editor.     "Les  luttes  sociales."    Etudes  et  paroles 
de  E.  Levasseur,  Lord  Avebury,  Rene  Worms,  J.  Novicow, 
Lester  F.  Ward,  A.  P.  Xenopol,  Louis  Gumplowicz,  Ferdinand 
Tonnies,  Raoul  de  la  Grasserie,  Simon  Halpercine,  Ludwig  Stein, 
Emile  Worms,   Charles   M.    Limousin,    Frederick    Harrison, 
C.  L.  Loch,  G.  Arcoleo,  R.  Garofalo,  J.  K.  Kochanowski,  Leon 
Phillipe,  Alfredo  Niceforo,  N.  A.  Abrikossof,  Adolphe  Landry. 
Annales    de  I'inslitut   international   de   sociologie.     Tome  XI. 
Paris,  1907. 

(13)  Fielding-Hall,  H.    Nature  of  War  and  Its  Causes.    London, 
1917. 

'  (14)  Oliver,  Frederick  S.    Ordeal  by  Battle.     London,  1915. 

3.  War  and  Human  Nature: 

(1)  Petit-Dutaillis,  C.  E.     "L'Appel  de  guerre  en  Dauphine  ler 
2  aout  1914,"  Annales  de  I'Universite  de  Grenoble,  XXVII  (1915), 
1-59.     [Documents  consisting  of  letters  written  by  instructors 
and  others  describing  the  sentiments  with  which  the  declara- 
tion of  war  was  received.] 

(2)  Wood,  Walter,  editor.    Soldiers'  Stories  of  the  War.     London, 


(3)  Buswell,  Leslie.    Ambulance  No.  10:   Personal  Letters  from  the 
Front.    Boston,  1916. 

(4)  Kilpatrick,  James  A.     Tommy  Atkins  at  War  as  Told  in  His 
Own  Letters.    New  York,  1914. 

(5)  Fadl,  Said  Memun  Abul.     "Die  Frauen  des  Islams  und  der 
Weltkrieg,"  Nord  und  Sud,  CLV  (Nov.  1915),  171-74.     [Con- 
tains a  letter  from  a  Turkish  mother  to  her  son  at  the  front.] 

(6)  Maublanc,  Rene.     "La  guerre  vue  par  des  enfants  (septembre, 
1914)."     (Recits  par  des  enfants  de  campagne.)     Revue  de 
Paris,  XXII  (septembre-octobre,  1915),  396-418. 

(7)  Daudet,  Ernest,  editor.     "L'ame  francaise  et  Tame  allemande." 
Lettres  de  soldats.    Documents   pour  I'histoire  de  la  guerre. 
Paris,  1915. 

(8)  "Heimatsbriefe  an  russische  Soldaten."     (Neue  philologische 
Rundschau;  hrsg.  von  dr.  C.  Wagener  und  dr.  E.  Ludwig  in 
Bremen,    jahrg.  1886-1908.)     Die  neue  Rundschau,  II  (1915), 

1673-83- 

(9)  "The  Attack  at  Loos,"  by  a  French  Lieutenant.     "Under 
Shell-Fire  at  Dunkirk,"  by  an  American  Nurse.     "  The  Winter's 
War,"   by  a   British   Captain.     "The   Bitter   Experience   of 


650  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Lorraine,"  by  the  Prefect  of  Meurthe-et-Moselle.  Atlantic 
Monthly,  CXVI  (1915),  688-711. 

(10)  Bohme,  Margarete.  Kriegsbriefe  der  Familie  Wimmel.  (Per- 
sonal experiences  in  the  Great  War).  Dresden,  1915. 

(n)  Chevillon,  Andre.  "Lettres  d'un  soldat,"  Revue  de  Paris, 
XXII  (juillet-aout,  1915),  4yi-95- 

(12)  Boutroux,    Pierre.     "Les    soldats    allemands    en    campagne, 
d'apres  leur  correspondance,"  Revue  de  Paris,  XXII  (septembre- 
octobre,  1915),  323-43;  47°-9i- 

(13)  West,  Arthur  Graeme.     The  Diary  of  a  Dead  Officer.    Post- 
humous papers.     London,  1918. 

(14)  Mayer,  fimile.     "Emotions  des  chefs  en  campagne,"  Biblio- 
theque  universelle  et  Revue  Suisse,  LXIX  (1913),  98-131. 

(15)  Wehrhan,  K.     "  Volksdichtung  iiber  unsere  gefallenen  Helden," 
Die  Grenzboten,  LXXIV  (No.  28,  July  14,  1915),  58-64.     [Calls 
attention  to  growth  of  a  usage  (anfangs,  wagte  sich  der  Brauch 
nur  schiichtern,  hier  und  da,  hervor)  of  printing  verses,  some 
original,  some  quoted,  in  the  death  notices.] 

(16)  Naumann,  Friedrich.     "Der  Kriegsglaube,"  Die  Hilfe,  XXI 
(No.  36,  Sept.  9,  1915),  576.     [Sketches  the  forces  that  have 
created  a  war  creed,    in   which   all   confessions   participate, 
immediately  and  without  formalities.] 

(17)  Roepke,  Dr.  Fritz.     "Der  Religiose  Geist  in  deutschen  Sol- 
datenbriefen,"  Die  Grenzboten,  LXXIV  (No.  30,  July  28,  1915), 
124-28.     [An   interesting   analysis  of   letters   which   are  not 
reproduced  in  full.] 

(18)  Wendland,   Walter.     "Krieg  und  Religion,"  Die  Grenzboten, 
LXXIV  (No.  33,  Sept.  n,  1915),  212-19.     [Reviews  the  litera- 
ture of  war  and  religion.] 

(19)  Bang,  J.  P.     Hurrah  and  Hallelujah.     The  teaching  of  Ger- 
many's poets,  prophets,  professors,  and  preachers;  a  documen- 
tation.    From  the  Danish  by  Jessie  Brochner.    London  and 
New  York,  1917. 

B.  Race  Conflict 
i.  Race  Relations  in  General: 

(1)  Bryce,  James.     The  Relations  of  the  Advanced  and  the  Backward 
Races  of  Mankind.    Oxford,  1903. 

(2)  Simpson,  Bertram  L.     The  Conflict  of  Colour.    The  threatened 
upheaval  throughout  the  world,  by  Weale,  B.  L.  P.  [pseud.]. 
London,  1910. 


CONFLICT  65 1 

(3)  Steiner,  Jesse  F.     The  Japanese  Invasion.    A  study  in  the  psy- 
chology of  inter-racial  contacts.     Chicago,  1917. 

(4)  Stoddard,  T.  Lothrop.     The  Rising  Tide  of  Color  against  White 
World-Supremacy.    New  York,  1920. 

(5)  Blyden,  Edward  W.     Christianity,  Islam,  and  the  Negro  Race. 
London,  1888. 

(6)  Spiller,  G.,  editor.    Papers  on  Inter-racial  Problems.    Communi- 
cated to  the  First  Universal  Races  Congress,  London,  1911, 
pp.  463-77.    Boston,  1911.     [Bibliography  on  Race  Problems.] 

(7)  Baker,  Ray  Stannard.    Following  the  Color  Line.    An  account 
of  Negro  citizenship  in  the  American  democracy.    New  York, 
1908. 

(8)  Miller,   Kelly.    Race   Adjustment.    Essays   on   the  Negro  in 
America.    New  York,  1908. 

(9)  Stephenson,  Gilbert  T.    Race  Distinctions  in  American  Law. 
New  York,  1910. 

(10)  Mecklin,  John  M.    Democracy  and  Race  Friction.    A  study  in 
social  ethics.    New  York,  1914. 

( 1 1)  Evans,  Maurice.    Black  and  White  in  South  East  Africa.    Lon- 
don, 1911. 

(12)  — .    Black  and  White  in  the  Southern  Stales.    A  study  of 

the  race  problem  in  the  United  States  from  a  South  African 
point  of  view.    London,  1915. 

(13)  Brailsford,  H.  N.    Macedonia:    Its  Races  and  Their  Future. 
London,  1906. 

(14)  Means,  Philip  A.    Racial  Factors  in  Democracy.    Boston,  1918. 

Race  Prejudice: 

(1)  Crawley,  Ernest.     The  Mystic  Rose.    A  study  of  primitive 
marriage.    Pp.  33-58;    76-235.    London,  1902.     [Taboo  as  a 
mechanism  for  regulating  contacts.] 

(2)  Thomas,  W.  I.     "The  Psychology  of  Race-Prejudice,"  Ameri- 
can Journal  of  Sociology,  IX  (1903-4),  593-611. 

(3)  Finot,  Jean.    Race  Prejudice.    Translated  from  the  French  by 
Florence  Wade-Evans.    London,  1906. 

(4)  Pillsbury,  W.  B.     The  Psychology  of  Nationality  and  Inter- 
nationalism.   Chap,  iii,  "Hate  as  a  Social  Force,"  pp.  63-89. 
New  York,  1919. 

(5)  Shaler,  N.  S.    "Race  Prejudices,"  Atlantic  Monthly,   LVHI 
(1886),  510-18. 

(6)  Stone,   Alfred   H.    Studies   in   the   American   Race   Problem. 
Chap,  vi,  "Race  Friction,"  pp.  211-41.    New  York,  1908. 


652  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(7)  Mecklin,  John  M.    Democracy  and  Race  Friction.     A  study 
in  social  ethics.     Chap  v,  "Race-Prejudice,"  pp. 123-56.     New 
York,  1914. 

(8)  Bailey,  T.  P.     Race  Orthodoxy  in  the  South.    And  other  aspects 
of  the  negro  question.     New  York,  1914. 

(9)  Parton,  James.     "Antipathy  to  the  Negro,"  North  American 
Review,  CXXVII  (1878),  476-91. 

(10)  Duncan,  Sara  Jeannette.     "Eurasia,"  Popular  Science  Monthly, 

XLII  (1892),  1-9. 
(n)  Morse,  Josiah.     "The  Psychology  of  Prejudice,"  International 

Journal  of  Ethics,  XVII  (1906-7),  490-506. 

(12)  McDougall,   William.    An  Introduction  to  Social   Psychology. 
Chap,  xi,   "The  Instinct  of  Pugnacity,"  pp.  279-95;     "The 
Instinct  of  Pugnacity  and  the  Emotion  of  Anger,"  pp.  49-61. 
4th  rev.  ed.     Boston,  1912. 

(13)  Royce,    Josiah.     Race    Questions,    Provincialism,    and    Other 
American  Problems.     Chap,  i,  "  Race  Questions  and  Prejudices," 
PP-  I-53-     New  York,  1908. 

(14)  Thomas,    William    I.     "Race    Psychology:     Standpoint    and 
Questionnaire,   with  Particular  Reference  to  the  Immigrant 
and  the  Negro,"  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XVII  (1912- 

13),  725-75. 

(15)  Bryce,  James.     Race  Sentiment  as  a  Factor  in  History.     A  lec- 
ture delivered  before  the  University  of  London,  February  22, 
1915.    London,  1915. 

3.  Strikes: 

(1)  Schwittau,    G.    Die    Formen    des    wirtschaftlichen    Kampfes, 
Slreik,   Boykolt,   Aussperung,   usw.     Eine  volkswirtschaftliche 
Untersuchung   auf   dem  Gebiete  der  gegenwartigen  Arbeits- 
politik.     Berlin,  1912.     [Bibliography.] 

(2)  Hall,  Frederick  S.    Sympathetic  Strikes  and  Sympathetic  Lock- 
outs.    "Columbia   University   Studies   in    Political   Science." 
Vol.  X.    New  York,  1898.     [Bibliography.] 

(3)  Bing,  Alexander  M.     War-lime  Strikes  and  Their  Adjustment. 
With  an  introduction  by  Felix  Adler.     New  York,  1921. 

(4)  Egerton,  Charles  E.,  and  Durand,  E.  Dana.     U.  S.  Industrial 
Commission   Reports  of  the  Industrial  Commission  on  Labor 
Organizations.     "Labor    Disputes    and    Arbitration."    Wash- 
ington, 1901. 

(5)  Janes,  George  M.     The  Control  of  Strikes  in  American  Trade 
Unions.     Baltimore,  1916. 


CONFLICT  653 

(6)  United  States  Strike  Commission,  1895.     Report  on  the  Chicago 
Strike  of  June- July,  1894,  by  the  United  Stales  Strike  Commission. 
Washington,  1895. 

(7)  Warne,  Frank  J.     "The  Anthracite  Coal  Strike,"  Annals  of  the 
American  Academy,  XVII  (1901),  15-52. 

(8)  Anthracite   Coal   Strike   Commission,    1902-3.     Report  to  the 
President  on  the  Anthracite  Coal  Strike  of  May-October,  1902, 
by  the  Anthracite  Coal  Strike  Commission.     Washington,  1903. 

(9)  Hanford,    Benjamin.     The    Labor    War    in    Colorado.     New 
York,  1904. 

(10)  Rastall,  B.  M.  The  Labor  History  of  the  Cripple  Creek  District. 
A  study  in  industrial  evolution.  Madison,  Wis.,  1908. 

(n)  United  States  Bureau  of  Labor.  Report  on  Strike  at  Bethlehem 
Steel  Works,  South  Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania.  Prepared  under 
the  direction  of  Charles  P.  Neill,  commissioner  of  labor.  Wash- 
ington, 1910. 

(12)  Wright,  Arnold.    Disturbed  Dublin.    The  story  of  the  great 
strike  of  1913-14,  with  a  description  of  the  industries  of  the 
Irish  Capital.     London,  1914. 

(13)  Seattle  General  Strike  Committee.     The  Seattle  General  Strike. 
An  account  of  what  happened  in  the  Seattle  labor  movement, 
during  the  general  strike,  February  6-n,  1919.     Seattle,  1919. 

(14)  Interchurch  World  Movement.     Report  on  the  Steel  Strike  of 
1919.     New  York,  1920. 

(15)  U.S.  Bureau  of  Labor  Statistics.     Report  in  Regard  to  the  Strike 
of  Mine  Workers  in  the  Michigan  Copper  District.     Bulletin 
No.  139.     February  7,  1914. 

(16) .    Strikes  and  Lockouts,  1881-1905.    Twenty-first  annual 

report,  1906. 

(17)  Foster,  William  Z.     The  Great  Steel  Strike  and  Its  Lessons. 
New  York,  1920. 

(18)  Wolman,  Leo.     "The  Boycott  in  American  Trade  Unions," 
Johns  Hopkins  University  Studies  in  Historical  and  Political 
Science,  Vol.  XXXIV.     Baltimore,  1916. 

(19)  Laidler,  Harry  W.     Boycotts  and  the  Labor  Struggle.     Economic 
and  legal  aspects.     With  an  introduction  by  Henry  R.  Seager 
New  York  and  London,  1914. 

(20)  Hunter,   Robert.     Violence  and  the  Labour  Movement.    New 
York,  1914.     [Bibliography.] 

4.  Lynch  Law  and  Lynching: 

(i)  Walling,  W.  E.     "The  Race  War  hi  the  North,"  Independent, 
LXV  (July-Sept,  1908),  529-34. 


654          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(2)  "The  So-Called  Race  Riot  at  Springfield,"  by  an  Eye  Witness. 
Charities,  XX  (1908),  709-11. 

(3)  Seligmann,  H.  J.     "Race  War?"    New  Republic,  XX  (1919), 
48-50.     [The  Washington  race  riot.] 

(4)  Leonard,  O.    "The  East  St.  Louis  Pogrom,"  Survey,  XXXVIII 

(iQi?),  331-33- 

(5)  Sandburg,  Carl.     The  Chicago  Race  Riots,  July,  1919.    New 
York,  1919. 

(6)  Chicago  Commission  on  Race  Relations.     Report  on  the  Chicago 
Race  Riot.     [In  Press.] 

(7)  Cutler,    James   E.    Lynch-Law.    An    investigation   into    the 
history  of  lynching  in  the  United  States.    New  York,  1905. 

(8)  National  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Colored  People. 
Thirty   Years  of  Lynching  in  the   United  States,   1889-1918. 
New  York,  1919. 

(9)  .    Burning  at  Stake  in  the  United  Stales.    A  record  of 

the  public  burning  by  mobs  of  six  men,  during  the  first  six 
months  of  1919,  in  the  states  of  Arkansas,  Florida,  Georgia, 
Mississippi,  and  Texas.    New  York,  1919. 

C.  Feuds 

(1)  Miklosich,  Franz.    Die  Blutrache  bei  den  Slaven.    Wien,  1887. 

(2)  Johnston,  C.    " The  Land  of  the  Blood  Feud,"  Harper's  Weekly, 
LVII  (Jan.  n,  1913),  42. 

(3)  Davis,  H.,  and  Smyth,  C.    "The  Land  of  Feuds,"  Munseys', 
XXX  (1003-4),  161-72. 

(4)  "Avenging  Her  Father's  Death,"  Literary  Digest,  XLV  (Novem- 
ber 9,  1912),  864-70. 

(5)  Campbell,  John  C.     The  Southern  Highlander  and  His  Home- 
land.   Pp.  110-13.    New  York,  1921. 

(6)  Wermert,  Georg.    Die  Insel  Sicilien,  in  volkswirtschaftlicher, 
kultureller,    und    sozialer    Beziehung.     Chap,    xxvii,    "Volks- 
character  und  Mafia."    Berlin,  1901. 

(7)  Heijningen,  Hendrik  M.  K.  van.    Het  Straf-  en  Wraakrecht  in 
den  Indischen  Archipel.    Leiden,  1916. 

(8)  Steinmetz,  S.  R.    Ethnologische  Studien  zur  ersten  Entwicklung 
der  Strafe,  nebst  einer  psychologischen  Abhandlung  iiber  Grausam- 
keit  und  Rachsucht.     2  vols.    Leiden,  1894. 

(9)  Wesnitsch,  Milenko  R.    Die  Blutrache  bei  den  Siidslaven.    Ein 
Beitrag  zur  Geschichte  des  Straf rechts.     Stuttgart,  1889. 

(10)  Bourde,  Paul.  En  Corse.  L'esprit  de  clan — les  moeurs 
politiques — les  vendettas — le  banditisme.  Correspondances 
adressees  au  "Temps."  Cinquieme  edition.  Paris,  1906. 


CONFLICT  655 

(n)  Dorsey,  J.  Owen.  "Omaha  Sociology,"  chap,  xii,  "The  Law," 
sec.  310,  "Murder,"  p.  369.  In  Third  Annual  Report  of  the 
U.S.  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  1881-82.  Washington, 
1884. 

(12)  Woods,  A.     "The  Problem  of  the  Black  Hand,"  McClure's, 
XXXIII  (1909),  40-47. 

(13)  Park,  Robert  E.,  and  Miller,  Herbert  A.    Old  World  Traits 
Transplanted.    New  York,  1921.    [See  pp.  241-58  for  details 
of  rise  and  decline  of  Black  Hand  in  New  York.] 

(14)  White,  F.  M.     "The  Passing  of  the  Black  Hand,"  Century, 
XCV,  N.S.  73  (1917-18),  331-37- 

(15)  Cutrera,  A.    La  Mafia  e  i  mafiosi.     Origini  e  manifestazioni. 
Studio  di  sociologia  criminale,  con  una  carta  a  colori  su  la 
densita  della  Mafia  in  Sicilia.    Palermo,  1900. 

D.  The  Duel  and  the  Ordeal  of  Battle 

(1)  Millingen,  J.  G.     The  History  of  Duelling.    Including  narratives 
of  the  most  remarkable  personal  encounters  that  have  taken 
place  from  the  earliest  period  to  the  present  time.     2  vols. 
London,  1841. 

(2)  Steinmetz,  Andrew.     The  Romance  of  Duelling  in  All  Times  and 
Countries.    London,  1868. 

(3)  Sabine,  Lorenzo.    Notes  on  Duels  and  Duelling.    Boston,  1855. 

(4)  Patetta,  F.    Le  Ordalie.     Studio  di  storia  del  diritto  e  scienza 
del  diritto  comparato.     Turino,  1890. 

(5)  Lea,  Henry  C.    Superstition  and  Force.    Essays  on  the  wager  of 
law,  the  wager  of  battle,  the  ordeal,  torture.    4th    ed.,  rev. 
Philadelphia,  1892. 

(6)  Neilson,  George.     Trial  by  Combat.    In  Great  Britain.     Glas- 
gow and  London,  1890. 

E.  Games  and  Gambling 

(1)  Culin,  Stewart.     "Street  Games  of  Boys  in  Brooklyn,  N.Y.," 
The  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  IV  (1891),  221-37. 

(2)  .    Korean  Games.    With  notes  on  the  corresponding 

games  of  China  and  Japan.    Philadelphia,  1895. 

(3)  .     "Games  of  the  North  American  Indians,"  Twenty- 
fourth  Annual  Report  of  the  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology, 
1902-3.    Washington,  1907. 

(4)  Steinmetz,   Andrew.     The   Gaming    Table:    Its    Votaries   and 
Victims,  in  all  Times  and  Countries,  Especially  in  England  and 
in  France.    London,  1870. 

(5)  Thomas,  W.  I.     "The  Gaming  Instinct,"  American  Journal  of 
Sociology,  VI  (1900-1901),  750-63. 


656         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(6)  O'Brien,  Frederick.  White  Shadows  in  the  South  Seas.  Chap. 
xxii,  pp.  240-48.  [Memorable  Game  for  Matches  in  the 
Cocoanut  Grove  of  Lano  Kaioo]. 

HI.      CONFLICT  GROUPS 

A.  Gangs 

(1)  Johnson,  John  H.     Rudimentary  Society  Among  Boys.     "Johns 
Hopkins  University  Studies  in  Historical  and  Political  Science," 
2d  series,  XI,  491-546.     Baltimore,  1884. 

(2)  Puffer,  J.  Adams.     The  Boy  and  His  Gang.     Boston,  1912. 

(3)  Sheldon,  H.  D.,   "Institutional  Activities  of  American  Chil- 
dren," American  Journal  of  Psychology,  IX  (1899),  425-48. 

(4)  Thurston,  Henry  W.    Delinquency  and  Spare  Time.    A  study 
of  a  few  stories  written  into  the  court  records  of  the  City  of 
Cleveland.     Cleveland,  Ohio,  1918. 

(5)  Woods,  Robert  A.,  editor.     The  City  Wilderness.    A  settlement 
study  by  residents  and  associates  of  the  South  End  House. 
Chap,  vi,  "The  Roots  of  Political  Power,"  pp.  114-47.     Boston, 
1898. 

(6)  Hoyt,  F.  C.     "The  Gang  in  Embryo,"  Scribner's,  LXVIII 
(1920),  146-54.     [Presiding  justice  of  the  Children's  Court  of  the 
city  of  New  York.] 

(7)  Boyhood  and  Lawlessness.     Chap,  iv,  "His  Gangs,"  pp.  39-54. 
Russell  Sage  Foundation,  New  York,  1914. 

(8)  Culin,  Stewart.     "Street  Games  of  Boys  in  Brooklyn,  N.Y.," 
The  Journal  of  American  Folklore,  IV  (1891),  221-37.     [For 
observations  on  gangs  see  p.  235.] 

(9)  Adams,  Brewster.     "The  Street  Gang  as  a  Factor  in  Politics," 
Outlook,  LXXIV  (1003),  985-88. 

(10)  Lane,   W.   D.     "The   Four   Gunmen,"   The  Survey,   XXXII 

(1914),  13-16. 
(n)  Rhodes,  J.  F.     "The  Molly  Maguires  in  the  Anthracite  Region 

of  Pennsylvania,"  American  Historical  Review,  XV  (1909-10), 


(12)  Train,  Arthur.     "Imported  Crime:  The  Story  of  the  Camorra 

in  America,"  McClure's,  XXXIX  (1912),  82-94. 
B.  Sects 

(i)  Nordhoff,  Charles.  The  Communistic  Societies  of  the  United 
Stales  from  Personal  Visit  and  Observation.  Including  chapters 
on  "The  Amana  Society,"  "The  Separatists  of  Zoar,"  "The 
Shakers,"  "The  Oneida  and  Wallingford  Perfectionists,"  "The 
Aurora  and  Bethel  Communes."  New  York,  1875. 


CONFLICT  657 

(2)  Gillin,  John  L.     The  Bunkers:    A  Sociological  Interpretation. 
New  York,  1906.     [Columbia  University  dissertation,  V,  2.] 

(3)  Milmine,  Georgine.     The  Life  of  Mary  Baker  G.  Eddy  and  the 
History  of  Christian  Science.    New  York,  1909. 

(4)  Gehring,  Johannes.    Die  Seklen  der  russischen  Kirche,  1003- 
1897.    Nach  ihrem  Ursprunge  und  inneren  Zusammenhange 
dargestellt.     Leipzig,  1898. 

(5)  Grass,   K.   K.    Die  russischen  Sekten.     I,   "Die   Gottesleute 
oder  ChHisten";    II,   "Die  weissen  Tauben  oder  Skopzen." 
Leipzig,  1907-9. 

(6)  Lea,  Henry  Charles.     The  Moriscos  of  Spain.     Their  conversion 
and  expulsion.     Philadelphia,  1901. 

(7)  Friesen,   P.    M.    Geschichte   der    all-evangelischen    mennoniten 
Bruderschaft  in  Russland  (1789-1910)  im  Rahmen  der  mennoniti- 
schen  Gesamtgeschichte.     Halbstadt,  1911. 

(8)  Kalb,    Ernst.     Kirchen    und    Sekten    der    Gegenwart.     Unter 
Mitarbeit  verschiedener  evangelischer  Theologen.     Stuttgart, 
1905. 

(9)  Mathiez,    Albert.     Les    origines    des    cultes    revolutionnaires. 
(1789-92).     Paris,  1904. 

(10)  Rossi,  Pasquale.     Mistici  e  Settarii.     Studio  di  psicopatologia 

collettiva.     Milan,  1900. 
(n)  Rohde,  Erwin.     Psyche:    Seelencult  und  Unsterblichkeitsglaube 

der  Griechen.     Freiburg,  1890. 

C.  Economic  Conflict  Groups 

(1)  Webb,  Sidney  and  Beatrice.     Industrial  Democracy.     London, 
1897. 

(2)  .  The   History   of   Trade    Unionism.     (Revised   edition 

extended  to  1920.)     New  York  and  London,  1920. 

(3)  Commons,    John    R.,    editor.     Trade    Unionism    and    Labor 
Problems,  Boston,  1905. 

(4)  .    History  of  Labor  in  the  United  Stales.     2  vols.     New 

York.  1918. 

(5)  Groat,  George  G.    An  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Organized 
Labor  in  America.     New  York,  1916. 

(6)  Hoxie,    Robert    F.     Trade    Unionism    in   the    United   States. 
New  York,  1917. 

(7)  Marot,    Helen.     American    Labor    Unions.     By    a    member. 
New  York,  1914. 

(8)  Carlton,    Frank   T.     Organized   Labor   in   American   History. 
New  York,  1920. 


658          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(9)  Levine,  Louis.  Syndicalism  in  France.  2d  rev.  ed.  of  The 
Labor  Movement  in  France.  New  York  and  London,  1914. 

(10)  Brissenden,  Paul  Frederick.  The  I.W.W.,  A  Study  of  American 
Syndicalism.  New  York,  1919.  [Bibliography.] 

(n)  Brooks,  John  Graham.  American  Syndicalism;  the  I.W.W. 
New  York,  1913. 

(12)  .  Labor's  Challenge  to  the  Social  Order.    Democracy  its 

own  critic  and  educator.    New  York,  1920. 

(13)  Baker,  Ray  Stannard.     The  New  Industrial  Unrest.     Reasons 
and  remedies.    New  York,  1920. 

(14)  Commons,  John  R.    Industrial  Democracy.    New  York,  1921. 

(15)  Brentano,  Lujo.    On  the  History  and  Development  of  Gilds  and 
the  Origin  of  Trade  Unions.     London,  1870. 

D.  Parties 

(1)  Bluntschli,   Johann   K.    Charakter  und  Geist  der    politischen 
Parleien.    Nordlingen,  1869. 

(2)  Ostrogorskli,    Moisei.    Democracy    and    the    Organization    of 
Political  Parties.    Translated  from  the  French  by  F.  Clarke 
with  a  preface  by  Right  Hon.  James  Bryce.    New  York  and 
London,  1902. 

(3)  Lowell,  A.  Lawrence.    Governments  and  Parlies  in  Continental 
Europe.     2  vols.    Boston,  1896. 

(4)  Merriam,  C.  E.     The  American  Party  System.     In  press. 

(5)  Haynes,  Frederick  E.     Third  Party  Movements  since  the  Civil 
War,  with  Special  Reference  to  Iowa.    A  study  in  social  politics. 
Iowa  City,  1916. 

(6)  Ray,  P.  O.    An  Introduction  to  Political  Parties  and  Practical 
Politics.    New  York,  1913. 

(7)  Bryce,  James.     The  American  Commonwealth.     2  vols.    New 
rev.  ed.    New  York,  1911. 

(8)  Hadley,  Arthur  T.     Undercurrents  in  American  Politics.     Being 
the  Ford  Lectures,  delivered  at  Oxford  University,  and  the 
Barbour-Page  Lectures,  delivered  at  the  University  of  Virginia 
in  the  spring  of  1914.    New  Haven,  1915. 

(9)  Lowell,  A.  Lawrence.    Annual  Report  of  the  American  Historical 
Association,   1901.     2   vols.     "The  Influence  of  Party  upon 
Legislation  in  England  and  America"  (with  four  diagrams),  I, 
319-542.    Washington,  1902. 

(10)  Beard,  Charles  A.    Economic  Origins  of  Jeffersonian  Democracy. 

New  York,  1915. 
(n)  Morgan,  W.  T.    English  Political  Parties  and  Leaders  in  the 

Reign  of  Queen  Anne,  1702-1710.    New  Haven,  1920. 


CONFLICT  659 

(12)  Michels,  Robert.     Political  Parties.    A  sociological  study  of  the 
oligarchical  tendencies  of  modern  democracy.    Translated  by 
Eden  and  Cedar  Paul.    New  York,  1915. 

(13)  Haines,    Lynn.     Your    Congress.    An    interpretation    of    the 
political   and   parliamentary   influences   that   dominate   law- 
making  in  America.     Washington,  D.C.,  1915. 

(14)  Hichborn,   Franklin.    Story  of  the  Session  of  the  California 
Legislature.    San  Francisco,  1909,  1911,  1913,  1915. 

(15)  Myers,  Gustavus.     The  History  of  Tammany  Hall.     2d  ed.  rev. 
and  enl.    New  York,  1917. 

(16)  Roosevelt,  Theodore.    An  Autobiography.    New  York,  1913. 

(17)  Platt,  Thomas  C.    Autobiography.     Compiled  and  edited  by 
Louis  J.  Lang.    New  York,  1910. 

(18)  Older,  Fremont.    My  Own  Story.    San  Francisco,  1919. 

(19)  Orth,  Samuel  P.     The  Boss  and  the  Machine.    A  chronicle  of  the 
politicians  and  party  organization.    New  Haven,  1919. 

(20)  Riordon,  William  L.    Plunkitt  of  Tammany  Hall.    A  series  of 
very  plain  talks  on  very  practical  politics,  delivered  by  ex- 
Senator    George   Washington    Plunkitt,    the   Tammany   phi- 
losopher, from  his  rostrum — the  New  York  County  Court  House 
boot-black  stand.    New  York,  1905. 

E.  Nationalities 

(1)  Oakesmith,  John.    Race  and  Nationality.    An  inquiry  into  the 
origin  and  growth  of  patriotism.    New  York,  1919. 

(2)  Lillehei,  Ingebrigt.     "Landsmaal  and  the  Language  Movement 
in  Norway,"  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology,  XIII 
(1914),  60-87. 

(3)  Morris,  Lloyd  R.     The  Celtic  Dawn.    A  survey  of  the  renas- 
cence in  Ireland,  1889-1916.    New  York,  1917. 

(4)  Keith,  Arthur.    Nationality  and  Race  from  an  Anthropologist's 
Point  of  View.    London,  1919. 

(5)  Barnes,  Harry  E.     "Nationality  and  Historiography"  hi  the 
article  "History,  Its  Rise  and  Development,"  Encyclopedia 
Americana,  XIV,  234-43. 

(6)  Fisher,  H.  A.    "French  Nationalism,"  Hibbert  Journal,  XV 
(1916-17),  217-29. 

(7)  Ellis,  H.    "The  Psychology  of  the  English,"  Edinburgh  Review, 
CCXXIII  (April,  1916),  223-43. 

(8)  Bevan,    Edwyn    R.    Indian    Nationalism.    An    independent 
estimate.    London,  1913. 

(9)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.     The  Psychology  of  Peoples.    London,  1898. 


66o          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(10)  Francke,    K.     "The    Study   of   National    Culture,"    Atlantic 

Monthly,  XCIX  (1007),  409-16. 
(n)  Auerbach,   Bertrand.     Les  races   et  nationalitfs  en   Autriche- 

Hongrie.     Deuxieme  edition  revisee.     Paris,  1917. 

(12)  Butler,  Ralph.     The  New  Eastern  Europe.     London,  1919. 

(13)  Kerlin,  Robert  T.     The  Voice  of  the  Negro  1919.    New  York, 
1920.     [A  compilation  from  the  colored  press  of  America  for 
the  four  months  immediately  succeeding  the  Washington  riots.] 

(14)  Boas,  F.     "Nationalism,"  Dial,  LXVI  (March  8, 1919),  232-37. 

(15)  Buck,  Carl  D.     "Language  and  the  Sentiment  of  Nationality," 
The  American  Political  Science  Review,  X  (1916),  44-69. 

(16)  McLaren,    A.    D.     "National   Hate,"    Hibbert   Journal,    XV 
(1916-17),  407-18. 

(17)  Miller,   Herbert   A.     "The   Rising  National   Individualism," 
Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  VIII  (1913), 

49-65. 

(18)  Zimmern,  Alfred  E.     Nationality  and  Government.    With  other 
wartime  essays.     London  and  New  York,  1918. 

(19)  Small,  Albion  W.     "Bonds  of  Nationality,"  American  Journal 
of  Sociology,  XX  (1915-16),  629-83. 

(20)  Faber,   Geoffrey.     "The  War  and   Personality  in  Nations," 
Fortnightly  Review,  CHI  (1915),  538-46.     Also  in  Living  Age, 
CCLXXXV  (1915),  265-72. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

r.  The  History  of  Conflict  as  a  Sociological  Concept 

2.  Types  of  Conflict:   War,  the  Duello,  Litigation,  Gambling,  the  Feud, 
Discussion,  etc. 

3.  Conflict  Groups:   Gangs,  Labor  Organizations,  Sects,  Parties,  Nation- 
alities, etc. 

4.  Mental  Conflicts  and  the  Development  of  Personality 

5.  Sex  Differences  in  Conflict 

6.  Subtler  Forms  of  Conflict:  Rivalry,  Emulation,  Jealousy,  Aversion,  etc. 

7.  Personal  Rivalry  in  Polite  Society 

8.  Conflict  and  Social  Status 

9.  The  Strike  as  an  Expression  of  the  Wish  for  Recognition 

10.  Popular  Justice:    the  History  of  the  Molly  Maguires,  of  the  Night 
Riders,  etc. 

11.  The  Sociology  of  Race  Prejudice 

12.  Race  Riots  in  the  North  and  the  South 

13    War  as  an  Action  Pattern,  Biological  or  Social? 


CONFLICT  66 1 

14.  War  as  a  Form  of  Relaxation 

15.  The  Great  War  Interpreted  by  Personal  Documents 

1 6.  Conflict  and  Social  Organization 

17.  Conflict  and  Social  Progress 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1 .  How  do  you  differentiate  between  competition  and  conflict  ? 

2.  Is  conflict  always  conscious? 

3.  How  do  you  explain  the  emotional  interest  in  conflict? 

4.  In  your  opinion,  are  the  sexes  in  about  the  same  degree  interested  in 
conflict  ? 

5.  In   what   way   do   you   understand    Simmel    to    relate    conflict    to 
the  social  process  ? 

6.  What  are  the  interrelations  of  war  and  social  contacts  ? 

7.  "Without  aversion  life  in  a  great  city  would  have  no  thinkable  form." 
Explain. 

8.  "It  is  advantageous  to  hate  the  opponent  with  whom  one  is  struggling." 
Explain. 

9.  Give  illustrations  of  feuds  not  mentioned  by  Simmel. 

10.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  feuds  and  litigation  ? 

1 1 .  What  examples  occur  to  you  of  conflicts  of  impersonal  ideals  ? 

12.  What  are  the  psychological  causes  of  war? 

13.  "We  may  see  in  war  the  preliminary  process  of  rejuvenescence." 
Explain. 

14.  Has  war  been  essential  to  the  process  of  social  adjustment?    Is  it 
still  essential  ? 

15.  What  do  you  understand  by  war  as  a  form  of  relaxation? 

1 6.  How  do  you  interpret  Professor  James's  reaction  to  the  Chautauqua? 

17.  What  is  the  role  of  conflict  in  recreation? 

1 8.  Is  it  possible  to  provide  psychic  equivalents  for  war? 

IQ.  What  application  of  the  sociological  theory  of  the  relation  of  ideals 
to  instinct  would  you  make  to  war? 

20.  How  do  you  distinguish  rivalry  from  competition  and  conflict  ? 

21.  What  bearing  have  the  facts  of  animal  rivalry  upon  an  understanding 
of  rivalry  in  human  society  ? 

22.  What  are  the  different  devices  by  which  the  group  achieves  and  main- 
tains solidarity  ?    How  many  of  these  were  characteristic  of  the  war- 
time situation  ? 

23.  In  what  way  is  group  rivalry  related  to  the  development  of  personality  ? 

24.  How  does  rivalry  contribute  to  social  organization  ? 

25.  What  do  you  understand  by  Giddings'  distinction  between  cultural 
conflicts  and  "logical  duels"? 


662          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

26.  Have  you  reason  for  thinking  that  cultural  conflicts  will  play  a  lesser 
r61e  in  the  future  than  in  the  past  ? 

27.  To  what  extent  was  the  world-war  a  cultural  conflict  ? 

28.  Under  what  circumstances  do  social  contacts  make  (a)  for  conflict, 
and  (6)  for  co-operation? 

29.  What  has  been  the  effect  of  the  extension  of  communication  upon  the 
relations  of  nations  ?    Elaborate. 

30.  What  do  you  understand  by  race  prejudice  as  a  "more  or  less  in- 
stinctive defense-reaction"? 

31.  To  what  extent  is  race  prejudice  based  upon  race  competition? 

32.  Do  you  believe  that  it  is  possible  to  remove  the  causes  of  race  prejudice  ? 

33.  In  what  ways  does  race  conflict  make  for  race  consciousness  ? 

34.  What  are  the  different  elements  or  forces  in  the  interaction  of  races 
making  for  race  conflict  and  race  consciousness  ? 

35.  Is  a  heightening  of  race  consciousness  of  value  or  of  disadvantage  to 
a  racial  group  ? 

36.  How  do  you  explain  the  present  tendency  of  the  Negro  to  substitute 
the  copying  of  colored  models  for  the  imitation  of  white  models  ? 

37.  "In  the  South,  the  races  seem  to  be  tending  in  the  direction  of  a  bi- 
racial  organization  of  society,  in  which  the  Negro  is  gradually  gaining 
a  limited  autonomy."    Interpret. 

38.  "All  racial  problems  are  distinctly  problems  of  racial  distribution." 
Explain  with  reference  to  relative  proportion  of  Negroes,   Chinese, 
and  Japanese  in  certain  sections  of  the  United  States. 

39.  Why  have  few  or  no  race  riots  occurred  in  the  South  ? 

40.  Under  what  circumstances  have  race  riots  occurred  in  the  North  ? 


CHAPTER  X 

ACCOMMODATION 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.    Adaptation  and  Accommodation 

The  term  adaptation  came  into  vogue  with  Darwin's  theory  of 
the  origin  of  the  species  by  natural  selection.  This  theory  was  based 
upon  the  observation  that  no  two  members  of  a  biological  species  or 
of  a  family  are  ever  exactly  alike.  Everywhere  there  is  variation  and 
individuality.  Darwin's  theory  assumed  this  variation  and  explained 
the  species  as  the  result  of  natural  selection.  The  individuals  best 
fitted  to  live  under  the  conditions  of  life  which  the  environment  offered, 
survived  and  produced  the  existing  species.  The  others  perished  and 
the  species  which  they  represented  disappeared.  The  differences  in 
the  species  were  explained  as  the  result  of  the  accumulation  and  per- 
petuation of  the  individual  variations  which  had  "survival  value." 
Adaptations  were  the  variations  which  had  been  in  this  way  selected 
and  transmitted. 

The  term  accommodation  is  a  kindred  concept  with  a  slightly 
different  meaning.  The  distinction  is  that  adaptation  is  applied  to 
organic  modifications  which  are  transmitted  biologically;  while 
accommodation  is  used  with  reference  to  changes  in  habit,  which  are 
transmitted,  or  may  be  transmitted,  sociologically,  that  is,  in  the 
form  of  social  tradition.  The  term  first  used  in  this  sense  by  Baldwin 
is  defined  in  the  Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psychology. 

In  view  of  modern  biological  theory  and  discussion,  two  modes  of 
adaptation  should  be  distinguished:  (a)  adaptation  through  variation 
[hereditary];  (b)  adaptation  through  modification  [acquired].  For  the 
functional  adjustment  of  the  individual  to  its  environment  [(&)  above] 
J.  Mark  Baldwin  has  suggested  the  term  "accommodation,"  recommending 
that  adaptation  be  confined  to  the  structural  adjustments  which  are  con- 
genital and  heredity  [(a)  above].  The  term  "accommodation"  applies  to 

663 


664          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

any  acquired  alteration  of  function  resulting  in  better  adjustment  to 
environment  and  to  the  functional  changes  which  are  thus  effected.1 

The  term  accommodation,  while  it  has  a  limited  field  of  applica- 
tion in  biology,  has  a  wide  and  varied  use  in  sociology.  All  the  social 
heritages,  traditions,  sentiments,  culture,  technique,  are  accommo- 
dations— that  is,  acquired  adjustments  that  are  socially  and  not 
biologically  transmitted.  They  are  not  a  part  of  the  racial  inheritance 
of  the  individual,  but  are  acquired  by  the  person  in  social  experience. 
The  two  conceptions  are  further  distinguished  in  this,  that  adaptation 
is  an  effect  of  competition,  while  accommodation,  or  more  properly 
social  accommodation,  is  the  result  of  conflict. 

The  outcome  of  the  adaptations  and  accommodations,  which  the 
struggle  for  existence  enforces,  is  a  state  of  relative  equilibrium 
among  the  competing  species  and  individual  members  of  these  species. 
The  equilibrium  which  is  established  by  adaptation  is  biological, 
which  means  that,  in  so  far  as  it  is  permanent  and  fixed  in  the  race 
or  the  species,  it  will  be  transmitted  by  biological  inheritance. 

The  equilibrium  based  on  accommodation,  however,  is  not  bio- 
logical; it  is  economic  and  social  and  is  transmitted,  if  at  all,  by 
tradition.  The  nature  of  the  economic  equilibrium  which  results 
from  competition  has  been  fully  described  in  chapter  viii.  The  plant 
community  is  this  equilibrium  in  its  absolute  form. 

In  animal  and  human  societies  the  community  has,  so  to  speak, 
become  incorporated  in  the  individual  members  of  the  group.  The 
individuals  are  adapted  to  a  specific  type  of  communal  life,  and  these 
adaptations,  in  animal  as  distinguished  from  human  societies,  are 
represented  in  the  division  of  labor  between  the  sexes,  in  the  instincts 
which  secure  the  protection  and  welfare  of  the  young,  in  the  so-called 
gregarious  instinct,  and  all  these  represent  traits  that  are  transmitted 
biologically.  But  human  societies,  although  providing  for  the  expres- 
sion of  original  tendencies,  are  organized  about  tradition,  mores,  col- 
lective representations,  in  short,  consensus.  And  consensus  repre- 
sents, not  biological  adaptations,  but  social  accommodations. 

Social  organization,  with  the  exception  of  the  order  based  on 
competition  and  adaptation,  is  essentially  an  accommodation  of 
differences  through  conflicts.  This  fact  explains  why  diverse- 
mindedness  rather  than  like-mindedness  is  characteristic  of  human  as 

1  Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psychology,  I,  15,  8. 


ACCOMMODATION  665 

distinguished  from  animal  society.    Professor  Cooley's  statement  of 
this  point  is  clear: 

The  unity  of  the  social  mind  consists  not  in  agreement  but  in  organiza- 
tion, in  the  fact  of  reciprocal  influence  or  causation  among  its  parts,  by 
virtue  of  which  everything  that  takes  place  in  it  is  connected  with  every- 
thing else,  and  so  is  an  outcome  of  the  whole.1 

The  distinction  between  accommodation  and  adaptation  is  illus- 
trated in  the  difference  between  domestication  and  taming.  Through 
domestication  and  breeding  man  has  modified  the  original  inheritable 
traits  of  plants  and  animals.  He  has  changed  the  character  of  the 
species.  Through  taming,  individuals  of  species  naturally  in  conflict 
with  man  have  become  accommodated  to  him.  Eugenics  may  be 
regarded  as  a  program  of  biological  adaptation  of  the  human  race  in 
conscious  realization  of  social  ideals.  Education,  on  the  other  hand, 
represents  a  program  of  accommodation  or  an  organization,  modifica- 
tion, and  culture  of  original  traits. 

Every  society  represents  an  organization  of  elements  more  or  less 
antagonistic  to  each  other  but  united  for  the  moment,  at  least,  by  an 
arrangement  which  defines  the  reciprocal  relations  and  respective 
spheres  of  action  of  each.  This  accommodation,  this  modus  vivendi, 
may  be  relatively  permanent  as  in  a  society  constituted  by  castes,  or 
quite  transitory  as  in  societies  made  up  of  open  classes.  In  either 
case,  the  accommodation,  while  it  is  maintained,  secures  for  the 
individual  or  for  the  group  a  recognized  status. 

Accommodation  is  the  natural  issue  of  conflicts.  In  an  accommo- 
dation the  antagonism  of  the  hostile  elements  is,  for  the  time  being, 
regulated,  and  conflict  disappears  as  overt  action,  although  it  remains 
latent  as  a  potential  force.  With  a  change  in  the  situation,  the 
adjustment  that  had  hitherto  successfully  held  in  control  the  antago- 
nistic forces  fails.  There  is  confusion  and  unrest  which  may  issue 
in  open  conflict.  Conflict,  whether  a  war  or  a  strike  or  a  mere 
exchange  of  polite  innuendoes,  invariably  issues  in  a  new  accommoda- 
tion or  social  order,  which  in  general  involves  a  changed  status  in  the 
relations  among  the  participants.  It  is  only  with  assimilation  that 
this  antagonism,  latent  in  the  organization  of  individuals  or  groups, 
is  likely  to  be  wholly  dissolved. 

1  Social  Organization,  p.  4. 


666         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

2.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  selections  on  accommodation  in  the  materials  are  organized 
under  the  following  heads:  (a)  forms  of  accommodation;  (b)  sub- 
ordination and  superordination;  (c)  conflict  and  accommodation; 
and  (d)  competition,  status,  and  social  solidarity. 

a)  Forms  of  accommodation. — There  are  many  forms  of  accommo- 
dation. One  of  the  most  subtle  is  that  which  in  human  geography  is 
called  acclimatizati.Qn,  "accommodation  to  new  climatic  conditions." 
Recent  studies  like  those  of  Huntington  in  bis  "Climate  and  Civili- 
zation "  have  emphasized  the  effects  of  climate  upon  human  behavior. 
The  selection  upon  acclimatization  by  Brinton  states  the  problems 
involved  in  the  adjustment  of  racial  groups  to  different  climatic 
environments.  The  answers  which  he  gives  to  the  questions  raised  are 
not  to  be  regarded  as  conclusive  but  only  as  representative  of  one  school 
of  investigators  and  as  contested  by  other  authorities  hi  this  field. 

Naturalization,  which  in  its  original  sense  means  the  process  by 
which  a  person  is  made  "natural,"  that  is,  familiar  and  at  home  in  a 
strange  social  milieu,  is  a  term  used  in  America  to  describe  the  legal 
process  by  which  a  foreigner  acquires  the  rights  of  citizenship.  Natu- 
ralization, as  a  social  process,  is  naturally  something  more  fundamental 
than  the  legal  ceremony  of  naturalization.  It  includes  accommoda- 
tion to  the  folkways,  the  mores,  the  conventions,  and  the  social 
ritual  (Sittlichkeit).  It  assumes  also  participation,  to  a  certain 
extent  at  least,  hi  the  memories,  the  tradition,  and  the  culture  of  a 
new  social  group.  The  proverb  "  In  Rome  do  as  the  Romans  do  "  is 
a  basic  principle  of  naturalization.  The  cosmopolitan  is  the  person 
who  readily  accommodates  himself  to  the  codes  of  conduct  of  new 
social  milieus.1 

*  A  teacher  in  the  public  schools  of  Chicago  came  in  possession  of  the  follow- 
ing letter  written  to  a  friend  in  Mississippi  by  a  Negro  boy  who  had  come  to 
the  city  from  the  South  two  months  previously.  It  illustrates  his  rapid  accommo- 
dation to  the  situation  including  the  hostile  Irish  group  (the  Wentworth  Avenue 
"Mickeys"). 

Dear  Icon  I  write  to  you — to  let  you  hear  from  me — Boy  you  dont  know  the  time 
we  have  with  Sled,  it  Snow  up  here  Regular.  We  Play  foot  Ball.  But  Now  we 
have  So  much  Snow  we  dont  Play  foot  Ball  any  More.  We  Ride  on  Sled.  Bov  I 
have  a  Sled  call  The  king  of  The  hill  and  She  king  to.  tell  Mrs.  Sara  that  Coin 
Roscoe  Conklin  Simon  Spoke  at  St  Mark  the  church  we  Belong  to. 

Gus  I  havnt  got  chance  to  Beat  But  to  Boy.    Sack  we  show  Runs  them 
Mickeys.    Boy  them  scoundle  is  bad  on  Wentworth  Avenue. 
Add  ^i23a  Breton  St  Chi  ill. 


ACCOMMODATION  667 

The  difficulty  of  social  accommodation  to  a  new  social  milieu 
is  not  always  fully  appreciated.  The  literature  on  homesickness  and 
nostalgia  indicates  the  emotional  dependence  of  the  person  upon 
familiar  associations  and  upon  early  intimate  personal  relations. 
Leaving  home  for  the  first  time,  the  intense  lonesomeness  of  the  rural 
lad  in  the  crowds  of  the  city,  the  perplexity  of  the  immigrant  in  the 
confusing  maze  of  strange,  and  to  him  inexplicable,  customs  are 
common  enough  instances  of  the  personal  and  social  barriers  to 
naturalization.  But  the  obstacles  to  most  social  adjustments  for  a 
person  in  a  new  social  world  are  even  more  baffling  because  of  their 
subtle  and  intangible  nature. 

Just  as  in  biology  balance  represents  "a  state  of  relatively  good 
adjustment  due  to  structural  adaptation  of  the  organism  as  a  whole  " 
so  accommodation,  when  applied  to  groups  rather  than  individuals, 
signifies  their  satisfactory  co-ordination  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
inclusive  social  organization. 

Historically,  the  organization  of  the  more  inclusive  society — 
i.e.,  states,  confederations,  empires,  social  and  political  units  com- 
posed of  groups  accommodated  but  not  fully  assimilated — presents 
four  typical  constellations  of  the  component  group.  Primitive  society 
was  an  organization  of  kinship  groups.  Ancient  society  was  com- 
posed of  masters  and  slaves,  with  some  special  form  of  accommodation 
for  the  freeman  and  the  stranger,  who  was  not  a  citizen,  to  be  sure, 
but  was  not  a  slave  either. 

Medieval  society  rested  upon  a  system  of  class,  approaching  castes 
in  the  distances  it  enforced.  In  all  these  different  situations  compe- 
tition took  place  only  between  individuals  of  the  same  status. 

In  contrast  with  this,  modern  society  is  made  up  of  economic  and 
social  classes  with  freedom  of  economic  competition  and  freedom  in 
passage,  therefore,  from  one  class  to  the  other. 

b)  Subordination  and  super  ordination. — Accommodation,  in  the 
area  of  personal  relations,  tends  to  take  the  form  of  subordination 
and  superordination.  Even  where  accommodation  has  been  imposed, 
as  in  the  case  of  slavery,  by  force,  the  personal  relations  of  master 
and  slave  are  invariably  supported  by  appropriate  attitudes  and  senti- 
ments. The  selection  "Excerpts  from  the  Journal  of  a  West  India 
Slave  Owner "  is  a  convincing  exhibit  of  the  way  in  which  attitudes 
of  superordination  and  subordination  may  find  expression  in  the 
sentiments  of  a  conscientious  and  self-complacent  paternalism  on  the 


668         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

part  of  the  master  and  of  an  ingratiating  and  reverential  loyalty  on 
the  part  of  the  slave.  In  a  like  manner  the  selection  from  the 
"Memories  of  an  Old  Servant"  indicates  the  natural  way  in  which 
sentiments  of  subordination  which  have  grown  up  in  conformity  with 
an  accepted  situation  eventually  become  the  basis  of  a  life-philosophy 
of  the  person. 

Slavery  and  caste  are  manifestly  forms  of  accommodation.  The 
facts  of  subordination  are  quite  as  real,  though  not  as  obvious,  in 
other  phases  of  social  life.  The  peculiar  intimacy  which  exists,  for 
example,  between  lovers,  between  husband  and  wife,  or  between 
physician  and  patient,  involves  relations  of  subordination  and  super- 
ordination,  though  not  recognized  as  such.  The  personal  domination 
which  a  coach  exercises  over  the  members  of  a  ball  team,  a  minister 
over  his  congregation,  the  political  leader  over  his  party  followers  are 
instances  of  the  same  phenomena. 

Simmel  in  his  interesting  discussion  of  the  subject  points  out  the 
fact  that  the  relations  of  subordination  and  superordination  are 
reciprocal.  In  order  to  impose  his  will  upon  his  slaves  it  was  neces- 
sary for  the  master  to  retain  their  respect.  No  one  had  a  keener 
appreciation  of  the  aristocracy  nor  a  greater  scorn  for  the  "poor 
white"  than  the  Negro  slaves  in  the  South  before  the  war. 

The  leader  of  the  gang,  although  he  seems  to  have  decisions 
absolutely  in  his  hand,  has  a  sense  of  the  attitudes  of  his  followers. 
So  the  successful  political  leader,  who  sometimes  appears  to  be  taking 
risks  in  his  advocacy  of  new  issues,  keeps  "his  ear  close  to  the  grass 
roots  of  public  opinion." 

In  the  selection  upon  "The  Psychology  of  Subordination  and 
Superordination"  Miinsterberg  interprets  suggestion,  imitation,  and 
sympathy  in  terms  of  domination  and  submission.  Personal  influence, 
prestige,  and  authority,  in  whatever  form  they  find  expression,  are 
based,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  on  the  subtle  influences  of  suggestion. 

The  natural  affections  are  social  bonds  which  not  infrequently 
assume  the  form  of  bondage.  Many  a  mother  has  been  reduced  to  a 
condition  of  abject  subjection  through  her  affection  for  a  son  or  a 
daughter.  The  same  thing  is  notoriously  true  of  the  relations  between 
the  sexes.  It  is  in  social  complexes  of  this  sort,  rather  than  in  the 
formal  procedures  of  governments,  that  we  must  look  for  the  funda- 
mental mechanism  of  social  control. 


ACCOMMODATION  669 

The  conflicts  and  accommodations  of  persons  with  persons  and 
of  groups  with  groups  have  their  prototypes  in  the  conflicts  and  accom- 
modations of  the  wishes  of  the  person.  The  conflicts  and  accommo- 
dations in  the  mental  life  of  the  person  have  received  the  name  in 
psychoanalysis  of  sublimation.  The  sublimation  of  a  wish  means  its 
expression  in  a  form  which  represents  an  accommodation  with  another 
conflicting  wish  which  had  repressed  the  original  response  of  the  first 
wish.  The  progressive  organization  of  personality  depends  upon  the 
successful  functioning  of  this  process  of  sublimation.  The  wishes  of 
the  person  at  birth  are  inchoate;  with  mental  development  these 
wishes  come  into  conflict  with  each  other  and  with  the  enveloping 
social  milieu.  Adolescence  is  peculiarly  the  period  of  "storm  and 
stress."  Youth  lives  in  a  maze  of  mental  conflicts,  of  insurgent  and 
aspiring  wishes.  Conversion  is  the  sudden  mutation  of  life-attitudes 
through  a  reorganization  or  transformation  of  the  wishes. 

c)  Conflict  and  accommodation — The  intrinsic  relation  between 
conflict  and  accommodation  is  stated  in  the  materials  by  Simmel  in 
his  analysis  of  war  and  peace  and  the  problems  of  compromise. 
"  The  situations  existing  in  time  of  peace  are  precisely  the  conditions 
out  of  which  war  emerges."  War,  on  the  other  hand,  brings  about 
the  adjustments  in  the  relations  of  competing  and  conflict  groups 
which  make  peace  possible.  The  problem,  therefore,  must  find  a 
solution  in  some  method  by  which  the  conflicts  which  are  latent  in, 
or  develop  out  of,  the  conditions  of  peace  may  be  adjusted  without  a 
resort  to  war.  In  so  far  as  war  is  an  effect  of  the  mere  inhibitions 
which  the  conditions  of  peace  impose,  substitutes  for  war  must  pro- 
vide, as  William  James  has  suggested,  for  the  expression  of  the 
expanding  energies  of  individuals  and  nations  in  ways  that  will  con- 
tribute to  the  welfare  of  the  community  and  eventually  of  mankind 
as  a  whole.  The  intention  is  to  make  life  more  interesting  and  at 
the  same  time  more  secure. 

The  difficulty  is  that  the  devices  which  render  life  more  secure 
frequently  make  it  less  interesting  and  harder  to  bear.  Competition, 
the  struggle  for  existence  and  for,  what  is  often  more  important  than 
mere  existence,  namely,  status,  may  become  so  bitter  that  peace  is 
unendurable. 

More  than  that,  under  the  condition  of  peace,  peoples  whose  life- 
habits  and  traditions  have  been  formed  upon  a  basis  of  war 


670          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

frequently  multiply  under  conditions  of  peace  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
make  an  ultimate  war  inevitable.  The  natives  of  South  Africa, 
since  the  tribal  wars  have  ceased,  have  so  increased  in  numbers  as 
to  be  an  increasing  menace  to  the  white  population.  Any  ameliora- 
tion of  the  condition  of  mankind  that  tends  to  disturb  the  racial 
equilibrium  is  likely  to  disturb  the  peace  of  nations.  When  represen- 
tatives of  the  Rockefeller  Medical  Foundation  proposed  to  introduce 
a  rational  system  of  medicine  in  China,  certain  of  the  wise  men  of  that 
country,  it  is  reported,  shook  their  heads  dubiously  over  the  conse- 
quences that  were  likely  to  follow  any  large  decrease  in  the  death- 
rate,  seeing  that  China  was  already  overpopulated. 

In  the  same  way  education,  which  is  now  in  a  way  to  become  a 
heritage  of  all  mankind,  rather  than  the  privilege  of  so-called  superior 
peoples,  undoubtedly  has  had  the  effect  of  greatly  increasing  the 
mobility  and  restlessness  of  the  world's  population.  In  so  far  as  this 
is  true,  it  has  made  the  problem  of  maintaining  peace  more  difficult 
and  dangerous. 

On  the  other  hand,  education  and  the  extension  of  intelligence 
undoubtedly  increase  the  possibility  of  compromise  and  conciliation 
which,  as  Simmel  points  out,  represent  ways  in  which  peace  may  be 
restored  and  maintained  other  than  by  complete  victory  and  subjuga- 
tion of  the  conquered  people.  It  is  considerations  of  this  kind  that 
have  led  men  like  von  Moltke  to  say  that  "universal  peace  is  a 
dream  and  not  even  a  happy  one,"  and  have  led  other  men  like 
Carnegie  to  build  peace  palaces  in  which  the  nations  of  the  world 
might  settle  their  differences  by  compromise  and  according  to  law. 

d)  Competition,  status,  and  social  solidarity. — Under  the  title 
"Competition,  Status,  and  Social  Solidarity"  selections  are  intro- 
duced in  the  materials  which  emphasize  the  relation  of  competition 
to  accommodation.  Up  to  this  point  in  the  materials  only  the 
relations  of  conflict  to  accommodation  have  been  considered.  Status 
has  been  described  as  an  effect  of  conflict.  But  it  is  clear  that 
economic  competition  frequently  becomes  conscious  and  so  passes 
over  into  some  of  the  milder  forms  of  conflict.  Aside  from  this  it 
is  evident  that  competition  in  so  far  as  it  determines  the  vocation 
of  the  individual,  determines  indirectly  also  his  status,  since  it 
determines  the  class  of  which  he  is  destined  to  be  a  member.  In 
the  same  way  competition  is  indirectly  responsible  for  the  organiza- 


ACCOMMODATION  671 

tion  of  society  in  so  far  as  it  determines  the  character  of  the  accommo- 
dations and  understandings  which  are  likely  to  exist  between  conflict 
groups.  Social  types  as  well  as  status  are  indirectly  determined  by 
competition,  since  most  of  them  are  vocational.  The  social  types 
of  the  modern  city,  as  indicated  by  the  selection  on  "Personal  Compe- 
tition and  the  Evolution  of  Individual  Types,"  are  an  outcome  of  the 
division  of  labor.  Durkheim  points  out  that  the  division  of  labor 
in  multiplying  the  vocations  has  increased  and  not  diminished  the 
unity  of  society.  The  interdependence  of  differentiated  individuals 
and  groups  has  made  possible  a  social  solidarity  that  otherwise 
would  not  exist. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      FORMS  OF  ACCOMMODATION 
i.    Acclimatization1 

The  most  important  ethnic  question  in  connection  with  climate  is 
that  of  the  possibility  of  a  race  adapting  itself  to  climatic  conditions 
widely  different  from  those  to  which  it  has  been  accustomed.  This  is 
the  question  of  acclimatization. 

Its  bearings  on  ethnic  psychology  can  be  made  at  once  evident  by 
posing  a  few  practical  inquiries:  Can  the  English  people  flourish  in 
India  ?  Will  the  French  colonize  successfully  the  Sudan  ?  Have  the 
Europeans  lost  or  gained  in  power  by  their  migration  to  the  United 
States  ?  Can  the  white  or  any  other  race  ultimately  become  the  sole 
residents  of  the  globe  ? 

It  will  be  seen  that  on  the  answers  to  such  questions  depends  the 
destiny  of  races  and  the  consequences  to  the  species  of  the  facilities 
of  transportation  offered  by  modern  inventions.  The  subject  has 
therefore  received  the  careful  study  of  medical  geographers  and 
statisticians. 

I  can  give  but  a  brief  statement  of  their  conclusions.  They  are 
to  the  effect,  first,  that  when  the  migration  takes  place  along 
approximately  the  same  isothermal  lines,  the  changes  in  the  system 
are  slight;  but  as  the  mean  annual  temperature  rises,  the  body 
becomes  increasingly  unable  to  resist  its  deleterious  action  until  a 
difference  of  18°  F.  is  reached,  at  which  continued  existence  of  the 

1  From  Daniel  G.  Brinton,  The  Basis  of  Social  Relations,  pp.  194-99.  (Cour- 
tesy of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York  and  London,  1902.) 


672          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

more  northern  races  becomes  impossible.  They  suffer  from  a  chemical 
change  in  the  condition  of  the  blood  cells,  leading  to  anemia  in  the 
individual  and  to  extinction  of  the  lineage  in  the  third  generation. 

This  is  the  general  law  of  the  relation  to  race  and  climate.  Like 
most  laws  it  has  its  exceptions,  depending  on  special  conditions.  A 
stock  which  has  long  been  accustomed  to  change  of  climate  adapts 
itself  to  any  with  greater  facility.  This  explains  the  singular  readiness 
of  the  Jews  to  settle  and  flourish  in  all  zones.  For  a  similar  reason  a 
people  who  at  home  are  accustomed  to  a  climate  of  wide  and  sudden 
changes,  like  that  of  the  eastern  United  States,  supports  others  with 
less  loss  of  power  than  the  average. 

A  locality  may  be  extremely  hot  but  unusually  free  from  other 
malefic  influences,  being  dry  with  regular  and  moderate  winds,  and 
well  drained,  such  as  certain  areas  between  the  Red  Sea  and  the  Nile, 
which  are  also  quite  salubrious. 

Finally,  certain  individuals  and  certain  families,  owing  to  some 
fortunate  power  of  resistance  which  we  cannot  explain,  acclimate 
successfully  where  their  companions  perish.  Most  of  the  instances 
of  alleged  successful  acclimatization  of  Europeans  in  the  tropics  are 
due  to  such  exceptions,  the  far  greater  number  of  the  victims  being 
left  out  of  the  count. 

If  these  alleged  successful  cases,  or  that  of  the  Jews  or  Arabs,  be 
closely  examined,  it  will  almost  surely  be  discovered  that  another 
physiological  element  has  been  active  in  bringing 'about  acclimatiza- 
tion, and  that  is  the  mingling  of  blood  with  the  native  race.  In  the 
American  tropics  the  Spaniards  have  survived  for  four  centuries; 
but  how  many  of  the  Ladinos  can  truthfully  claim  an  unmixed 
descent  ?  In  Guatemala,  for  example,  says  a  close  observer,  not  any. 
The  Jews  of  the  Malabar  coast  have  actually  become  black,  and  so 
has  also  in  Africa  many  an  Arab  claiming  direct  descent  from  the 
Prophet  himself. 

But  along  with  this  process  of  adaptation  by  amalgamation 
comes  unquestionably  a  lowering  of  the  mental  vitality  of  the  higher 
race.  That  is  the  price  it  has  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  survival 
under  the  new  conditions.  But,  in  conformity  to  the  principles 
already  laid  down  as  accepted  by  all  anthropologists,  such  a  lowering 
must  correspond  to  a  degeneration  in  the  highest  grades  of  structure, 
the  brain  cells. 


ACCOMMODATION  673 

We  are  forced,  therefore,  to  reach  the  decision  that  the  human 
species  attains  its  highest  development  only  under  moderate  condi- 
tions of  heat,  such  as  prevail  in  the  temperate  zones  (an  annual  mean 
of  8°-i2°  C.);  and  the  more  startling  conclusion  that  the  races  now 
native  to  the  polar  and  tropical  areas  are  distinctly  pathological,  are 
types  of  degeneracy,  having  forfeited  their  highest  physiological 
elements  in  order  to  purchase  immunity  from  the  unfavorable  climatic 
conditions  to  which  they  are  subject.  We  must  agree  with  a  French 
writer,  that  "man  is  not  cosmopolitan,"  and  if  he  insists  on  becoming 
a  "citizen  of  the  world"  he  is  taxed  heavily  in  his  best  estate  for  his 
presumption. 

The  inferences  in  racial  psychology  which  follow  this  opinion  are 
too  evident  to  require  detailed  mention.  Natural  selection  has  fitted 
the  Eskimo  and  the  Sudanese  for  their  respective  abodes,  but  it  has 
been  by  the  process  of  regressive  evolution;  progressive  evolution  in 
man  has  confined  itself  to  less  extreme  climatic  areas. 

The  facts  of  acclimatization  stand  in  close  connection  with  another 
doctrine  in  anthropology  which  is  interesting  for  my  theme,  that  of 
" ethno-geographic  provinces."  Alexander  von  Humboldt  seems  to 
have  been  the  first  to  give  expression  to  this  system  of  human  group- 
ing, and  it  has  been  diligently  cultivated  by  his  disciple,  Professor 
Bastian.  It  rests  upon  the  application  to  the  human  species  of  two 
general  principles  recognized  as  true  in  zoology  and  botany.  The 
one  is  that  every  organism  is  directly  dependent  on  its  environment 
(the  milieu},  action  and  reaction  going  on  constantly  between  them: 
the  other  is,  that  no  two  faunal  or  floral  regions  are  of  equal  rank 
in  their  capacity  for  the  development  of  a  given  type  of  organism. 

The  features  which  distinguish  one  ethno-geographic  province 
from  another  are  chiefly,  according  to  Bastian,  meteorological,  and 
they  permit,  he  claims,  a  much  closer  division  of  human  groups  than 
the  general  continental  areas  which  give  us  an  African,  a  European, 
and  an  American  subspecies. 

It  is  possible  that  more  extended  researches  may  enable  ethnog- 
raphers to  map  out,  in  this  sense,  the  distribution  of  our  species; 
but  the  secular  alterations  in  meteorologic  conditions,  combined 
with  the  migratory  habits  of  most  early  communities,  must  greatly 
interfere  with  a  rigid  application  of  these  principles  in  ethnog- 
raphy. 


674         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  historic  theory  of  "centres  of  civilisation"  is  allied  to  that  of 
ethno-geographic  provinces.  The  stock  examples  of  such  are  familiar. 
The  Babylonian  plain,  the  valley  of  the  Nile,  in  America  the  plateaus 
of  Mexico  and  of  Tiahuanuco  are  constantly  quoted  as  such.  The 
geographic  advantages  these  situations  offered — a  fertile  soil,  pro- 
tection from  enemies,  domesticable  plants,  and  a  moderate  climate — 
are  offered  as  reasons  why  an  advanced  culture  rapidly  developed  in 
them,  and  from  them  extended  over  adjacent  regions. 

Without  denying  the  advantages  of  such  surroundings,  the  most 
recent  researches  in  both  hemispheres  tend  to  reduce  materially 
their  influence.  The  cultures  in  question  did  not  begin  at  one  point 
and  radiate  from  it,  but  arose  simultaneously  over  wide  areas,  in 
different  linguistic  stocks,  with  slight  connections;  and  only  later,  and 
secondarily,  was  it  successfully  concentrated  by  some  one  tribe — by 
the  agency,  it  is  now  believed,  of  cognatic  rather  than  geographic  aids. 

Assyriologists  no  longer  believe  that  Sumerian  culture  originated 
in  the  delta  of  the  Euphrates,  and  Egyptologists  look  for  the  sources 
of  the  civilization  of  the  Nile  Valley  among  the  Libyans;  while  in 
the  New  World  not  one  but  seven  stocks  partook  of  the  Aztec  learning, 
and  half  a  dozen  contributed  to  that  of  the  Incas.  The  prehistoric 
culture  of  Europe  was  not  one  of  Carthaginians  or  Phoenicians,  but 
was  self-developed. 

2.    Slavery  Defined1 

In  most  branches  of  knowledge  the  phenomena  the  man  of  science 
has  to  deal  with  have  their  technical  names,  and,  when  using  a 
scientific  term,  he  need  not  have  regard  to  the  meaning  this  term 
conveys  in  ordinary  language;  he  knows  he  will  not  be  misunderstood 
by  his  fellow-scientists.  For  instance,  the  Germans  call  a  whale 
Wallfisch,  and  the  English  speak  of  shellfish;  but  a  zoologist,  using 
the  word  fish,  need  not  fear  that  any  competent  person  will  think 
he  means  whales  or  shellfish. 

In  ethnology  the  state  of  things  is  quite  different.  There  are  a 
few  scientific  names  bearing  a  definite  meaning,  such  as  the  terms 
"animism"  and  "survival,"  happily  introduced  by  Professor  Tylor. 
But  most  phenomena  belonging  to  our  science  have  not  yet  been 

1  From  Dr.  H.  J.  Nieboer,  Slavery  as  an  Industrial  System,  pp.  1-7.  (Martinus 
Nijhoff,  The  Hague,  1910.) 


ACCOMMODATION  675 

investigated,  so  it  is  no  wonder  that  different  writers  (sometimes 
even  the  same  writer  on  different  pages)  give  different  names  to  the 
same  phenomenon,  whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  sometimes  the 
same  term  (e.g.,  matriarchate)  is  applied  to  widely  different  phe- 
nomena. As  for  the  subject  we  are  about  to  treat  of,  we  shall  pres- 
ently see  that  several  writers  have  given  a  definition  of  slavery; 
but  no  one  has  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire  whether  his  definition  can 
be  of  any  practical  use  in  social  science.  Therefore,  we  shall  try 
to  give  a  good  definition  and  justify  it. 

But  we  may  not  content  ourselves  with  this;  we  must  also  pay 
attention  to  the  meaning  of  the  term  "slavery"  as  commonly  em- 
ployed. There  are  two  reasons  for  this.  First,  we  must  always 
rely  upon  the  statements  of  ethnographers.  If  an  ethnographer 
states  that  some  savage  tribe  carries  on  slavery,  without  defining 
in  what  this  "slavery"  consists,  we  have  to  ask:  What  may  our 
informant  have  meant  ?  And  as  he  is  likely  to  have  used  the  word  in 
the  sense  generally  attached  to  it,  we  have  to  inquire:  What  is  the 
ordinary  meaning  of  the  term  "slavery"  ? 

The  second  reason  is  this.  Several  theoretical  writers  speak  of 
slavery  without  defining  what  they  mean  by  it;  and  we  cannot 
avail  ourselves  of  their  remarks  without  knowing  what  meaning  they 
attach  to  this  term.  And  as  they  too  may  be  supposed  to  have  used 
it  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  generally  used,  we  have  again  to  inquire : 
What  is  the  meaning  of  the  term  "slavery"  in  ordinary  language? 

The  general  use  of  the  word,  as  is  so  often  the  case,  is  rather 
inaccurate.  Ingram  says: 

Careless  or  rhetorical  writers  use  the  words  "slave"  and  "slavery" 
in  a  very  lax  way.  Thus,  when  protesting  against  the  so-called  "Sub- 
jection of  Women,"  they  absurdly  apply  those  terms  to  the  condition  of 
the  wife  in  the  modern  society  of  the  west — designations  which  are  inappro- 
priate even  in  the  case  of  the  inmate  of  Indian  zenanas;  and  they  speak 
of  the  modern  worker  as  a  "wage-slave,"  even  though  he  is  backed  by 
a  powerful  trade-union.  Passion  has  a  language  of  its  own,  and  poets 
and  orators  must  doubtless  be  permitted  to  denote  by  the  word 
"slavery"  the  position  of  subjects  of  a  state  who  labor  under  civil  dis- 
abilities or  are  excluded  from  the  exercise  of  political  power;  but  in  socio- 
logical study  things  ought  to  have  their  right  names,  and  those  names  should, 
as  far  as  possible,  be  uniformly  employed. 


676          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

But  this  use  of  the  word  we  may  safely  regard  as  a  metaphor; 
nobody  will  assert  that  these  laborers  and  women  are  really  slaves. 
Whoever  uses  the  term  slavery  in  its  ordinary  sense  attaches  a 
fairly  distinct  idea  to  it.  What  is  this  idea?  We  can  express  it 
most  generally  thus:  a  slave  is  one  who  is  not  free.  There  are  never 
slaves  without  there  being  freemen  too;  and  nobody  can  be  at  the 
same  time  a  slave  and  a  freeman.  We  must,  however,  be  careful 
to  remember  that,  man  being  a  "social  animal,"  no  man  is  literally 
free;  all  members  of  a  community  are  restricted  in  their  behavior 
toward  each  other  by  social  rules  and  customs.  But  freemen  at  any 
rate  are  relatively  free;  so  a  slave  must  be  one  who  does  not  share  in 
the  common  amount  of  liberty,  compatible  with  the  social  connection. 

The  condition  of  the  slave  as  opposed  to  that  of  the  freeman 
presents  itself  to  us  under  the  three  following  aspects: 

First,  every  slave  has  his  master  to  whom  he  is  subjected.  And 
this  subjection  is  of  a  peculiar  kind.  Unlike  the  authority  one 
freeman  sometimes  has  over  another,  the  master's  power  over  his 
slave  is  unlimited,  at  least  in  principle;  any  restriction  put  upon  the 
master's  free  exercise  of  his  power  is  a  mitigation  of  slavery,  not  belong- 
ing to  its  nature,  just  as  in  Roman  law  the  proprietor  may  do  with  his 
property  whatever  he  is  not  by  special  laws  forbidden  to  do.  The 
relation  between  master  and  slave  is  therefore  properly  expressed  by 
the  slave  being  called  the  master's  "possession"  or  " property "- 
expressions  we  frequently  meet  with. 

Secondly,  slaves  are  in  a  lower  condition  as  compared  with 
freemen.  The  slave  has  no  political  rights;  he  does  not  choose  his 
government,  he  does  not  attend  the  public  councils.  Socially  he 
is  despised. 

In  the  third  place,  we  always  connect  with  slavery  the  idea  of 
compulsory  labor.  The  slave  is  compelled  to  work;  the  free  laborer 
may  leave  off  working  if  he  likes,  be  it  at  the  cost  of  starving.  All 
compulsory  labor,  however,  is  not  slave  labor;  the  latter  requires 
that  peculiar  kind  of  compulsion  that  is  expressed  by  the  word 
"possession"  or  "property"  as  has  been  said  before. 

Recapitulating,  we  may  define  a  slave  in  the  ordinary  sense  of 
the  word  as  a  man  who  is  the  property  of  another,  politically  and 
socially  at  a  lower  level  than  the  mass  of  the  people,  and  performing 
compulsory  labor. 


ACCOMMODATION  677 

The  great  function  of  slavery  can  be  no  other  than  a  division  of 
labor.  Division  of  labor  is  taken  here  in  the  widest  sense,  as  including 
not  only  a  qualitative  division,  by  which  one  man  does  one  kind  of 
work  and  another  a  different  kind,  but  also  a  quantitative  one,  by 
which  one  man's  wants  are  provided  for,  not  by  his  own  work  only, 
but  by  another's.  A  society  without  any  division  of  labor  would 
be  one  in  which  each  man  worked  for  his  own  wants,  and  nobody  for 
another's;  in  any  case  but  this  there  is  a  division  of  labor  in  this 
wider  sense  of  the  word.  Now  this  division  can  be  brought  about 
by  two  means.  "There  are  two  ways"  says  Puchta  "in  which  we 
can  avail  ourselves  of  the  strength  of  other  men  which  we  are  in  need 
of.  One  is  the  way  of  free  commerce,  that  does  not  interfere  with 
the  liberty  of  the  person  who  serves  us,  the  making  of  contracts  by 
which  we  exchange  the  strength  and  skill  of  another,  or  their  products, 
for  other  performances  on  our  part:  hire  of  services,  purchase  of 
manufactures,  etc.  The  other  way  is  the  subjugation  of  such  persons, 
which  enables  us  to  dispose  of  their  strength  in  our  behalf  but  at  the 
same  time  injures  the  personality  of  the  subjected.  This  subjection 
can  be  imagined  as  being  restricted  to  certain  purposes,  for  instance 
to  the  cultivation  of  the  land,  as  with  soil-tilling  serfs,  the  result  of 
which  is  that  this  subjection,  for  the  very  reason  that  it  has  a  definite 
and  limited  aim,  does  not  quite  annul  the  liberty  of  the  subjected. 
But  the  subjection  can  also  be  an  unlimited  one,  as  is  the  case  when 
the  subjected  person,  in  the  whole  of  his  outward  life,  is  treated  as 
but  a  means  to  the  purposes  of  the  man  of  power,  and  so  his  personality 
is  entirely  absorbed.  This  is  the  institution  of  slavery." 

3.  Excerpts  from  the  Journal  of  a  West  India  Slave  Owner1 
Soon  after  nine  o'clock  we  reached  Savannah  la  Mar,  where  I 
found  my  trustee,  and  a  whole  cavalcade,  waiting  to  conduct  me  to 
my  own  estate;  for  he  had  brought  with  him  a  curricle  and  pair  for 
myself,  a  gig  for  my  servant,  two  black  boys  upon  mules,  and  a  cart 
with  eight  oxen  to  convey  my  baggage.  The  road  was  excellent, 
and  we  had  not  above  five  miles  to  travel;  and  as  soon  as  the  carriage 
entered  my  gates,  the  uproar  and  confusion  which  ensued  sets  all 
description  at  defiance.  The  works  were  instantly  all  abandoned; 

'From  Matthew  G.  Lewis,  Journal  of  a  West  India  Proprietor,  pp.  60-337. 
(John  Murray,  1834.) 


678          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

everything  that  had  life  came  flocking  to  the  house  from  all  quarters; 
and  not  only  the  men,  and  the  women,  and  the  children,  but,  "by 
a  bland  assimilation,"  the  hogs,  and  the  dogs,  and  the  geese,  and  the 
fowls,  and  the  turkeys,  all  came  hurrying  along  by  instinct,  to  see 
what  could  possibly  be  the  matter,  and  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  arriving 
too  late.  Whether  the  pleasure  of  the  negroes  was  sincere  may  be 
doubted;  but  certainly  it  was  the  loudest  that  I  ever  witnessed: 
they  all  talked  together,  sang,  danced,  shouted,  and,  hi  the  violence  of 
their  gesticulations,  tumbled  over  each  other,  and  rolled  about  upon 
the  ground.  Twenty  voices  at  once  enquired  after  uncles,  and  aunts, 
and  grandfathers,  and  great-grandmothers  of  mine,  who  had  been 
buried  long  before  I  was  in  existence,  and  whom,  I  verily  believe, 
most  of  them  only  knew  by  tradition.  One  woman  held  up  her  little 
naked  black  child  to  me,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  "Look,  Massa,  look 
here!  him  nice  lilly  neger  for  Massa!"  Another  complained,  "So 
long  since  none  come  see  we,  Massa;  good  Massa,  come  at  last." 
As  for  the  old  people,  they  were  all  in  one  and  the  same  story:  now 
they  had  lived  once  to  see  Massa,  they  were  ready  for  dying  tomorrow, 
"them  no  care." 

The  shouts,  the  gaiety,  the  wild  laughter,  their  strange  and  sudden 
bursts  of  singing  and  dancing,  and  several  old  women,  wrapped  up  in 
large  cloaks,  their  heads  bound  round  with  different-colored  hand- 
kerchiefs, leaning  on  a  staff,  and  standing  motionless  in  the  middle 
of  the  hubbub,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  portico  which  I  occupied, 
formed  an  exact  counterpart  of  the  festivity  of  the  witches  in  Macbeth. 
Nothing  could  be  more  odd  or  more  novel  than  the  whole  scene; 
and  yet  there  was  something  in  it  by  which  I  could  not  help  being 
affected;  perhaps  it  was  the  consciousness  that  all  these  human 
beings  were  my  slaves; — to  be  sure,  I  never  saw  people  look  more 
happy  in  my  life;  and  I  believe  their  condition  to  be  much  more 
comfortable  than  that  of  the  laborers  of  Great  Britain;  and,  after 
all,  slavery,  in  their  case,  is  but  another  name  for  servitude,  now  that 
no  more  negroes  can  be  forcibly  carried  away  from  Africa  and  sub- 
jected to  the  horrors  of  the  voyage  and  of  the  seasoning  after  their 
arrival;  but  still  I  had  already  experienced,  in  the  morning,  that 
Juliet  was  wrong  in  saying  "What's  in  a  name?"  For  soon  after 
my  reaching  the  lodging-house  at  Savannah  la  Mar,  a  remarkably 
clean-looking  negro  lad  presented  himself  with  some  water  and  a 


ACCOMMODATION  679 

towel — I  concluded  him  to  belong  to  the  inn — and,  on  my  returning 
the  towel,  as  he  found  that  I  took  no  notice  of  him,  he  at  length 
ventured  to  introduce  himself  by  saying,  "Massa  not  know  me; 
me  your  slave! — and  really  the  sound  made  me  feel  a  pang  at  the 
heart.  The  lad  appeared  all  gaiety  and  good  humor,  and  his  whole 
countenance  expressed  anxiety  to  recommend  himself  to  my  notice, 
but  the  word  "slave"  seemed  to  imply  that,  although  he  did  feel 
pleasure  then  in  serving  me,  if  he  had  detested  me  he  must  have  served 
me  still.  I  really  felt  quite  humiliated  at  the  moment,  and  was 
tempted  to  tell  him,  "Do  not  say  that  again;  say  that  you  are  my 
negro,  but  do  not  call  yourself  my  slave." 

As  I  was  returning  this  morning  from  Moritego  Bay,  about  a 
mile  from  my  own  estate,  a  figure  presented  itself  before  me,  I  really 
think  the  most  picturesque  that  I  ever  beheld:  it  was  a  mulatto 
girl,  born  upon  Cornwall,  but  whom  the  overseer  of  a  neighboring 
estate  had  obtained  my  permission  to  exchange  for  another  slave, 
as  well  as  two  little  children,  whom  she  had  borne  to  him;  but,  as  yet, 
he  had  been  unable  to  procure  a  substitute,  owing  to  the  difficulty  of 
purchasing  single  negroes,  and  Mary  Wiggins  is  still  my  slave.  How- 
ever, as  she  is  considered  as  being  manumitted,  she  had  not  dared  to 
present  herself  at  Cornwall  on  my  arrival,  lest  she  should  have  been 
considered  as  an  intruder;  but  she  now  threw  herself  in  my  way  to  tell 
me  how  glad  she  was  to  see  me,  for  that  she  had  always  thought  till 
now  (which  is  the  general  complaint)  that  "she  had  no  massa;"  and  also 
to  obtain  a  regular  invitation  to  my  negro  festival  tomorrow.  By  this 
universal  complaint,  it  appears  that,  while  Mr.  Wilberforce  is  lament- 
ing their  hard  fate  in  being  subject  to  a  master,  their  greatest  fear  is 
the  not  having  a  master  whom  they  know;  and  that  to  be  told  by  the 
negroes  of  another  estate  that  "they  belong  to  no  massa,"  is  one  of 
the  most  contemptuous  reproaches  that  can  be  cast  upon  them.  Poor 
creatures,  when  they  happened  to  hear  on  Wednesday  evening  that 
my  carriage  was  ordered  for  Montego  Bay  the  next  morning,  they 
fancied  that  I  was  going  away  for  good  and  all,  and  came  up  to  the 
house  hi  such  a  hubbub  that  my  agent  was  obliged  to  speak  to  them, 
and  pacify  them  with  the  assurance  that  I  should  come  back  on 
Friday  without  fail. 

But  to  return  to  Mary  Wiggins:  she  was  much  too  pretty  not  to 
obtain  her  invitation  to  Cornwall;  on  the  contrary,  I  insisted  upon  her 


68o          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

coming,  and  bade  her  tell  her  husband  that  I  admired  his  taste  very 
much  for  having  chosen  her.  I  really  think  that  her  form  and  features 
were  the  most  statue-like  that  I  ever  met  with;  her  complexion  had 
no  yellow  in  it  and  yet  was  not  brown  enough  to  be  dark — it  was 
more  of  an  ash-dove  color  than  anything  else;  her  teeth  were  admir- 
able, both  for  color  and  shape;  her  eyes  equally  mild  and  bright; 
and  her  face  merely  broad  enough  to  give  it  all  possible  softness  and 
grandness  of  contour:  her  air  and  countenance  would  have  suited 
Yarico;  but  she  reminded  me  most  of  Grassini  in  "La  Vergine  del 
Sole,"  only  that  Mary  Wiggins  was  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful, 
and  that,  instead  of  a  white  robe,  she  wore  a  mixed  dress  of  brown, 
white,  and  dead  yellow,  which  harmonized  excellently  with  her 
complexion;  while  one  of  her  beautiful  arms  was  thrown  across  her 
brow  to  shade  her  eyes,  and  a  profusion  of  rings  on  her  fingers  glittered 
in  the  sunbeams.  Mary  Wiggins  and  an  old  cotton  tree  are  the 
most  picturesque  objects  that  I  have  seen  for  these  twenty  years. 

I  really  believe  that  the  negresses  can  produce  children  at  pleasure, 
and  where  they  are  barren,  it  is  just  as  hens  will  frequently  not  lay 
eggs  on  shipboard,  because  they  do  not  like  their  situation.  Cubina's 
wife  is  in  a  family  way,  and  I  told  him  that  if  the  child  should  live, 
I  would  christen  it  for  him,  if  he  wished  it.  "Tank  you,  kind  massa, 
me  like  it  very  much:  much  oblige  if  massa  do  that  for  me,  too." 
So  I  promised  to  baptize  the  father  and  the  baby  on  the  same  day,  and 
said  that  I  would  be  godfather  to  any  children  that  might  be  born  on 
the  estate  during  my  residence  in  Jamaica.  This  was  soon  spread 
about,  and,  although  I  have  not  yet  been  here  a  week,  two  women  are 
in  the  straw  already,  Jug  Betty  and  Minerva:  the  first  is  wife  to  my 
head  driver,  The  Duke  of  Sully,  but  my  sense  of  propriety  was  much 
gratified  at  finding  that  Minerva's  husband  was  called  Captain.  I 
think  nobody  will  be  able  to  accuse  me  of  neglecting  the  religious 
education  of  my  negroes,  for  I  have  not  only  promised  to  baptize 
all  the  infants,  but,  meeting  a  little  black  boy  this  morning,  who  said 
that  his  name  was  Moses,  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  silver,  and  told  him 
that  it  was  for  the  sake  of  Aaron;  which,  I  flatter  myself,  was  planting 
in  his  young  mind  the  rudiments  of  Christianity. 

On  my  former  visit  to  Jamaica,  I  found  on  my  estate  a  poor 
woman  nearly  one  hundred  years  old,  and  stone  blind.  She  was  too 
infirm  to  walk,  but  two  young  negroes  brought  her  on  their  backs  to 


ACCOMMODATION  68 1 

the  steps  of  my  house,  in  order,  as  she  said,  that  she  might  at  least 
touch  massa,  although  she  could  not  see  him.  When  she  had  kissed 
my  hand,  "that  was  enough,"  she  said:  "now  me  hab  once  kiss  a 
massa's  hand,  me  willing  to  die  tomorrow,  me  no  care."  She  had  a 
woman  appropriated  to  her  service  and  was  shown  the  greatest  care 
and  attention;  however,  she  did  not  live  many  months  after  my 
departure.  There  was  also  a  mulatto,  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
named  Bob,  who  had  been  almost  deprived  of  the  use  of  his  limbs 
by  the  horrible  cocoa-bay,  and  had  never  done  the  least  work  since 
he  was  fifteen.  He  was  so  gentle  and  humble  and  so  fearful,  from  the 
consciousness  of  his  total  inability  of  soliciting  my  notice,  that  I 
could  not  help  pitying  the  poor  fellow;  and  whenever  he  came  in  my 
way  I  always  sought  to  encourage  him  by  little  presents  and  other 
trifling  marks  of  favor.  His  thus  unexpectedly  meeting  with  dis- 
tinguishing kindness,  where  he  expected  to  be  treated  as  a  worthless 
incumbrance,  made  a  strong  impression  on  his  mind. 

4.    The  Origin  of  Caste  in  India1 

If  it  were  possible  to  compress  into  a  single  paragraph  a  theory 
so  complex  as  that  which  would  explain  the  origin  and  nature  of 
Indian  caste,  I  should  attempt  to  sum  it  up  in  some  such  words  as 
the  following:  A  caste  is  a  marriage  union,  the  constituents  of  which 
were  drawn  from  various  different  tribes  (or  from  various  other 
castes  similarly  formed)  in  virtue  of  some  industry,  craft,  or  function, 
either  secular  or  religious,  which  they  possessed  in  common.  The 
internal  discipline,  by  which  the  conditions  of  membership  in  regard 
to  connubial  and  convivial  rights  are  denned  and  enforced,  has  been 
borrowed  from  the  tribal  period  which  preceded  the  period  of  castes 
by  many  centuries,  and  which  was  brought  to  a  close  by  the  amalga- 
mation of  tribes  into  a  nation  under  a  common  scepter.  The  differ- 
entia of  caste  as  a  marriage  union  consist  in  some  community  of 
function;  while  the  differentia  of  tribe  as  a  marriage  union  consisted  in 
a  common  ancestry,  or  a  common  worship,  or  a  common  totem,  or  in 
fact  in  any  kind  of  common  property  except  that  of  a  common 
function. 

'From  "Modern  Theories  of  Caste:  Mr.  Nesfield's  Theory,"  Appendix  V, 
in  Sir  Herbert  Risley,  The  People  of  India,  pp.  407-8.  (W.  Thacker  &  Co.,  1915.) 


682          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Long  before  castes  were  formed  on  Indian  soil,  most  of  the 
industrial  classes,  to  which  they  now  correspond,  had  existed  for 
centuries,  and  as  a  rule  most  of  the  industries  which  they  practiced 
were  hereditary  on  the  male  side  of  the  parentage.  These  hereditary 
classes  were  and  are  simply  the  concrete  embodiments  of  those  suc- 
cessive stages  of  culture  which  have  marked  the  industrial  develop- 
ment of  mankind  in  every  part  of  the  world.  Everywhere  (except 
at  least  in  those  countries  where  he  is  still  a  savage),  man  has  advanced 
from  the  stage  of  hunting  and  fishing  to  that  of  nomadism  and  cattle- 
grazing,  and  from  nomadism  to  agriculture  proper.  Everywhere 
has  the  age  of  metallurgy  and  of  the  arts  and  industries  which  are 
coeval  with  it  been  preceded  by  a  ruder  age,  when  only  those  arts 
were  known  or  practiced  which  sufficed  for  the  hunting,  fishing,  and 
nomad  states.  Everywhere  has  the  class  of  ritualistic  priests  and 
lettered  theosophists  been  preceded  by  a  class  of  less-cultivated 
worshipers,  who  paid  simple  offerings  of  flesh  and  wine  to  the  personi- 
fied powers  of  the  visible  universe  without  the  aid  of  a  hereditary 
professional  priesthood.  Everywhere  has  the  class  of  nobles  and 
territorial  chieftains  been  preceded  by  a  humbler  class  of  small 
peasant  proprietors,  who  placed  themselves  under  their  protection 
and  paid  tribute  or  rent  in  return.  Everywhere  has  this  class  of 
nobles  and  chieftains  sought  to  ally  itself  with  that  of  the  priests  or 
sacerdotal  order;  and  everywhere  has  the  priestly  order  sought  to 
bring  under  its  control  those  chiefs  and  rulers  under  whose  protection 
it  lives. 

All  these  classes  had  been  in  existence  for  centuries  before  any 
such  thing  as  caste  was  known  on  Indian  soil;  and  the  only  thing 
that  was  needed  to  convert  them  into  castes,  such  as  they  now  are, 
was  that  the  Brahman,  who  possessed  the  highest  of  all  functions — 
the  priestly — should  set  the  example.  This  he  did  by  establishing 
for  the  first  time  the  rule  that  no  child,  either  male  or  female,  could 
inherit  the  name  and  status  of  Brahman,  unless  he  or  she  was  of 
Brahman  parentage  on  both  sides.  By  the  establishment  of  this 
rule  the  principle  of  jaarriage  unionship  was  superadded  to  that  of 
functional  unionship;  and  it  was  only  by  the  combination  of  these 
two  principles  that  a  caste  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term  could  or  can 
be  formed.  The  Brahman,  therefore,  as»the  Hindu  books  inform  us, 
was  "the  first-born  of  castes."  When  the  example  had  thus  been 


ACCOMMODATION  683 

set  by  an  arrogant  and  overbearing  priesthood,  whose  pretensions  it 
was  impossible  to  put  down,  the  other  hereditary  classes  followed  in 
regular  order  downward,  partly  in  imitation  and  partly  in  self-defence. 
Immediately  behind  the  Brahman  came  the  Kshatriya,  the  military 
chieftain  or  landlord.  He  therefore  was  the  "second-born  of  castes." 
Then  followed  the  bankers  or  upper  trading  classes  (the  Agarwal, 
Khattri,  etc.);  the  scientific  musician  and  singer  (Kathak);  the 
writing  or  literary  class  (Kayasth);  the  bard  or  genealogist  (Bhat); 
and  the  class  of  inferior  nobles  (Taga  and  Bhuinhar)  who  paid  no 
rent  to  the  landed  aristocracy.  These,  then,  were  the  third-born  of 
castes.  Next  in  order  came  those  artisan  classes,  who  were  coeval 
with  the  age  and  art  of  metallurgy;  the  metallurgic  classes  themselves; 
the  middle  trading  classes;  the  middle  agricultural  classes,  who 
placed  themselves  under  the  protection  of  the  Kshatriya  and  paid  him 
rent  in  return  (Kurmi,  Kachhi,  Mali,  Tamboli);  and  the  middle 
serving  classes,  such  as  Napit  and  Baidya,  who  attended  to  the  bodily 
wants  of  their  equals  and  superiors.  These,  then,  were  the  fourth- 
born  of  castes;  and  their  rank  in  the  social  scale  has  been  determined 
by  the  fact  that  their  manners  and  notions  are  farther  removed  than 
those  of  the  preceding  castes  from  the  Brahmanical  ideal.  Next 
came  the  inferior  artisan  classes,  those  who  preceded  the  age  and 
art  of  metallurgy  (Teli,  Kumhar,  Kalwar,  etc.);  the  partly  nomad 
and  partly  agricultural  classes  (Jat,  Gujar,  Ahir,  etc.);  the  inferior 
serving  classes,  such  as  Kahar;  and  the  inferior  trading  classes,  such 
as  Bhunja.  These,  then,  were  the  fifth-born  of  castes,  and  their 
mode  of  life  is  still  farther  removed  from  the  Brahmanical  ideal  than 
that  of  the  preceding.  The  last-born,  and  therefore  the  lowest,  of  all 
the  classes  are  those  semisavage  communities,  partly  tribes  and  partly 
castes,  whose  function  consists  in  hunting  or  fishing,  or  in  acting  as 
butcher  for  the  general  community,  or  in  rearing  swine  and  fowls,  or 
in  discharging  the  meanest  domestic  services,  such  as  sweeping  and 
washing,  or  in  practicing  the  lowest  of  human  arts,  such  as  basket- 
making,  hide-tanning,  etc.  Thus  throughout  the  whole  series  of 
Indian  castes  a  double  test  of  social  precedence  has  been  in  active 
force,  the  industrial  and  the  Brahmanical;  and  these  two  have  kept 
pace  together  almost  as  evenly  as  a  pair  of  horses  harnessed  to  a 
single  carriage.  In  proportion  jas  the  function  practiced  by  any  given 
caste  stands  high  or  low  in  the  scale  of  industrial  development,  in 


684          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  same  proportion  does  the  caste  itself,  impelled  by  the  general 
tone  of  society  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  approximate  more  nearly 
or  more  remotely  to  the  Brahmanical  idea  of  life.  It  is  these  two 
criteria  combined  which  have  determined  the  relative  ranks  of  the 
various  castes  in  the  Hindu  social  scale. 

5.    Caste  and  the  Sentiments  of  Caste  Reflected  in  Popular  Speech1 

No  one  indeed  can  fail  to  be  struck  by  the  intensely  popular 
character  of  Indian  proverbial  philosophy  and  by  its  freedom  from 
the  note  of  pedantry  which  is  so  conspicuous  in  Indian  literature. 
These  quaint  sayings  have  dropped  fresh  from  the  lips  of  the  Indian 
rustic;  they  convey  a  vivid  impression  of  the  anxieties,  the  troubles, 
the  annoyances,  and  the  humors  of  his  daily  life;  and  any  sympathetic 
observer  who  has  felt  the  fascination  of  an  oriental  village  would  have 
little  difficulty  in  constructing  from  these  materials  a  fairly  accurate 
picture  of  rural  society  in  India.  The  mise  en  scene  is  not  altogether 
a  cheerful  one.  It  shows  us  the  average  peasant  dependent  upon  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  season  and  the  vagaries  of  the  monsoon,  and 
watching  from  day  to  day  to  see  what  the  year  may  bring  forth. 
Should  rain  fall  at  the  critical  moment  his  wife  will  get  golden  earrings, 
but  one  short  fortnight  of  drought  may  spell  calamity  when  "God 
takes  all  at  once."  Then  the  forestalling  Baniya  flourishes  by  selling 
rotten  grain,  and  the  Jat  cultivator  is  ruined.  First  die  the  improvi- 
dent Musalman  weavers,  then  the  oil-pressers  for  whose  wares  there 
is  no  demand;  the  carts  lie  idle,  for  the  bullocks  are  dead,  and  the 
bride  goes  to  her  husband  without  the  accustomed  rites.  But  be  the 
season  good  or  bad,  the  pious  Hindu's  life  is  ever  overshadowed  by 
the  exactions  of  the  Brahman — "a  thing  with  a  string  round  its 
neck"  (a  profane  hit  at  the  sacred  thread),  a  priest  by  appearance, 
a  butcher  at  heart,  the  chief  of  a  trio  of  tormentors  gibbeted  in  the 
rhyming  proverb: 

Blood-suckers  three  on  earth  there  be, 
The  bug,  the  Brahman,  and  the  flea. 

Before  the  Brahman  starves  the  king's  larder  will  be  empty; 
cakes  must  be  given  to  him  while  the  children  of  the  house  may  lick 

1  From  Sir  Herbert  Risley,  The  People  of  India,  pp.  130-39.  (W.  Thacker  & 
Co.,  1915.) 


ACCOMMODATION  685 

the  grindstone  for  a  meal;  his  stomach  is  a  bottomless  pit;  he  eats 
so  immoderately  that  he  dies  from  wind.  He  will  beg  with  a  lakh  of 
rupees  in  his  pocket,  and  a  silver  begging-bowl  in  his  hand.  In  his 
greed  for  funeral  fees  he  spies  out  corpses  like  a  vulture,  and  rejoices 
in  the  misfortunes  of  his  clients.  A  village  with  a  Brahman  hi  it  is 
like  a  tank  full  of  crabs;  to  have  him  as  a  neighbor  is  worse  than 
leprosy;  if  a  snake  has  to  be  killed  the  Brahman  should  be  set  to 
do  it,  for  no  one  will  miss  him.  If  circumstances  compel  you  to 
perjure  yourself,  why  swear  on  the  head  of  your  son,  when  there  is  a 
Brahman  handy  ?  Should  he  die  (as  is  the  popular  belief)  the  world 
will  be  none  the  poorer.  Like  the  devil  in  English  proverbial  phi- 
losophy, the  Brahman  can  cite  scripture  for  his  purpose;  he  demands 
worship  himself  but  does  not  scruple  to  kick  his  low-caste  brethren; 
he  washes  his  sacred  thread  but  does  not  cleanse  his  inner  man;  and 
so  great  is  his  avarice  that  a  man  of  another  caste  is  supposed  to  pray 
"O  God,  let  me  not  be  reborn  as  a  Brahman  priest,  who  is  always 
begging  and  is  never  satisfied."  He  defrauds  even  the  gods;  Vishnu 
gets  the  barren  prayers  while  the  Brahman  devours  the  offerings. 
So  Pan  complains  in  one  of  Lucian's  dialogues  that  he  is  done  out  of 
the  good  things  which  men  offer  at  his  shrine. 

The  next  most  prominent  figure  in  our  gallery  of  popular  portraits 
is  that  of  the  Baniya,  money-lender,  grain-dealer,  and  monopolist, 
who  dominates  the  material  world  as  the  Brahman  does  the  spiritual. 
His  heart,  we  are  told,  is  no  bigger  than  a  coriander  seed;  he  has  the 
jaws  of  an  alligator  and  a  stomach  of  wax;  he  is  less  to  be  trusted 
than  a  tiger,  a  scorpion,  or  a  snake;  he  goes  in  like  a  needle  and 
comes  out  like  a  sword;  as  a  neighbor  he  is  as  bad  as  a  boil  in  the 
armpit.  If  a  Baniya  is  on  the  other  side  of  a  river  you  should  leave 
your  bundle  on  this  side,  for  fear  he  should  steal  it.  When  four 
Baniyas  meet  they  rob  the  whole  world.  If  a  Baniya  is  drowning 
you  should  not  give  him  a  hand :  he  is  sure  to  have  some  base  motive 
for  drifting  down  stream.  He  uses  light  weights  and  swears  that  the 
scales  tip  themselves;  he  keeps  his  accounts  in  a  character  that  no 
one  but  God  can  read;  if  you  borrow  from  him,  your  debt  mounts  up 
like  a  refuse  heap  or  gallops  like  a  horse;  if  he  talks  to  a  customer  he 
"draws  a  line"  and  debits  the  conversation;  when  his  own  credit 
is  shaky  he  writes  up  his  transactions  on  the  wall  so  that  they  can 
easily  be  rubbed  out.  He  is  so  stingy  that  the  dogs  starve  at  his 


686          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

feast,  and  he  scolds  his  wife  if  she  spends  a  farthing  on  betel-nut. 
A  Jain  Baniya  drinks  dirty  water  and  shrinks  from  killing  ants  and 
flies,  but  will  not  stick  at  murder  in  pursuit  of  gain.  As  a  druggist 
the  Baniya  is  in  league  with  the  doctor;  he  buys  weeds  at  a 
nominal  price  and  sells  them  very  dear.  Finally,  he  is  always  a 
shocking  coward:  eighty-four  Khatris  will  run  away  from  four 
thieves. 

Nor  does  the  clerical  caste  fare  better  at  the  hands  of  the  popular 
epigrammatist.  Where  three  Kayasths  are  gathered  together  a 
thunderbolt  is  sure  to  fall;  when  honest  men  fall  out  the  Kayasth 
gets  his  chance.  When  a  Kayasth  takes  to  money-lending  he  is  a 
merciless  creditor.  He  is  a  man  of  figures;  he  lives  by  the  point  of 
his  pen;  in  his  house  even  the  cat  learns  two  letters  and  a  half. 
He  is  a  versatile  creature,  and  where  there  are  no  tigers  he  will  become 
a  shikari;  but  he  is  no  more  to  be  trusted  than  a  crow  or  a  snake 
without  a  tail.  One  of  the  failings  sometimes  imputed  to  the  educated 
Indian  is  attacked  in  the  saying,  "Drinking  comes  to  a  Kayasth 
with  his  mother's  milk." 

Considering  the  enormous  strength  of  the  agricultural  population 
of  India,  one  would  have  expected  to  find  more  proverbs  directed 
against  the  great  cultivating  castes.  Possibly  the  reason  may  be 
that  they  made  most  of  the  proverbs,  and  people  can  hardly  be 
expected  to  sharpen  their  wit  on  their  own  shortcomings.  In  two 
provinces,  however,  the  rural  Pasquin  has  let  out  very  freely  at  the 
morals  and  manners  of  the  Jat,  the  typical  peasant  of  the  eastern 
Punjab  and  the  western  districts  of  the  United  Provinces.  You 
may  as  well,  we  are  told,  look  for  good  in  a  Jat  as  for  weevils  in  a 
stone.  He  is  your  friend  only  so  long  as  you  have  a  stick  in  your  hand. 
If  he  cannot  harm  you  he  will  leave  a  bad  smell  as  he  goes  by.  To 
be  civil  to  him  is  like  giving  treacle  to  a  donkey.  If  he  runs  amuck 
it  takes  God  to  hold  him.  A  Jat's  laugh  would  break  an  ordinary 
man's  ribs.  When  he  learns  manners,  he  blows  his  nose  with  a  mat, 
and  there  is  a  great  run  on  the  garlic.  His  baby  has  a  plowtail 
for  a  plaything.  The  Jat  stood  on  his  own  corn  heap  and  called  out 
to  the  King's  elephant-drivers,  "Hi  there,  what  will  you  take  for 
those  little  donkeys?"  He  is  credited  with  practicing  fraternal 
polyandry,  like  the  Venetian  nobility  of  the  early  eighteenth  century, 
as  a  measure  of  domestic  economy,  and  a  whole  family  are  said  to 
have  one  wife  between  them. 


ACCOMMODATION  687 

The  Doms,  among  whom  we  find  scavengers,  vermin-eaters, 
executioners,  basket-makers,  musicians,  and  professional  burglars, 
probably  represent  the  remnants  of  a  Dravidian  tribe  crushed  out  of 
recognition  by  the  invading  Aryans  and  condemned  to  menial  and 
degrading  occupations.  Sir  G.  Grierson  has  thrown  out  the  pictur- 
esque suggestion  that  they  are  the  ancestors  of  the  European  gypsies 
and  that  Rom  or  Romany  is  nothing  more  than  a  variant  of  Dom. 
In  the  ironical  language  of  the  proverbs  the  Dom  figures  as  "the 
lord  of  death"  because  he  provides  the  wood  for  the  Hindu  funeral 
pyre.  He  is  ranked  with  Brahmans  and  goats  as  a  creature  useless 
in  time  of  need.  A  common  and  peculiarly  offensive  form  of  abuse  is 
to  tell  a  man  that  he  has  eaten  a  Dom's  leavings.  A  series  of  proverbs 
represents  him  as  making  friends  with  members  of  various  castes 
and  faring  ill  or  well  in  the  process.  Thus  the  Kanjar  steals  his  dog, 
and  the  Gujar  loots  his  house;  on  the  other  hand,  the  barber  shaves 
him  for  nothing,  and  the  silly  Jolaha  makes  him  a  suit  of  clothes. 
His  traditions  associate  him  with  donkeys,  and  it  is  said  that  if  these 
animals  could  excrete  sugar,  Doms  would  no  longer  be  beggars. 
"A  Dom  in  a  palanquin  and  a  Brahman  on  foot"  is  a  type  of  society 
turned  upside  down.  Nevertheless,  outcast  as  he  is,  the  Dom 
occupies  a  place  of  his  own  in  the  fabric  of  Indian  society.  At 
funerals  he  provides  the  wood  and  gets  the  corpse  clothes  as  his  per- 
quisite; he  makes  the  discordant  music  that  accompanies  a  marriage 
procession;  and  baskets,  winnowing-fans,  and  wicker  articles  in 
general  are  the  work  of  his  hands. 

In  the  west  of  India,  Mahars  and  Dheds  hold  much  the  same 
place  as  the  Dom.  In  the  walled  villages  of  the  Maratha  country 
the  Mahar  is  the  scavenger,  watchman,  and  gate-keeper.  His  presence 
pollutes;  he  is  not  allowed  to  live  in  the  village;  and  his  miserable 
shanty  is  huddled  up  against  the  wall  outside.  But  he  challenges 
the  stranger  who  comes  to  the  gate,  and  for  this  and  other  services 
he  is  allowed  various  perquisites,  among  them  that  of  begging  for 
broken  victuals  from  house  to  house.  He  offers  old  blankets  to  his 
god,  and  his  child's  playthings  are  bones.  The  Dhed's  status  is 
equally  low.  If  he  looks  at  a  water  jar  he  pollutes  its  contents;  if 
you  run  up  against  him  by  accident,  you  must  go  off  and  bathe.  If 
you  annoy  a  Dhed  he  sweeps  up  the  dust  in  your  face.  When  he 
dies,  the  world  is  so  much  the  cleaner.  If  you  go  to  the  Dheds'  quarter 
you  find  there  nothing  but  a  heap  of  bones. 


688          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

This  relegation  of  the  low  castes  to  a  sort  of  ghetto  is  carried 
to  great  lengths  in  the  south  of  India  where  the  intolerance  of  the 
Brahman  is  very  conspicuous.  In  the  typical  Madras  village  the 
Pariahs — "dwellers  in  the  quarter"  (par a)  as  this  broken  tribe  is 
now  called — live  in  an  irregular  cluster  of  conical  hovels  of  palm  leaves 
known  as  the  pdrchery,  the  squalor  and  untidiness  of  which  present 
the  sharpest  contrasts  to  the  trim  street  of  tiled  masonry  houses  where 
the  Brahmans  congregate.  "Every  village,"  says  the  proverb, 
"has  its  Pariah  hamlet" — a  place  of  pollution  the  census  of  which  is 
even  now  taken  with  difficulty  owing  to  the  reluctance  of  the  high- 
caste  enumerator  to  enter  its  unclean  precincts.  "A  palm  tree," 
says  another,  "casts  no  shade;  a  Pariah  has  no  caste  and  rules." 
The  popular  estimate  of  the  morals  of  the  Pariah  comes  out  in  the 
saying,  "He  that  breaks  his  word  is  a  Pariah  at  heart";  while  the 
note  of  irony  predominates  in  the  pious  question,  "If  a  Pariah  offers 
boiled  rice  will  not  the  god  take  it?"  the  implication  being  that  the 
Brahman  priests  who  take  the  offerings  to  idols  are  too  greedy  to 
inquire  by  whom  they  are  presented. 

B.      SUBORDINATION   AND   SUPERORDINATION 
I.    The  Psychology  of  Subordination  and  Superordination1 

The  typical  suggestion  is  given  by  words.  But  the  impulse  to 
act  under  the  influence  of  another  person  arises  no  less  when  the 
action  is  proposed  in  the  more  direct  form  of  showing  the  action 
itself.  The  submission  then  takes  the  form  of  imitation.  This  is 
the  earliest  type  of  subordination.  It  plays  a  fundamental  role  in 
the  infant's  life,  long  before  the  suggestion  through  words  can  begin 
its  influence.  The  infant  imitates  involuntarily  as  soon  as  connections 
between  the  movement  impulses  and  the  movement  impressions  have 
been  formed.  At  first  automatic  reflexes  produce  all  kinds  of  motions, 
and  each  movement  awakes  kinesthetic  and  muscle  sensations. 
Through  association  these  impressions  become  bound  up  with  the 
motor  impulses.  As  soon  as  the  movements  of  other  persons  arouse 
similar  visual  sensations  the  kinesthetic  sensations  are  associated 
and  realize  the  corresponding  movement.  Very  soon  the  associative 

1  From  Hugo  Miinsterberg,  Psychology,  General  and  Applied,  pp.  259-64. 
(D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1914.) 


ACCOMMODATION  689 

irradiation  becomes  more  complex,  and  whole  groups  of  emotional 
reactions  are  imitated.  The  child  cries  and  laughs  in  imitation. 

Most  important  is  the  imitation  of  the  speech  movement.  The 
sound  awakes  the  impulse  to  produce  the  same  vocal  sound  long 
before  the  meaning  of  the  word  is  understood.  Imitation  is  thus 
the  condition  for  the  acquiring  of  speech,  and  later  the  condition  for 
the  learning  of  all  other  abilities.  But  while  the  imitation  is  at  first 
simply  automatic,  it  becomes  more  and  more  volitional.  The 
child  intends  to  imitate  what  the  teacher  shows  as  an  example- 
This  intentional  imitation  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  important 
vehicles  of  social  organization.  The  desire  to  act  like  certain  models 
becomes  the  most  powerful  social  energy.  But  even  the  highest 
differentiation  of  society  does  not  eliminate  the  constant  working  of 
the  automatic,  impulsive  imitation. 

The  inner  relation  between  imitation  and  suggestion  shows  itself 
in  the  similarity  of  conditions  under  which  they  are  most  effective. 
Every  increase  of  suggestibility  facilitates  imitation.  In  any  emo- 
tional excitement  of  a  group  every  member  submits  to  the  suggestion 
of  the  others,  but  the  suggestion  is  taken  from  the  actual  movements. 
A  crowd  in  a  panic  or  a  mob  in  a  riot  shows  an  increased  suggestibility 
by  which  each  individual  automatically  repeats  what  his  neighbors 
are  doing.  Even  an  army  in  battle  may  become,  either  through 
enthusiasm  or  through  fear,  a  group  in  which  all  individuality  is  lost 
and  everyone  is  forced  by  imitative  impulses  to  fight  or  escape.  The 
psychophysical  experiment  leaves  no  doubt  that  this  imitative 
response  releases  the  sources  of  strongest  energy  in  the  mental  mechan- 
ism. If  the  arm  lifts  the  weight  of  an  ergograph  until  the  will  cannot 
overcome  the  fatigue,  the  mere  seeing  of  the  movement  carried  out 
by  others  whips  the  motor  centers  to  new  efficiency. 

We  saw  that  our  feeling  states  are  both  causes  and  effects  of  our 
actions.  We  cannot  experience  the  impulse  to  action  without  a  new 
shading  of  our  emotional  setting.  Imitative  acting  involves,  there- 
fore, an  inner  imitation  of  feelings  too.  The  child  who  smiles  in 
response  to  the  smile  of  his  mother  shares  her  pleasant  feeling.  The 
adult  who  is  witness  of  an  accident  in  which  someone  is  hurt  imi- 
tates instinctively  the  cramping  muscle  contractions  of  the  victim, 
and  as  a  result  he  feels  an  intense  dislike  without  having  the 
pain  sensations  themselves.  From  such  elementary  experiences  an 


690          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

imitative  emotional  life  develops,  controlled  by  a  general  sympathetic 
tendency.  We  share  the  pleasures  and  the  displeasures  of  others 
through  an  inner  imitation  which  remains  automatic.  In  its  richer 
forms  this  sympathy  becomes  an  altruistic  sentiment;  it  stirs  the 
desire  to  remove  the  misery  around  us  and  unfolds  to  a  general  mental 
setting  through  which  every  action  is  directed  toward  the  service 
to  others.  But  from  the  faintest  echoing  of  feelings  in  the  infant  to 
the  highest  self-sacrifice  from  altruistic  impulse,  we  have  the  common 
element  of  submission.  The  individual  is  feeling,  and  accordingly 
acting,  not  in  the  realization  of  his  individual  impulses,  but  under  the 
influence  of  other  personalities. 

This  subordination  to  the  feelings  of  others  through  sympathy 
and  pity  and  common  joy  takes  a  new  psychological  form  in  the 
affection  of  tenderness  and  especially  parental  love.  The  relation 
of  parents  to  children  involves  certainly  an  element  of  superordina- 
tion,  but  the  mentally  strongest  factor  remains  the  subordination,  the 
complete  submission  to  the  feelings  of  those  who  are  dependent  upon 
the  parents'  care.  In  its  higher  development  the  parental  love  will 
not  yield  to  every  momentary  like  or  dislike  of  the  child,  but  will 
adjust  the  educative  influence  to  the  lasting  satisfactions  and  to  the 
later  sources  of  unhappiness.  But  the  submission  of  the  parents  to 
the  feeling  tones  in  the  child's  life  remains  the  fundamental  principle 
of  the  family  instinct.  While  the  parents'  love  and  tenderness  mean 
that  the  stronger  submits  to  the  weaker,  even  up  to  the  highest  points 
of  self-sacrifice,  the  loving  child  submits  to  his  parents  from  feelings 
which  are  held  together  by  a  sense  of  dependence.  This  feeling  of 
dependence  as  a  motive  of  subordination  enters  into  numberless 
human  relations.  Everywhere  the  weak  lean  on  the  strong,  and 
choose  their  actions  under  the  influence  of  those  in  whom  they  have 
confidence.  The  corresponding  feelings  show  the  manifold  shades  of 
modesty,  admiration,  gratitude,  and  hopefulness.  Yet  it  is  only 
another  aspect  of  the  social  relation  if  the  consciousness  of  dependence 
upon  the  more  powerful  is  felt  with  fear  and  revolt,  or  with  the  nearly 
related  emotion  of  envy. 

The  desire  to  assert  oneself  is  no  less  powerful,  in  the  social  inter- 
play, than  the  impulse  to  submission.  Society  needs  the  leaders  as 
well  as  the  followers.  Self-assertion  presupposes  contact  with  other 
individuals.  Man  protects  himself  against  the  dangers  of  nature, 


ACCOMMODATION  691 

and  man  masters  nature;  but  he  asserts  himself  against  men  who 
interfere  with  him  or  whom  he  wants  to  force  to  obedience.  The 
most  immediate  reaction  in  the  compass  of  self-assertion  is  indeed 
the  rejection  of  interference.  It  is  a  form  in  which  even  the  infant 
shows  the  opposite  of  submission.  He  repels  any  effort  to  disturb 
him  in  the  realization  of  the  instinctive  impulses.  From  the  simplest 
reaction  of  the  infant  disturbed  in  his  play  or  his  meal,  a  straight 
line  of  development  leads  to  the  fighting  spirit  of  man,  whose  pug- 
naciousness  and  whose  longing  for  vengeance  force  his  will  on  his 
enemies.  Every  form  of  rivalry,  jealousy,  and  intolerance  finds 
in  this  feeling  group  its  source  of  automatic  response.  The  most 
complex  intellectual  processes  may  be  made  subservient  to  this 
self-asserting  emotion. 

But  the  effort  to  impose  one's  will  on  others  certainly  does  not 
result  only  from  conflict.  An  entirely  different  emotional  center  is 
given  by  the  mere  desire  for  self-expression.  In  every  field  of  human 
activity  the  individual  may  show  his  inventiveness,  his  ability  to  be 
different  from  others,  to  be  a  model,  to  be  imitated  by  his  fellows. 
The  normal  man  has  a  healthy,  instinctive  desire  to  claim  recognition 
from  the  members  of  the  social  group.  This  interferes  neither  with 
the  spirit  of  co-ordination  nor  with  the  subordination  of  modesty.  In 
so  far  as  the  individual  demands  acknowledgement  of  his  personal 
behavior  and  his  personal  achievement,  he  raises  himself  by  that 
act  above  others.  He  wants  his  mental  attitude  to  influence  and 
control  the  social  surroundings.  In  its  fuller  development  this 
inner  setting  becomes  the  ambition  for  leadership  in  the  affairs  of 
practical  life  or  in  the  sphere  of  cultural  work. 

The  superficial  counterpart  is  the  desire  for  self-display  with  all 
its  variations  of  vanity  and  boastfulness.  From  the  most  bashful 
submission  to  the  most  ostentatious  self-assertion,  from  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  motherly  love  to  the  pugnaciousness  of  despotic  egotism, 
the  social  psychologist  can  trace  the  human  impulses  through  all  the 
intensities  of  the  human  energies  which  interfere  with  equality  in 
the  group.  Each  variation  has  its  emotional  background  and  its 
impulsive  discharge.  Within  normal  limits  they  are  all  equally  use- 
ful for  the  biological  existence  of  the  group  and  through  the  usefulness 
for  the  group  ultimately  serviceable  to  its  members.  Only  through 
superordination  and  subordination  does  the  group  receive  the  inner 


692          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

firmness  which  transforms  the  mere  combination  of  men  into  working 
units.  They  give  to  human  society  that  strong  and  yet  flexible 
organization  which  is  the  necessary  condition  for  its  successful 
development. 

2.     Social  Attitudes  in  Subordination:  Memories  of  an  Old  Servant1 

Work  is  a  great  blessing,  and  it  has  been  wisely  arranged  by  our 
divine  Master  that  all  his  creatures  should  have  a  work  to  do  of  some 
kind.  Some  are  weak  and  some  are  strong.  Old  and  young,  rich 
and  poor,  there  is  that  work  expected  from  us,  and  how  much  happier 
we  are  when  we  are  at  our  work. 

There  are  so  many  things  to  learn,  so  many  different  kinds  of 
work  that  must  be  done  to  make  the  world  go  on  right.  And  some 
work  is  easier  than  others;  but  all  ought  to  be  well  done,  and  in  a 
cheerful,  contented  manner.  Some  prefer  working  with  hands  and 
feet;  they  say  it  is  easier  than  the  head  work;  but  surely  both  are 
heavy  work,  for  it  does  depend  on  your  ability. 

Boys  and  girls  do  not  leave  school  so  early  as  they  did  fifty  or 
sixty  years  ago.  The  boys  went  out  quite  happy  and  manly  to  do 
their  herding  at  some  farm,  and  would  be  very  useful  for  some  years 
till  they  preferred  learning  some  trade,  etc.;  then  a  younger  boy 
just  filled  his  place;  and  by  doing  this  they  did  learn  farming  a  good 
bit,  and  this  helped  them  on  in  after  years  if  they  wanted  to  go  back 
to  farming  again.  We  regret  to  see  that  the  page-boy  is  not  wanted 
so  much  as  he  used  to  be;  and  what  a  help  that  used  to  be  for  a  young 
boy.  He  learns  a  great  deal  by  being  first  of  all  a  while  hi  the  stable 
yard  or  garage  before  he  goes  into  the  gentleman's  house,  and  he  is 
neat  and  tidy  at  all  times  for  messages.  We  have  seen  many  of 
them  in  our  young  days;  and  even  the  waif  has  been  picked  up  by  a 
good  master,  and  began  in  the  stables  and  worked  his  way  up  to  be 
a  respected  valet  in  the  same  household,  and  often  and  often  told  the 
story  of  his  waif  life  in  the  servants'  hall. 

The  old  servant  has  seen  many  changes  and  in  many  cases  prefers 
the  good  old  ways;  there  may  be  some  better  arrangements  made, 
we  cannot  doubt  that,  but  we  are  surprised  at  good  old  practices 
that  our  late  beloved  employers  had  ignored  by  their  own  children 

1  Adapted  from  Domestic  Service,  by  An  Old  Servant,  pp.  10-110.  (Houghton 
Mifflin  Co.,  1917.) 


ACCOMMODATION  693 

after  they  have  so  far  grown  up.  Servants  need  the  good  example 
from  their  superiors,  and  when  they  hear  the  world  speak  well  of 
them  they  do  look  for  the  good  ways  in  the  home  life.  We  all  like 
to  hold  up  an  employer's  good  name,  surely  we  do  if  we  are  interested 
at  all  in  our  work,  and  if  we  feel  that  we  cannot  do  our  duty  to  them 
we  ought  to  go  elsewhere  and  not  deceive  them.  We  are  trusted 
with  a  very  great  deal,  and  it  is  well  for  us  if  we  are  doing  all  we  can 
as  faithful  servants,  and  in  the  end  lay  down  our  tools  with  the  feel- 
ing that  we  have  tried  to  do  our  best. 

We  must  remember  that  each  one  is  born  in  his  station  in  life, 
wisely  arranged  by  "One  Who  Knows  and  Who  Is  Our  Supreme 
Ruler."  No  one  can  alter  this  nor  say  to  him,  "  What  Doest  Thou  ?  " 
so  we  must  each  and  all  keep  our  station  and  honor  the  rich  man 
and  the  poor  man  who  humbly  tries  to  live  a  Christian  life,  and 
when  their  faults  are  seen  by  us  may  we  at  once  turn  to  ourselves 
and  look  if  we  are  not  human,  too,  and  may  be  as  vile  as  they. 

We  have  noticed  some  visitors  very  rude  to  the  servants  and  so 
different  to  our  own  employers,  and  we  set  a  mark  on  them,  for  we 
would  not  go  to  serve  them.  We  remember  once  when  our  lady's 
brother  was  showing  a  visiting  lady  some  old  relics  near  the  front 
door  they  came  upon  the  head  housemaid  who  was  cleaning  the 
church  pew  chairs  (they  were  carried  in  while  the  church  was  being 
repaired),  and  she  was  near  a  very  old  grand  piano.  The  lady  asked 
in  such  a  jeer,  "And  is  this  the  housemaid's  piano"?  The  gentle- 
man looked  very  hard  at  the  housemaid,  for  we  were  sure  that  he  was 
very  annoyed  at  her,  but  we  did  not  hear  his  answer;  but  the  house- 
maid had  the  good  sense  to  keep  quiet,  but  she  could  have  told  her 
to  keep  her  jeers,  for  we  were  not  her  class  of  servant,  neither  was 
she  our  class  of  employer.  We  heard  her  character  after,  and 
never  cared  to  see  her.  Some  servants  take  great  liberties,  and 
then  all  are  supposed  to  be  alike;  but  we  are  glad  that  all  ladies  are 
not  like  this,  for  the  world  would  be  poor  indeed;  they  would  soon 
rum  all  the  girls — and  no  wonder  her  husband  had  left  her.  We 
heard  of  a  gentleman  who  fancied  his  laundry-maid,  so  he  called  his 
servants  together  and  told  them  that  he  was  to  marry  her  and  bring 
her  home  as  the  lady  of  his  house,  and  he  hoped  they  would  all  stay 
where  they  were;  but  if  they  felt  that  they  could  not  look  upon  her 
as  their  mistress  and  his  wife,  they  were  free  to  go  away.  And  not 


694          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

one  of  them  left,  for  they  stayed  on  with  them  for  years.  This  is  a 
true  story  from  one  who  knew  them  and  could  show  us  their  London 
house.  Now  we  have  lived  with  superior  servants,  and  we  would 
much  rather  serve  them  even  now  in  our  old  age  than  serve  any 
lady  who  can  never  respect  a  servant. 

Nothing  brings  master  and  servant  closer  together  than  the 
sudden  sore  bereavement,  and  very  likely  this  book  could  not  be 
written  so  sad  were  it  not  for  the  many  sad  days  that  have  been  spent 
in  service,  and  now  so  very  few  of  the  employers  are  to  be  seen; 
and  when  they  are  with  us  we  feel  that  we  are  still  respected  by  them, 
for  there  is  the  usual  welcome — for  they  would  look  back  the  same  as 
we  do  on  days  that  are  gone  by.  In  our  young  days  the  curtsy  was 
fashionable;  you  would  see  every  man's  daughter  bobbing  whenever 
they  met  the  lady  or  gentlemen  or  when  they  met  their  teacher. 
The  custom  is  gone  now,  and  we  wonder  why;  but  the  days  are 
changed,  and  some  call  it  education  that  is  so  far  doing  this;  it  can- 
not be  education,  for  we  do  look  for  more  respect  from  the  educated 
than  from  the  class  that  we  called  the  ignorant. 

How  well  off  the  servants  are  in  these  years  of  war,  for  they  have 
no  rent  to  worry  about  and  no  anxiety  about  their  coal  bill,  nor  how 
food,  etc.,  is  to  be  got  in  and  paid  for,  no  taxes  nor  cares  like  so  many 
poor  working  men;  they  are  also  sure  of  their  wages  when  quarter 
day  comes  round.  It  is  true  she  may  have  a  widow  mother  who 
requires  some  help  with  rent,  coals,  or  food,  but  there  are  many  who 
ought  to  value  a  good  situation,  whether  in  the  small  comfortable 
house  as  general  or  in  larger  good  situations  where  a  few  servants 
are,  for  we  have  seen  them  all  and  know  what  they  have  been  like, 
and  so  we  say  that  all  as  a  rule  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  they 
are  the  domestic  servant  and  so  study  to  show  gratitude  by  good 
deeds  to  all  around,  as  there  is  work  just  now  for  everyone  to  do. 

A  great  deal  more  could  easily  be  written,  and  we  hope  some  old 
servant  may  also  speak  out  in  favor  of  domestic  service,  and  so  let 
it  be  again  what  it  has  been,  and  when  both  will  look  on  each  other 
as  they  ought,  for  there  has  always  been  master  and  servant,  and  we 
have  the  number  of  servants,  or  near  the  number,  given  here  by 
one  who  knows,  1,330,783  female  domestic  servants  at  the  last  census 
in  1911,  and  so  the  domestic  service  is  the  largest  single  industry 
that  is;  there  are  more  people  employed  as  domestic  servants  than 


ACCOMMODATION  695 

any  other  class  of  employment.  Before  closing  this  book  the  writer 
would  ask  that  a  kinder  interest  may  be  taken  in  girls  who  may 
have  at  one  time  been  in  disgrace;  many  of  them  have  no  homes  and 
we  might  try  to  help  them  into  situations.  This  appeal  is  from  the 
old  housekeeper  and  so  from  one  who  has  had  many  a  talk  with 
young  girls  for  their  good;  but  they  have  often  been  led  far  astray. 
We  ought  to  give  them  the  chance  again,  by  trying  to  get  them 
situations,  and  if  the  lady  is  not  her  friend,  nor  the  housekeeper, 
we  pity  her. 

3.    The  Reciprocal  Character  of  Subordination  and  Superordination1 

Every  social  occurrence  consists  of  an  interaction  between  indi- 
viduals. In  other  words,  each  individual  is  at  the  same  time  an 
active  and  a  passive  agent  in  a  transaction.  In  case  of  superiority 
and  inferiority,  however,  the  relation  assumes  the  appearance  of  a 
one-sided  operation;  the  one  party  appears  to  exert,  while  the  other 
seems  merely  to  receive,  an  influence.  Such,  however,  is  not  in 
fact  the  case.  No  one  would  give  himself  the  trouble  to  gain  or  to 
maintain  superiority  if  it  afforded  him  no  advantage  or  enjoyment. 
This  return  to  the  superior  can  be  derived  from  the  relation,  how- 
ever, only  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  there  is  a  reciprocal  action  of  the 
inferior  upon  the  superior.  The  decisive  characteristic  of  the  relation 
at  this  point  is  this,  that  the  effect  which  the  inferior  actually  exerts 
upon  the  superior  is  determined  by  the  latter.  The  superior  causes 
the  inferior  to  produce  a  given  effect  which  the  superior  shall  experi- 
ence. In  this  operation,  in  case  the  subordination  is  really  absolute, 
no  sort  of  spontaneity  is  present  on  the  part  of  the  subordinate. 
The  reciprocal  influence  is  rather  the  same  as  that  between  a  man 
and  a  lifeless  external  object  with  which  the  former  performs  an  act 
for  his  own  use.  That  is,  the  person  acts  upon  the  object  in  order 
that  the  latter  may  react  upon  himself.  In  this  reaction  of  the  object 
no  spontaneity  on  the  part  of  the  object  is  to  be  observed,  but  merely 
the  further  operation  of  the  spontaneity  of  the  person.  Such  an 
extreme  case  of  superiority  and  inferiority  will  scarcely  occur  among 
human  beings.  Rather  will  a  certain  measure  of  independence,  a 
certain  direction  of  the  relation  proceed  also  from  the  self-will  and 

1  Adapted  from  a  translation  of  Georg  Simmel  by  Albion  W.  Small,  "Superi- 
ority and  Subordination,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  II  (1896-97), 
169-71. 


696          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  character  of  the  subordinate.  The  different  cases  of  superiority 
and  inferiority  will  accordingly  be  characterized  by  differences  in  the 
relative  amount  of  spontaneity  which  the  subordinates  and  the 
superiors  bring  to  bear  upon  the  total  relation.  In  exemplification 
of  this  reciprocal  action  of  the  inferior,  through  which  superiority 
and  inferiority  manifests  itself  as  proper  socialization,  I  will  mention 
only  a  few  cases,  in  which  the  reciprocity  is  difficult  to  discern. 

When  in  the  case  of  an  absolute  despotism  the  ruler  attaches  to 
his  edicts  the  threat  of  penalty  or  the  promise  of  reward,  the  meaning 
is  that  the  monarch  himself  will  be  bound  by  the  regulation  which 
he  has  ordained.  The  inferior  shall  have  the  right,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  demand  something  from  the  lawgiver.  Whether  the  latter 
subsequently  grants  the  promised  reward  or  protection  is  another 
question.  The  spirit  of  the  relation  as  contemplated  by  the  law  is 
that  the  superior  completely  controls  the  inferior,  to  be  sure,  but  that 
a  certain  claim  is  assured  to  the  latter,  which  claim  he  may  press  or 
may  allow  to  lapse,  so  that  even  this  most  definite  form  of  the  rela- 
tion still  contains  an  element  of  spontaneity  on  the  part  of  the 
inferior. 

Still  farther;  the  concept  "law"  seems  to  connote  that  he  who 
gives  the  law  is  in  so  far  unqualifiedly  superior.  Apart  from  those 
cases  in  which  the  law  is  instituted  by  those  who  will  be  its  subjects, 
there  appears  hi  lawgiving  as  such  no  sign  of  spontaneity  on  the  part 
of  the  subject  of  the  law.  It  is,  nevertheless,  very  interesting  to 
observe  how  the  Roman  conception  of  law  makes  prominent  the 
reciprocity  between  the  superior  and  the  subordinate  elements. 
Thus  lex  means  originally  "compact,"  in  the  sense,  to  be  sure,  that 
the  terms  of  the  same  are  fixed  by  the  proponent,  and  the  other  party 
can  accept  or  reject  it  only  en  bloc.  The  lex  publica  populi  Romani 
meant  originally  that  the  king  proposed  and  the  people  accepted  the 
same.  Thus  even  here,  where  the  conception  itself  seems  to  express 
the  complete  one-sidedness  of  the  superior,  the  nice  social  instinct 
of  the  Romans  pointed  in  the  verbal  expression  to  the  co-operation 
of  the  subordinate.  In  consequence  of  like  feeling  of  the  nature  of 
socialization  the  later  Roman  jurists  declared  that  the  societas  leonina 
is  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  social  compact.  Where  the  one  absolutely 
controls  the  other,  that  is,  where  all  spontaneity  of  the  subordinate 
is  excluded,  there  is  no  longer  any  socialization. 


ACCOMMODATION  697 

Once  more,  the  orator  who  confronts  the  assembly,  or  the  teacher 
his  class,  seems  to  be  the  sole  leader,  the  temporary  superior.  Never- 
theless everyone  who  finds  himself  hi  that  situation  is  conscious  of 
the  limiting  and  controlling  reaction  of  the  mass  which  is  apparently 
merely  passive  and  submissive  to  his  guidance.  This  is  the  case  not 
merely  when  the  parties  immediately  confront  each  other.  All 
leaders  are  also  led,  as  in  countless  cases  the  master  is  the  slave  of 
his  slaves.  "I  am  your  leader,  therefore  I  must  follow  you,"  said 
one  of  the  most  eminent  German  parliamentarians,  with  reference  to 
his  party.  Every  journalist  is  influenced  by  the  public  upon  which 
he  seems  to  exert  an  influence  entirely  without  reaction.  The  most 
characteristic  case  of  actual  reciprocal  influence,  in  spite  of  what 
appears  to  be  subordination  without  corresponding  reaction,  is  that 
of  hypnotic  suggestion.  An  eminent  hypnotist  recently  asserted 
that  in  every  hypnosis  there  occurs  an  actual  if  not  easily  defined 
influence  of  the  hypnotized  upon  the  hypnotist,  and  that  without 
this  the  effect  would  not  be  produced. 

4.     Three  Types  of  Subordination  and  Superordtnation1 

Three  possible  types  of  superiority  present  themselves.  Superi- 
ority may  be  exercised  (a)  by  an  individual,  (b)  by  a  group,  (c)  by 
an  objective  principle  higher  than  individuals. 

a)  Subordination  to  an  individual. ^-The  subordination  of  a  group 
to  a  single  person  implies  a  very  decided  unification  of  the  group. 
This  is  equally  the  case  with  both  the  characteristic  forms  of  this 
subordination,  viz.:  (i)  when  the  group  with  its  head  constitutes  a 
real  internal  unity;  when  the  superior  is  more  a  leader  than  a  master 
and  only  represents  in  himself  the  power  and  the  will  of  the  group; 
(2)  when  the  group  is  conscious  of  opposition  between  itself  and  its 
head,  when  a  party  opposed  to  the  head  is  formed.  In  both  cases 
the  unity  of  the  supreme  head  tends  to  bring  about  an  inner  unifica- 
tion of  the  group.  The  elements  of  the  latter  are  conscious  of  them- 
selves as  belonging  together,  because  their  interests  converge  at 
one  point.  Moreover  the  opposition  to  this  unified  controlling  power 
compels  the  group  to  collect  itself,  to  condense  itself  into  unity. 

"Adapted  from  a  translation  of  Georg  Simmel  by  Albion  W.  Small,  "Superi- 
ority and  Subordination,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  II  (1896-97), 
172-86. 


698          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

This  is  true  not  alone  of  the  political  group.  In  the  factory,  the 
ecclesiastical  community,  a  school  class,  and  in  associated  bodies  of 
every  sort  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  termination  of  the  organiza- 
tion in  a  head,  whether  in  case  of  harmony  or  of  opposition,  helps  to 
effect  unification  of  the  group.  This  is  most  conspicuous  to  be  sure 
in  the  political  sphere.  History  has  shown  it  to  be  the  enormous 
advantage  of  monarchies  that  they  unify  the  political  interests  of 
the  popular  mass.  The  totality  has  a  common  interest  in  holding 
the  prerogatives  of  the  crown  within  their  boundaries,  possibly  in 
restricting  them;  or  there  is  a  common  field  of  conflict  between  those 
whose  interests  are  with  the  crown  and  those  who  are  opposed. 
Thus  there  is  a  supreme  point  with  reference  to  which  the  whole 
people  constitutes  either  a  single  party  or,  at  most,  two.  Upon  the 
disappearance  of  its  head,  to  which  all  are  subordinate — with  the 
end  of  this  political  pressure — all  political  unity  often  likewise  ceases. 
There  spring  up  a  great  number  of  party  factions  which  previously, 
in  view  of  that  supreme  political  interest  for  or  against  the  monarchy, 
found  no  room. 

Wonder  has  often  been  felt  over  the  irrationality  of  the  condition 
in  which  a  single  person  exercises  lordship  over  a  great  mass  of  others. 
The  contradiction  will  be  modified  when  we  reflect  that  the  ruler  and 
the  individual  subject  in  the  controlled  mass  by  no  means  enter 
into  the  relationship  with  an  equal  quantum  of  their  personality.  The 
mass  is  composed  through  the  fact  that  many  individuals  unite 
fractions  of  their  personality — one-sided  purposes,  interests  and 
powers,  while  that  which  each  personality  as  such  actually  is  towers 
above  this  common  level  and  does  not  at  all  enter  into  that  "mass," 
i.e.,  into  that  which  is  really  ruled  by  the  single  person.  Hence  it  is 
also  that  frequently  in  very  despotically  ruled  groups  individuality 
may  develop  itself  very  freely,  in  those  aspects  particularly  which 
are  not  in  participation  with  the  mass.  Thus  began  the  develop- 
ment of  modern  individuality  hi  the  despotisms  of  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance. Here,  as  in  other  similar  cases  (for  example,  under  Napoleon 
I  and  Napoleon  III),  it  was  for  the  direct  interest  of  the  despots  to 
allow  the  largest  freedom  to  all  those  aspects  of  personality  which 
were  not  identified  with  the  regulated  mass,  i.e.,  to  those  aspects 
most  apart  from  politics.  Thus  subordination  was  more  tolerable. 


ACCOMMODATION  699 

V)  Subordination  to  a  group. — In  the  second  place  the  group  may 
assume  the  form  of  a  pyramid.  In  this  case  the  subordinates  stand 
over  against  the  superior  not  in  an  equalized  mass  but  in  very  nicely 
graded  strata  of  power.  These  strata  grow  constantly  smaller  in 
extent  but  greater  in  significance.  They  lead  up  from  the  inferior 
mass  to  the  head,  the  single  ruler. 

This  form  of  the  group  may  come  into  existence  in  two  ways.  It 
may  emerge  from  the  autocratic  supremacy  of  an  individual.  The 
latter  often  loses  the  substance  of  his  power  and  allows  it  to  slip  down- 
ward, while  retaining  its  form  and  titles.  In  this  case  more  of  the 
power  is  retained  by  the  orders  nearest  to  the  former  autocrat  than 
is  acquired  by  those  more  distant.  Since  the  power  thus  gradually 
percolates,  a  continuity  and  graduation  of  superiority  and  inferiority 
must  develop  itself.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  way  in  which  in  oriental 
states  the  social  forms  often  arise.  The  power  of  the  superior  orders 
disintegrates,  either  because  it  is  essentially  incoherent  and  does  not 
know  how  to  attain  the  above-emphasized  proportion  between 
subordination  and  individual  freedom;  or  because  the  persons  com- 
prising the  administration  are  too  indolent  or  too  ignorant  of  govern- 
mental technique  to  preserve  supreme  power.  For  the  power  which 
is  exercised  over  a  large  circle  is  never  a  constant  possession.  It 
must  be  constantly  acquired  and  defended  anew  if  anything  more 
than  its  shadow  and  name  is  to  remain. 

The  other  way  in  which  a  scale  of  power  is  constructed  up  to  a 
supreme  head  is  the  reverse  of  that  just  described.  Starting  with  a 
relative  equality  of  the  social  elements,  certain  elements  gain  greater 
significance;  within  the  circle  of  influence  thus  constituted  certain 
especially  powerful  individuals  differentiate  themselves  until  this 
development  accommodates  itself  to  one  or  to  a  few  heads.  The 
pyramid  of  superiority  and  inferiority  is  built  in  this  case  from  below 
upward,  while  in  the  former  case  the  development  was  from  above 
downward.  This  second  form  of  development  is  often  found  in 
economic  relationships,  where  at  first  there  exists  a  certain  equality 
between  the  persons  carrying  on  the  work  of  a  certain  industrial 
society.  Presently  some  of  the  number  acquire  wealth;  others 
become  poor;  others  fall  into  intermediate  conditions  which  are  as 
dependent  upon  an  aristocracy  of  property  as  the  lower  orders  are 


700          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

upon  the  middle  strata;  this  aristocracy  rises  in  manifold  gradations 
to  the  magnates,  of  whom  sometimes  a  single  individual  is  appropri- 
ately designated  as  the  "king"  of  a  branch  of  industry.  By  a  sort 
of  combination  of  the  two  ways  in  which  graded  superiority  and 
inferiority  of  the  group  come  into  being  the  feudalism  of  the  Middle 
Ages  arose.  So  long  as  the  full  citizen — either  Greek,  Roman,  or 
Teutonic — knew  no  subordination  under  an  individual,  there  existed 
for  him  on  the  one  hand  complete  equality  with  those  of  his  own 
order,  but  on  the  other  hand  rigid  exclusiveness  toward  those  of 
lower  orders.  Feudalism  remodeled  this  characteristic  social  form 
into  the  equally  characteristic  arrangement  which  filled  the  gap 
between  freedom  and  bondage  with  a  scale  of  classes. 

A  peculiar  form  of  subordination  to  a  number  of  individuals  is 
determination  by  vote  of  a  majority.  The  presumption  of  majority 
rule  is  that  there  is  a  collection  of  elements  originally  possessing 
equal  rights.  In  the  process  of  voting  the  individual  places  himself 
in  subordination  to  a  power  of  which  he  is  a  part,  but  in  this  way, 
that  it  is  left  to  his  own  volition  whether  he  will  belong  to  the  superior 
or  the  inferior,  i.e.,  the  outvoted  party.  We  are  not  now  interested 
in  cases  of  this  complex  problem  in  which  the  superiority  is  entirely 
formal,  as,  for  example,  hi  resolves  of  scientific  congresses,  but  only 
with  those  hi  which  the  individual  is  constrained  to  an  action  by  the 
will  of  the  party  outvoting  him,  that  is,  in  which  he  must  practically 
subordinate  himself  to  the  majority.  This  dominance  of  numbers 
through  the  fact  that  others,  though  only  equal  in  right,  have  another 
opinion,  is  by  no  means  the  matter  of  course  which  it  seems  to  us 
today  in  our  time  of  determinations  by  masses.  Ancient  German 
law  knew  nothing  of  it.  If  one  did  not  agree  with  the  resolve  of 
the  community,  he  was  not  bound  by  it.  As  an  application  of  this 
principle,  unanimity  was  later  necessary  in  the  choice  of  king,  evi- 
dently because  it  could  not  be  expected  or  required  that  one  who  had 
not  chosen  the  king  would  obey  him.  The  English  baron  who  had 
opposed  authorizing  a  levy,  or  who  had  not  been  present,  often 
refused  to  pay  it.  In  the  tribal  council  of  the  Iroquois,  as  in  the 
Polish  Parliament,  decisions  had  to  be  unanimous.  There  was 
therefore  no  subordination  of  an  individual  to  a  majority,  unless  we 
consider  the  fact  that  a  proposition  was  regarded  as  rejected  if  it  did 
not  receive  unanimous  approval,  a  subordination,  an  outvoting,  of 
the  person  proposing  the  measure. 


ACCOMMODATION  701 

When,  on  the  contrary,  majority  rule  exists,  two  modes  of  sub- 
ordination of  the  minority  are  possible,  and  discrimination  between 
them  is  of  the  highest  sociological  significance.  Control  of  the 
minority  may,  in  the  first  place,  arise  from  the  fact  that  the  many 
are  more  powerful  than  the  few.  Although,  or  rather  because,  the 
individuals  participating  in  a  vote  are  supposed  to  be  equals, 
the  majority  have  the  physical  power  to  coerce  the  minority.  The 
taking  of  a  vote  and  the  subjection  of  the  minority  serves  the  pur- 
pose of  avoiding  such  actual  measurement  of  strength,  but  accom- 
plishes practically  the  same  result  through  the  count  of  votes,  since 
the  minority  is  convinced  of  the  futility  of  such  resort  to  force. 
There  exist  hi  the  group  two  parties  in  opposition  as  though  they 
were  two  groups,  between  which  relative  strength,  represented  by 
the  vote,  is  to  decide. 

Quite  another  principle  is  in  force,  however,  in  the  second  place, 
where  the  group  as  a  unity  predominates  over  all  individuals  and  so 
proceeds  that  the  passing  of  votes  shall  merely  give  expression  to  the 
unitary  group  will.  In  the  transition  from  the  former  to  this  second 
principle  the  enormously  important  step  is  taken  from  a  unity  made 
up  merely  of  the  sum  of  the  individuals  to  recognition  and  operation 
of  an  abstract  objective  group  unity.  Classic  antiquity  took  this 
step  much  earlier — not  only  absolutely  but  relatively  earlier — than 
the  German  peoples.  Among  the  latter  the  oneness  of  the  commun- 
ity did  not  exist  over  against  the  individuals  who  composed  it  but 
entirely  in  them.  Consequently  the  group  will  was  not  only  not 
enacted  but  it  did  not  even  exist  so  long  as  a  single  member  dissented. 
The  group  was  not  complete  unless  all  its  members  were  united,  since 
it  was  only  in  the  sum  of  its  members  that  the  group  consisted.  In 
case  the  group,  however,  is  a  self-existent  structure — whether  con- 
sciously or  merely  in  point  of  fact — in  case  the  group  organization 
effected  by  union  of  the  individuals  remains  along  with  and  in  spite 
of  the  individual  changes,  this  self-existent  unity — state,  community, 
association  for  a  distinctive  purpose — must  surely  will  and  act  in  a 
definite  manner.  Since,  however,  only  one  of  two  contradictory 
opinions  can  ultimately  prevail,  it  is  assumed  as  more  probable  that 
the  majority  knows  or  represents  this  will  better  than  the  minority. 
According  to  the  presumptive  principle  involved  the  minority  is,  in 
this  case,  not  excluded  but  included.  The  subordination  of  the 
minority  is  thus  in  this  stage  of  sociological  development  quite 


702          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

different  from  that  in  case  the  majority  simply  represents  the  stronger 
power.  In  the  case  in  hand  the  majority  does  not  speak  in  its  own 
name  but  in  that  of  the  ideal  unity  and  totality.  It  is  only  to  this 
unity,  which  speaks  by  the  mouth  of  the  majority,  that  the  minority 
subordinates  itself.  This  is  the  immanent  principle  of  our  parlia- 
mentary decisions. 

c)  Subordination  to  an  impersonal  principle. — To  these  must  be 
joined,  third,  those  formations  in  which  subordination  is  neither  to 
an  individual  nor  yet  to  a  majority,  but  to  an  impersonal  objective 
principle.  Here,  where  we  seem  to  be  estopped  from  speaking  of  a 
reciprocal  influence  between  the  superior  and  the  subordinate,  a 
sociological  interest  enters  in  but  two  cases:  first,  when  this  ideal 
superior  principle  is  to  be  interpreted  as  the  psychological  consolida- 
tion of  a  real  social  power;  second,  when  the  principle  establishes 
specific  and  characteristic  relationships  between  those  who  are  sub- 
ject to  it  in  common.  The  former  case  appears  chiefly  in  connection 
with  the  moral  imperatives.  In  the  moral  consciousness  we  feel  our- 
selves subject  to  a  decree  which  does  not  appear  to  be  issued  by  any 
personal  human  power;  we  hear  the  voice  of  conscience  only  in  our- 
selves, although  with  a  force  and  definiteness,  in  contrast  with  all 
subjective  egoism,  which,  as  it  seems,  could  have  had  its  source  only 
from  an  authority  outside  the  subject.  As  is  well  known,  the  attempt 
has  been  made  to  resolve  this  contradiction  by  the  assumption  that 
we  have  derived  the  content  of  morality  from  social  decrees.  What- 
ever is  serviceable  to  the  species  and  to  the  group,  whatever  on  that 
account  is  demanded  of  the  members  for  the  self-preservation  of  the 
group,  is  gradually  bred  into  individuals  as  an  instinct,  so  that  it 
asserts  itself  as  a  peculiar  autonomous  impression  by  the  side  of  the 
property  personal,  and  consequently  often  contradictory,  impulses. 
Thus  would  be  explained  the  double  character  of  the  moral  command. 
On  the  one  side  it  appears  to  us  as  an  impersonal  order  to  which  we 
have  simply  to  yield.  On  the  other  side,  however,  no  visible  external 
power  but  only  our  own  most  real  and  personal  instinct  enforces  it 
upon  us.  Sociologically  this  is  of  interest  as  an  example  of  a  wholly 
peculiar  form  of  reaction  between  the  individual  and  his  group. 
The  social  force  is  here  completely  grown  into  the  individual  himself. 

We  now  turn  to  the  second  sociological  question  raised  by  the 
case  of  subordination  to  an  impersonal  ideal  principle.  How  does 


ACCOMMODATION  703 

this  subordination  affect  the  reciprocal  relation  of  the  persons  thus 
subordinated  in  common  ?  The  development  of  the  position  of  the 
pater  familias  among  the  Aryans  exhibits  this  process  clearly.  The 
power  of  the  pater  familias  was  originally  unlimited  and  entirely  sub- 
jective; that  is,  his  momentary  desire,  his  personal  advantage,  was 
permitted  to  give  the  decision  upon  all  regulations.  But  this  arbi- 
trary power  gradually  became  limited  by  a  feeling  of  responsibility. 
The  unity  of  the  domestic  group,  embodied  in  the  spiritus  familiaris, 
grew  into  the  ideal  power,  in  relation  to  which  the  lord  of  the  whole 
came  to  regard  himself  as  merely  an  obedient  agent.  Accordingly  it 
follows  that  morals  and  custom,  instead  of  subjective  preference, 
determine  his  acts,  his  decisions,  his  judicial  judgments;  that  he  no 
longer  behaves  as  though  he  were  absolute  lord  of  the  family  property, 
but  rather  the  manager  of  it  in  the  interest  of  the  whole;  that  his 
position  bears  more  the  character  of  an  official  station  than  that  of 
an  unlimited  right.  Thus  the  relation  between  superiors  and  inferiors 
is  placed  upon  an  entirely  new  basis.  The  family  is  thought  of  as 
standing  above  all  the  individual  members.  The  guiding  patriarch 
himself  is,  like  every  other  member,  subordinate  to  the  family  idea. 
He  may  give  directions  to  the  other  members  of  the  family  only  in 
the  name  of  the  higher  ideal  unity. 

C.      CONFLICT  AND  ACCOMMODATION  . 
i.     War  and  Peace  as  Types  of  Conflict  and  Accommodation1 

It  is  obvious  that  the  transition  from  war  to  peace  must  present 
a  more  considerable  problem  than  the  reverse,  i.e.,  the  transition 
from  peace  to  war.  The  latter  really  needs  no  particular  scrutiny. 
For  the  situations  existing  in  time  of  peace  are  precisely  the  condi- 
tions out  of  which  war  emerges  and  contain  in  themselves  struggle  in 
a  diffused,  unobserved,  or  latent  form.  For  instance,  if  the  economic 
advantage  which  the  southern  states  of  the  American  Union  had  over 
the  northern  states  in  the  Civil  War  as  a  consequence  of  the  slave 
system  was  also  the  reason  for  this  war,  still,  so  long  as  no  antagonism 
arises  from  it,  but  is  merely  immanent  in  the  existing  conditions,  this 
source  of  conflict  did  not  become  specifically  a  question  of  war  and 
peace.  At  the  moment,  however,  at  which  the  antagonism  began  to 
assume  a  color  which  meant  war,  an  accumulation  of  antagonisms. 

1  Adapted  from  a  translation  of  Georg  Simmel  by  Albion  W.  Small,  "  The 
Sociology  of  Conflict,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  IX  (1903-4),  799-802 


704          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

feelings  of  hatred,  newspaper  polemics,  frictions  between  private 
persons,  and  on  the  borders  reciprocal  moral  equivocations  in  matters 
outside  of  the  central  antithesis  at  once  manifested  themselves.  The 
transition  from  peace  to  war  is  thus  not  distinguished  by  a  special 
sociological  situation.  Rather  out  of  relationships  existing  within  a 
peaceful  situation  antagonism  is  developed  immediately,  in  its  most 
visible  and  energetic  form.  The  case  is  different,  however,  if  the 
matter  is  viewed  from  the  opposite  direction.  Peace  does  not  follow 
so  immediately  upon  conflict.  The  termination  of  strife  is  a  special 
undertaking  which  belongs  neither  in  the  one  category  nor  in  the 
other,  like  a  bridge  which  is  of  a  different  nature  from  that  of  either 
bank  which  it  unites.  The  sociology  of  struggle  demands,  there- 
fore, at  least  as  an  appendix,  an  analysis  of  the  forms  in  which  con- 
flict is  terminated,  and  these  exhibit  certain  special  forms  of  reaction 
not  to  be  observed  in  other  circumstances. 

The  particular  motive  which  in  most  cases  corresponds  with  the 
transition  from  war  to  peace  is  the  simple  longing  for  peace.  With 
the  emergence  of  this  factor  there  comes  into  being,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  peace  itself,  at  first  hi  the  form  of  the  wish  immediately  parallel 
with  the  struggle  itself,  and  it  may  without  any  special  transitional 
form  displace  struggle.  We  need  not  pause  long  to  observe  that  the 
desire  for  peace  may  spring  up  both  directly  and  indirectly;  the 
former  may  occur  either  through  the  return  to  power  of  this  peace- 
ful character  in  the  party  which  is  essentially  in  favor  of  peace;  or 
through  the  fact  that,  through  the  mere  change  of  the  formal  stimulus 
of  struggle  and  of  peace  which  is  peculiar  to  all  natures,  although  in 
different  rhythms,  the  latter  comes  to  the  surface  and  assumes  a 
control  which  is  sanctioned  by  its  own  nature  alone.  In  the  case  of 
the  indirect  motive,  however,  we  may  distinguish,  on  the  one  hand, 
the  exhaustion  of  resources  which,  without  removal  of  the  persistent 
contentiousness,  may  instal  the  demand  for  peace;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  withdrawal  of  interest  from  struggle  through  a  higher 
interest  in  some  other  object.  The  l?tter  case  begets  all  sorts  of 
hypocrisies  and  self-deceptions.  It  is  asserted  and  believed  that 
peace  is  desired  from  ideal  interest  in  peace  itself  and  the  suppres- 
sion of  antagonism,  while  in  reality  only  the  object  fought  for  has  lost 
its  interest  and  the  fighters  would  prefer  to  have  their  powers  free 
for  other  kinds  of  activity. 


ACCOMMODATION  705 

The  simplest  and  most  radical  sort  of  passage  from  war  to  peace 
is  victory — a  quite  unique  phenomenon  in  life,  of  which  there  are,  to 
be  sure,  countless  individual  forms  and  measures,  which,  however, 
have  no  resemblance  to  any  of  the  otherwise  mentioned  forms  which 
may  occur  between  persons.  Victory  is  a  mere  watershed  between 
war  and  peace;  when  considered  absolutely,  only  an  ideal  structure 
which  extends  itself  over  no  considerable  time.  For  so  long  as 
struggle  endures  there  is  no  definitive  victor,  and  when  peace  exists 
a  victory  has  been  gained  but  the  act  of  victory  has  ceased  to  exist. 
Of  the  many  shadings  of  victory,  through  which  it  qualifies  the  follow- 
ing peace,  I  mention  here  merely  as  an  illustration  the  one  which  is 
brought  about,  not  exclusively  by  the  preponderance  of  the  one 
party,  but,  at  least  in  part,  through  the  resignation  of  the  other. 
This  confession  of  inferiority,  this  acknowledgment  of  defeat,  or  this 
consent  that  victory  shall  go  to  the  other  party  without  complete 
exhaustion  of  the  resources  and  chances  for  struggle,  is  by  no  means 
always  a  simple  phenomenon.  A  certain  ascetic  tendency  may  also 
enter  in  as  a  purely  individual  factor,  the  tendency  to  self-humiliation 
and  to  self-sacrifice,  not  strong  enough  to  surrender  one's  self  from 
the  start  without  a  struggle,  but  emerging  so  soon  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  vanquished  begins  to  take  possession  of  the  soul;  or 
another  variation  may  be  that  of  finding  its  supreme  charm  in  the 
contrast  to  the  still  vital  and  active  disposition  to  struggle.  Still 
further,  there  is  impulse  to  the  same  conclusion  in  the  feeling  that  it 
is  worthier  to  yield  rather  than  to  trust  to  the  last  moment  hi  the 
improbable  chance  of  a  fortunate  turn  of  affairs.  To  throw  away 
this  chance  and  to  elude  at  this  price  the  final  consequences  that 
would  be  involved  in  utter  defeat — this  has  something  of  the  great 
and  noble  qualities  of  men  who  are  sure,  not  merely  of  their  strengths, 
but  also  of  their  weaknesses,  without  making  it  necessary  for  them  in 
each  case  to  make  these  perceptibly  conscious.  Finally,  in  this 
voluntariness  of  confessed  defeat  there  is  a  last  proof  of  power  on  the 
part  of  the  agent;  the  latter  has  of  himself  been  able  to  act.  He 
has  therewith  virtually  made  a  gift  to  the  conqueror.  Consequently, 
it  is  often  to  be  observed  in  personal  conflicts  that  the  concession  of 
the  one  party,  before  the  other  has  actually  been  able  to  compel  it, 
is  regarded  by  the  latter  as  a  sort  of  insult,  as  though  this  latter  party 
were  really  the  weaker,  to  whomj  however,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
there  is  made  a  concession  without  its  being  really  necessary.  Behind 


706          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  objective  reasons  for  yielding  "for  the  sake  of  sweet  peace"  a 
mixture  of  these  subjective  motives  is  not  seldom  concealed.  The 
latter  may  not  be  entirely  without  visible  consequences,  however,  for 
the  further  sociological  attitude  of  the  parties.  In  complete  anti- 
thesis with  the  end  of  strife  by  victory  is  its  ending  by  compromise. 
One  of  the  most  characteristic  ways  of  subdividing  struggles  is  on 
the  basis  of  whether  they  are  of  a  nature  which  admits  of  compromise 

or  not. 

2.     Compromise  and  Accommodation1 

On  the  whole,  compromise,  especially  of  that  type  which  is 
brought  to  pass  through  negotiation,  however  commonplace  and 
matter  of  fact  it  has  come  to  be  in  the  processes  of  modern  life,  is 
one  of  the  most  important  inventions  for  the  uses  of  civilization. 
The  impulse  of  uncivilized  men,  like  that  of  children,  is  to  seize  upon 
every  desirable  object  without  further  consideration,  even  though  it 
be  already  in  the  possession  of  another.  Robbery  and  gift  are  the 
most  na'ive  forms  of  transfer  of  possession,  and  under  primitive  con- 
ditions change  of  possession  seldom  takes  place  without  a  struggle. 
It  is  the  beginning  of  all  civilized  industry  and  commerce  to  find  a 
way  of  avoiding  this  struggle  through  a  process  in  which  there  is 
offered  to  the  possessor  of  a  desired  object  some  other  object  from 
the  possessions  of  the  person  desiring  the  exchange.  Through  this 
arrangement  a  reduction  is  made  in  the  total  expenditure  of  energy 
as  compared  with  the  process  of  continuing  or  beginning  a  struggle. 
All  exchange  is  a  compromise.  We  are  told  of  certain  social  condi- 
tions in  which  it  is  accounted  as  knightly  to  rob  and  to  fight  for  the 
sake  of  robbery;  while  exchange  and  purchase  are  regarded  in  the 
same  society  as  undignified  and  vulgar.  The  psychological  explana- 
tion of  this  situation  is  to  be  found  partly  hi  the  fact  of  the  element 
of  compromise  in  exchange,  the  factors  of  withdrawal  and  renuncia- 
tion which  make  exchange  the  opposite  pole  to  all  struggle  and  con- 
quest. Every  exchange  presupposes  that  values  and  interest  have 
assumed  an  objective  character.  The  decisive  element  is  accordingly 
no  longer  the  mere  subjective  passion  of  desire,  to  which  struggle  alone 
corresponds,  but  the  value  of  the  object,  which  is  recognized  by  both 
interested  parties  but  which  without  essential  modification  may  be 

'Adapted  from  a  translation  of  Georg  Simmel  by  Albion  W.  Small,  "The 
Sociology  of  Conflict,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  IX  (1903-4),  804-6. 


ACCOMMODATION  707 

represented  by  various  objects.  Renunciation  of  the  valued  object 
in  question,  because  one  receives  in  another  form  the  quantum  of 
value  contained  in  the  same,  is  an  admirable  reason,  wonderful  also 
in  its  simplicity,  whereby  opposed  interests  are  brought  to  accommo- 
dation without  struggle.  It  certainly  required  a  long  historical 
development  to  make  such  means  available,  because  it  presupposes 
a  psychological  generalization  of  the  universal  valuation  of  the 
individual  object,  an  abstraction,  in  other  words,  of  the  value  for 
the  objects  with  which  it  is  at  first  identified;  that  is,  it  presupposes 
ability  to  rise  above  the  prejudices  of  immediate  desire.  Com- 
promise by  representation,  of  which  exchange  is  a  special  case, 
signifies  in  principle,  although  realized  only  in  part,  the  possibility 
of  avoiding  struggle  or  of  setting  a  limit  to  it  before  the  mere  force 
of  the  interested  parties  has  decided  the  issue. 

In  distinction  from  the  objective  character  of  accommodation  of 
struggle  through  compromise,  we  should  notice  that  conciliation  is  a 
purely  subjective  method  of  avoiding  struggle.  I  refer  here  not  to 
that  sort  of  conciliation  which  is  the  consequence  of  a  compromise  or 
of  any  other  adjournment  of  struggle  but  rather  to  the  reasons  for 
this  adjournment.  The  state  of  mind  which  makes  conciliation 
possible  is  an  elementary  attitude  which,  entirely  apart  from  objec- 
tive grounds,  seeks  to  end  struggle,  just  as,  on  the  other  hand,  a  dis- 
position to  quarrel,  even  without  any  real  occasion,  promotes  struggle. 
Probably  both  mental  attitudes  have  been  developed  as  matters  of 
utility  in  connection  with  certain  situations;  at  any  rate,  they  have 
been  developed  psychologically  to  the  extent  of  independent  impulses, 
each  of  which  is  likely  to  make  itself  felt  where  the  other  would  be 
more  practically  useful.  We  may  even  say  that  in  the  countless 
cases  in  which  struggle  is  ended  otherwise  than  in  the  pitiless  con- 
sistency of  the  exercise  of  force,  this  quite  elementary  and  unreasoned 
tendency  to  conciliation  is  a  factor  in  the  result — a  factor  quite  dis- 
tinct from  weakness,  or  good  fellowship;  from  social  morality  or 
fellow-feeling.  This  tendency  to  conciliation  is,  in  fact,  a  quite 
specific  sociological  impulse  which  manifests  itself  exclusively  as  a 
pacificator,  and  is  not  even  identical  with  the  peaceful  disposition  in 
general.  The  latter  avoids  strife  under  all  circumstances,  or  carries 
it  on,  if  it  is  once  undertaken,  without  going  to  extremes,  and 
always  with  the  undercurrents  of  longing  for  peace.  The  spirit  of 


708          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

conciliation,  however,  manifests  itself  frequently  in  its  full  peculiarity 
precisely  after  complete  surrender  to  the  struggle,  after  the  conflicting 
energies  have  exercised  themselves  to  the  full  in  the  conflict. 

Conciliation  depends  very  definitely  upon  the  external  situation. 
It  can  occur  both  after  the  complete  victory  of  the  one  party  and 
after  the  progress  of  indecisive  struggle,  as  well  as  after  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  compromise.  Either  of  these  situations  may  end  the 
struggle  without  the  added  conciliation  of  the  opponents.  To  bring 
about  the  latter  it  is  not  necessary  that  there  shall  be  a  supplemen- 
tary repudiation  or  expression  of  regret  with  reference  to  the  struggle. 
Moreover,  conciliation  is  to  be  distinguished  from  the  situation  which 
may  follow  it.  This  may  be  either  a  relationship  of  attachment  or 
alliance,  and  reciprocal  respect,  or  a  certain  permanent  distance 
which  avoids  all  positive  contacts.  Conciliation  is  thus  a  removal  of 
the  roots  of  conflict,  without  reference  to  the  fruits  which  these 
formerly  bore,  as  well  as  to  that  which  may  later  be  planted  in  their 
place. 

D.      COMPETITION,  STATUS,  AND  SOCIAL  SOLIDARITY 
i.     Personal  Competition,  Social  Selection,  and  Status1 

The  function  of  personal  competition,  considered  as  a  part  of 
the  social  system,  is  to  assign  to  each  individual  his  place  in  that 
system.  If  "all  the  world's  a  stage,"  this  is  a  process  that  distributes 
the  parts  among  the  players.  It  may  do  it  well  or  ill,  but  after  some 
fashion  it  does  it.  Some  may  be  cast  in  parts  unsuited  to  them; 
good  actors  may  be  discharged  altogether  and  worse  ones  retained; 
but  nevertheless  the  thing  is  arranged  in  some  way  and  the  play 
goes  on. 

That  such  a  process  must  exist  can  hardly,  it  seems  to  me,  admit 
of  question;  in  fact,  I  believe  that  those  who  speak  of  doing  away 
with  competition  use  the  word  hi  another  sense  than  is  here  intended. 
Within  the  course  of  the  longest  human  lif e  there  is  necessarily  a 
complete  renewal  of  the  persons  whose  communication  and  co- 
operation make  up  the  life  of  society.  The  new  members  come  into 
the  world  without  any  legible  sign  to  indicate  what  they  are  fit  for, 
a  mystery  to  others  from  the  first  and  to  themselves  as  soon  as  they 

'Adapted  from  Charles  H.  Cooley,  "Personal  Competition,"  in  Economic 
Studies,  IV  (1899),  No.  2,  78-86. 


ACCOMMODATION  709 

are  capable  of  reflection:  the  young  man  does  not  know  for  what  he 
is  adapted,  and  no  one  else  can  tell  him.  The  only  possible  way  to 
get  light  upon  the  matter  is  to  adopt  the  method  of  experiment.  By 
trying  one  thing  and  another  and  by  reflecting  upon  his  experience, 
he  begins  to  find  out  about  himself,  and  the  world  begins  to  find  out 
about  him.  His  field  of  investigation  is  of  course  restricted,  and  his 
own  judgment  and  that  of  others  liable  to  error,  but  the  tendency  of 
it  all  can  hardly  be  other  than  to  guide  his  choice  to  that  one 
of  the  available  careers  in  which  he  is  best  adapted  to  hold  his  own. 
I  may  say  this  much,  perhaps,  without  assuming  anything  regarding 
the  efliciency  or  justice  of  competition  as  a  distributor  of  social 
functions,  a  matter  regarding  which  I  shall  offer  some  suggestions 
later.  All  I  wish  to  say  here  is  that  the  necessity  of  some  selective 
process  is  inherent  in  the  conditions  of  social  life. 

It  will  be  apparent  that,  in  the  sense  in  which  I  use  the  term, 
competition  is  not  necessarily  a  hostile  contention,  nor  even  some- 
thing of  which  the  competing  individual  is  always  conscious.  From 
our  infancy  onward  throughout  life  judgments  are  daily  forming 
regarding  us  of  which  we  are  unaware,  but  which  go  to  determine 
our  careers.  "The  world  is  full  of  judgment  days."  A  and  B,  for 
instance,  are  under  consideration  for  some  appointment;  the  experi- 
ence and  personal  qualifications  of  each  are  duly  weighed  by  those 
having  the  appointment  to  make,  and  A,  we  will  say,  is  chosen. 
Neither  of  the  two  need  know  anything  about  the  matter  until  the 
selection  is  made.  It  is  eligibility  to  perform  some  social  function 
that  makes  a  man  a  competitor,  and  he  may  or  may  not  be  aware 
of  it,  or,  if  aware  of  it,  he  may  or  may  not  be  consciously  opposed  to 
others.  I  trust  that  the  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  I  always  use 
the  word  competition  in  the  sense  here  explained. 

There  is  but  one  alternative  to  competition  as  a  means  of  deter- 
mining the  place  of  the  individual  hi  the  social  system,  and  that  is 
some  form  of  status,  some  fixed,  mechanical  rule,  usually  a  rule  of 
inheritance,  which  decides  the  function  of  the  individual  without 
reference  to  his  personal  traits,  and  thus  dispenses  with  any  process 
of  comparison.  It  is  possible  to  conceive  of  a  society  organized 
entirely  upon  the  basis  of  the  inheritance  of  functions,  and  indeed 
societies  exist  which  may  be  said  to  approach  this  condition.  In 
India,  for  example,  the  prevalent  idea  regarding  the  social  function 


7io         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  the  individual  is  that  it  is  unalterably  determined  by  his  parentage, 
and  the  village  blacksmith,  shoemaker,  accountant,  or  priest  has  his 
place  assigned  to  him  by  a  rule  of  descent  as  rigid  as  that  which 
governs  the  transmission  of  one  of  the  crowns  of  Europe.  If  all 
functions  were  handed  down  in  this  way,  if  there  were  never  any 
deficiency  or  surplus  of  children  to  take  the  place  of  their  parents, 
if  there  were  no  progress  or  decay  in  the  social  system  making  neces- 
sary new  activities  or  dispensing  with  old  ones,  then  there  would  be 
no  use  for  a  selective  process.  But  precisely  in  the  measure  that  a 
society  departs  from  this  condition,  that  individual  traits  are  recog- 
nized and  made  available,  or  social  change  of  any  sort  comes  to  pass, 
in  that  measure  must  there  be  competition. 

Status  is  not  an  active  process,  as  competition  is;  it  is  simply  a 
rule  of  conservation,  a  makeshift  to  avoid  the  inconveniences  of  con- 
tinual readjustment  in  the  social  structure.  Competition  or  selection 
is  the  only  constructive  principle,  and  everything  worthy  the  name  of 
organization  had  at  some  time  or  other  a  competitive  origin.  At  the 
present  day  the  eldest  son  of  a  peer  may  succeed  to  a  seat  hi  the 
House  of  Lords  simply  by  right  of  birth;  but  his  ancestor  got  the  seat 
by  competition,  by  some  exercise  of  personal  qualities  that  made 
him  valued  or  loved  or  feared  by  a  king  or  a  minister. 

Sir  Henry  Maine  has  pointed  out  that  the  increase  of  competition 
is  a  characteristic  trait  of  modern  life,  and  that  the  powerful  ancient 
societies  of  the  old  world  were  for  the  most  part  non-competitive  in 
their  structure.  While  this  is  true,  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  draw 
the  inference  that  status  is  a  peculiarly  natural  or  primitive  principle 
of  organization  and  competition  a  comparatively  recent  discovery. 
On  the  contrary  the  spontaneous  relations  among  men,  as  we  see  in 
the  case  of  children,  and  as  we  may  infer  from  the  life  of  the  lower 
animals,  are  highly  competitive,  personal  prowess  and  ascendency 
being  everything  and  little  regard  being  paid  to  descent  simply  as 
such.  The  regime  of  inherited  status,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  com- 
paratively complex  and  artificial  product,  necessarily  of  later  growth, 
whose  very  general  prevalence  among  the  successful  societies  of  the 
old  world  is  doubtless  to  be  explained  by  the  stability  and  conse- 
quently the  power  which  it  was  calculated  to  give  to  the  social  system. 
It  survived  because  under  certain  conditions  it  was  the  fittest.  It 


ACCOMMODATION  7 1 1 

was  not  and  is  not  universally  predominant  among  savages  or  bar- 
barous peoples.  With  the  American  Indians,  for  example,  the 
defmiteness  and  authority  of  status  were  comparatively  small,  per- 
sonal prowess  and  initiative  being  correspondingly  important.  The 
interesting  monograph  on  Omaha  sociology,  by  Dorsey,  published  by 
the  United  States  Bureau  of  Ethnology,  contains  many  facts  showing 
that  the  life  of  this  people  was  highly  competitive.  When  the  tribe 
was  at  war  any  brave  could  organize  an  expedition  against  the  enemy, 
if  he  could  induce  enough  others  to  join  him,  and  this  organizer 
usually  assumed  the  command.  In  a  similar  way  the  managers  of 
the  hunt  were  chosen  because  of  personal  skill;  and,  in  general, 
"any  man  can  win  a  name  and  rank  in  the  state  by  becoming  '  wacuce' 
or  brave,  either  in  war  or  by  the  bestowal  of  gifts  and  the  frequent 
giving  of  feasts." 

Throughout  history  there  has  been  a  struggle  between  the  prin- 
ciples of  status  and  competition  regarding  the  part  that  each  should 
play  in  the  social  system.  Generally  speaking  the  advantage  of 
status  is  in  its  power  to  give  order  and  continuity.  As  Gibbon 
informs  us,  "The  superior  prerogative  of  birth,  when  it  has  obtained 
the  sanction  of  time  and  popular  opinion,  is  the  plainest  and  least 
invidious  of  all  distinctions  among  mankind,"  and  he  is  doubtless 
right  in  ascribing  the  confusion  of  the  later  Roman  Empire  largely 
to  the  lack  of  an  established  rule  for  the  transmission  of  imperial 
authority.  The  chief  danger  of  status  is  that  of  suppressing  personal 
development,  and  so  of  causing  social  enfeeblement,  rigidity,  and 
ultimate  decay.  On  the  other  hand,  competition  develops  the 
individual  and  gives  flexibility  and  animation  to  the  social  order, 
its  danger  being  chiefly  that  of  disintegration  in  some  form  or  other. 
The  general  tendency  in  modern  times  has  been  toward  the  relative 
increase  of  the  free  or  competitive  principle,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
the  rise  of  other  means  of  securing  stability  has  diminished  the  need 
for  status.  The  latter  persists,  however,  even  in  the  freest  countries, 
as  the  method  by  which  wealth  is  transmitted,  and  also  in  social 
classes,  which,  so  far  as  they  exist  at  all,  are  based  chiefly  upon 
inherited  wealth  and  the  culture  and  opportunities  that  go  with  it. 
The  ultimate  reason  for  this  persistence — without  very  serious  oppo- 
sition— in  the  face  of  the  obvious  inequalities  and  limitations  upon 


712          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

liberty  that  it  perpetuates  is  perhaps  the  fact  that  no  other  method 
of  transmission  has  arisen  that  has  shown  itself  capable  of  giving 
continuity  and  order  to  the  control  of  wealth. 

2.    Personal  Competition  and  the  Evolution  of  Individual  Types1 

The  ancient  city  was  primarily  a  fortress,  a  place  of  refuge  in 
time  of  war.  The  modern  city,  on  the  contrary,  is  primarily  a  con- 
venience of  commerce  and  owes  its  existence  to  the  market  place 
around  which  it  sprang  up.  Industrial  competition  and  the  division 
of  labor,  which  have  probably  done  most  to  develop  the  latent 
powers  of  mankind,  are  possible  only  upon  condition  of  the  existence 
of  markets,  of  money  and  other  devices  for  the  facilitation  of  trade 
and  commerce. 

The  old  adage  which  describes  the  city  as  the  natural  environ- 
ment of  the  free  man  still  holds  so  far  as  the  individual  man  finds  in 
the  chances,  the  diversity  of  interests  and  tasks,  and  hi  the  vast 
unconscious  co-operation  of  city  life,  the  opportunity  to  choose  his 
own  vocation  and  develop  his  peculiar  individual  talents.  The  city 
offers  a  market  for  the  special  talents  of  individual  men.  Personal 
competition  tends  to  select  for  each  special  task  the  individual  who 
is  best  suited  to  perform  it. 

The  difference  of  natural  talents  in  different  men  is,  in  reality,  much 
less  than  we  are  aware  of;  and  the  very  different  genius  which  appears  to 
distinguish  men  of  different  professions,  when  grown  up  to  maturity,  is  not 
upon  many  occasions  so  much  the  cause,  as  the  effect  of  the  division  of 
labour.  The  difference  between  the  most  dissimilar  characters,  between  a 
philosopher  and  a  common  street  porter,  for  example,  seems  to  arise  not  so 
much  from  nature,  as  from  habit,  custom  and  education.  When  they  came 
into  the  world,  and  for  the  first  six  or  eight  years  of  their  existence,  they 
were  perhaps  very  much  alike,  and  neither  their  parents  nor  playfellows 
could  perceive  any  remarkable  difference.  About  that  age,  or  soon  after, 
they  come  to  be  employed  in  different  occupations.  The  difference  of 
talents  comes  then  to  be  taken  notice  of,  and  widens  by  degrees,  till  at 
last  the  vanity  of  the  philosopher  is  willing  to  acknowledge  scarce  any 
resemblance.  But  without  the  disposition  to  truck,  barter,  and  exchange, 
every  man  must  have  procured  to  himself  every  necessary  and  conveniency 
of  life  which  he  wanted.  All  must  have  had  the  same  duties  to  perform, 
and  the  same  work  to  do,  and  there  could  have  been  no  such  difference  of 

'From  Robert  E.  Park,  "The  City,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
XX  (1915),  584-86. 


ACCOMMODATION  713 

employment  as  could  alone  give  occasion  to  any  great  difference  of 
talent. 

As  it  is  the  power  of  exchanging  that  gives  occasion  to  the  division  of 
labour,  so  the  extent  of  this  division  must  always  be  limited  by  the  extent 

of  that  power,  or,  in  other  words,  by  the  extent  of  the  market There 

are  some  sorts  of  industry,  even  of  the  lowest  kind,  which  can  be  carried 
on  nowhere  but  in  a  great  town. 

Success,  under  conditions  of  personal  competition,  depends  upon 
concentration  upon  some  single  task,  and  this  concentration  stimu- 
lates the  demand  for  rational  methods,  technical  devices,  and  excep- 
tional skill.  Exceptional  skill,  while  based  on  natural  talent,  requires 
special  preparation,  and  it  has  called  into  existence  the  trade  and 
professional  schools,  and  finally  bureaus  for  vocational  guidance. 
All  of  these,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  serve  at  once  to  select  and 
emphasize  individual  differences. 

Every  device  which  facilitates  trade  and  industry  prepares  the 
way  for  a  further  division  of  labor  and  so  tends  further  to  specialize 
the  tasks  in  which  men  find  their  vocations. 

The  outcome  of  this  process  is  to  break  down  or  modify  the  older 
organization  of  society,  which  was  based  on  family  ties,  on  local 
associations,  on  culture,  caste,  and  status,  and  to  substitute  for  it 
an  organization  based  on  vocational  interests. 

In  the  city  every  vocation,  even  that  of  a  beggar,  tends  to  assume 
the  character  of  a  profession,  and  the  discipline  which  success  in  any 
vocation  imposes,  together  with  the  associations  that  it  enforces, 
emphasizes  this  tendency. 

The  effect  of  the  vocations  and  the  division  of  labor  is  to  produce, 
in  the  first  instance,  not  social  groups  but  vocational  types — the  actor, 
the  plumber,  and  the  lumber-jack.  The  organizations,  like  the 
trade  and  labor  unions,  which  men  of  the  same  trade  or  profession 
form  are  based  on  common  interests.  In  this  respect  they  differ 
from  forms  of  association  like  the  neighborhood,  which  are  based  on 
contiguity,  personal  association,  and  the  common  ties  of  humanity. 
The  different  trades  and  professions  seem  disposed  to  group  them- 
selves in  classes,  that  is  to  say,  the  artisan,  business,  and  professional 
classes.  But  in  the  modern  democratic  state  the  classes  have  as 
yet  attained  no  effective  organization.  Socialism,  founded  on  an 
effort  to  create  an  organization  based  on  "class  consciousness,"  has 
never  succeeded  in  creating  more  than  a  political  party. 


714          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  effects  of  the  division  of  labor  as  a  discipline  may  therefore 
be  best  studied  in  the  vocational  types  it  has  produced.  Among  the 
types  which  it  would  be  interesting  to  study  are:  the  shopgirl,  the 
policeman,  the  peddler,  the  cabman,  the  night  watchman,  the  clair- 
voyant, the  vaudeville  performer,  the  quack  doctor,  the  bartender, 
the  ward  boss,  the  strike-breaker,  the  labor  agitator,  the  school 
teacher,  the  reporter,  the  stockbroker,  the  pawnbroker;  all  of  these 
are  characteristic  products  of  the  conditions  of  city  life;  each  with 
its  special  experience,  insight,  and  point  of  view  determines  for  each 
vocation; -1  group  and  for  the  city  as  a  whole  its  individuality. 

~.    Division  of  Labor  and  Social  Solidarity1 

The  most  remarkable  effect  of  the  division  of  labor  is  not  that  it 
accentuates  the  distinction  of  functions  already  divided  but  that  it 
makes  them  interdependent.  Its  r61e  in  every  case  is  not  simply  to 
embellish  or  perfect  existing  societies  but  to  make  possible  societies 
which,  without  it,  would  not  exist.  Should  the  division  of  labor 
between  the  sexes  be  diminished  beyond  a  certain  point,  the  family 
would  cease  to  exist  and  only  ephemeral  sexual  relations  would 
remain.  If  the  sexes  had  never  been  separated  at  all,  no  form  of 
social  life  would  ever  have  arisen.  It  is  possible  that  the  economic 
utility  of  the  division  of  labor  has  been  a  factor  in  producing  the 
existing  form  of  conjugal  society.  Nevertheless,  the  society  thus 
created  is  not  limited  to  merely  economic  interests;  it  represents  a 
unique  social  and  moral  order.  Individuals  are  mutually  bound 
together  who  otherwise  would  be  independent.  Instead  of  develop- 
ing separately,  they  concert  their  efforts;  they  are  interdependent 
parts  of  a  unity  which  is  effective  not  only  in  the  brief  moments 
during  which  there  is  an  interchange  of  services  but  afterward  indefi- 
nitely. For  example,  does  not  conjugal  solidarity  of  the  type  which 
exists  today  among  the  most  cultivated  people  exert  its  influence 
constantly  and  hi  all  the  details  of  life  ?  On  the  other  hand,  societies 
which  are  created  by  the  division  of  labor  inevitably  bear  the  mark 
of  their  origin.  Having  this  special  origin,  it  is  not  possible  that  they 
should  resemble  those  societies  which  have  their  origin  hi  the  attrac- 
tion of  like  for  like;  the  latter  are  inevitably  constituted  hi  another 

1  Translated  and  adapted  from  Emile  Durkheim,  La  division  du  travail  social, 
pp.  24-209.  (Felix  Alcan,  1902.) 


ACCOMMODATION  715 

manner,  repose  on  other  foundations,  and  appeal  to  other  senti- 
ments. 

The  assumption  that  the  social  relations  resulting  from  the 
division  of  labor  consist  in  an  exchange  of  services  merely  is  a  mis- 
conception of  what  this  exchange  implies  and  of  the  effects  it  produces. 
It  assumes  that  two  beings  are  mutually  dependent  the  one  on  the 
Dther,  because  they  are  both  incomplete  without  the  other.  It 
interprets  this  mutual  dependence  as  a  purely  external  relation. 
Actually  this  is  merely  the.  superficial  expression  of  an  internal  and 
more  profound  state.  Precisely  because  this  state  is  constant,  it 
provokes  a  complex  of  mental  images  which  function  with  a  con- 
tinuity independent  of  the  series  of  external  relations.  The  image 
of  that  which  completes  us  is  inseparable  from  the  image  of  ourselves, 
not  only  because  it  is  associated  with  us,  but  especially  because  it  is 
our  natural  complement.  It  becomes  then  a  permanent  and  integral 
part  of  self-consciousness  to  such  an  extent  that  we  cannot  do  with- 
out it  and  seek  by  every  possible  means  to  emphasize  and  intensify 
it.  We  like  the  society  of  the  one  whose  image  haunts  us,  because 
the  presence  of  the  object  reinforces  the  actual  perception  and  gives 
us  comfort.  We  suffer,  on  the  contrary,  from  every  circumstance 
which,  like  separation  and  death,  is  likely  to  prevent  the  return  or 
diminish  the  vivacity  of  the  idea  which  has  become  identified  with 
our  idea  of  ourselves. 

Short  as  "this  analysis  is,  it  suffices  to  show  that  this  complex  is 
not  identical  with  that  which  rests  on  sentiments  of  sympathy  which 
have  their  source  hi  mere  likeness.  Unquestionably  there  can  be 
the  sense  of  solidarity  between  others  and  ourselves  only  so  far  as 
we  conceive  others  united  with  ourselves.  When  the  union  results 
from  a  perception  of  likeness,  it  is  a  cohesion.  The  two  representa- 
tions become  consolidated  because,  being  undistinguished  totally  or 
in  part,  they  are  mingled  and  are  no  more  than  one,  and  are  con- 
solidated only  hi  the  measure  in  which  they  are  mingled.  On  the 
contrary,  in  the  case  of  the  division  of  labor,  each  is  outside  the  other, 
and  they  are  united  only  because  they  are  distinct.  It  is  not  possible 
that  sentiments  should  be  the  same  in  the  two  cases,  nor  the  social 
relations  which  are  derived  from  them  the  same. 

We  are  then  led  to  ask  ourselves  if  the  division  of  labor  does  not  play 
the  same  role  hi  more  extended  groups;  if,  in  the  contemporaneous 


716          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

societies  where  it  has  had  a  development  with  which  we  are 
familiar,  it  does  not  function  in  such  a  way  as  to  integrate  the  social 
body  and  to  assure  its  unity.  It  is  quite  legitimate  to  assume  that 
the  facts  which  we  have  observed  reproduce  themselves  there,  but 
on  a  larger  scale.  The  great  political  societies,  like  smaller  ones,  we 
may  assume  maintain  themselves  in  equilibrium,  thanks  to  the 
speciali/ation  of  their  tasks.  The  division  of  labor  is  here,  again,  if 
not  the  only,  at  least  the  principal,  source  of  the  social  solidarity. 
Comte  had  already  reached  this  point  of  view.  Of  all  the  sociolo- 
gists, so  far  as  we  know,  he  is  the  first  who  has  pointed  out  in  the 
division  of  labor  anything  other  than  a  purely  economic  phenomenon. 
He  has  seen  there  "the  most  essential  condition  of  the  social  life," 
provided  that  one  conceives  it  "in  all  its  rational  extent,  that  is  to 
say,  that  one  applies  the  conception  to  the  ensemble  of  all  our 
diverse  operations  whatsoever,  instead  of  limiting  it,  as  we  so  often 
do,  to  the  simple  material  usages."  Considered  under  this  aspect, 
he  says: 

It  immediately  leads  us  to  regard  not  only  individuals  and  classes  but 
also,  in  many  respects,  the  different  peoples  as  constantly  participating,  in 
their  own  characteristic  ways  and  in  their  own  proper  degree,  in  an  immense 
and  common  work  whose  inevitable  development  gradually  unites  the  actual 
co-operators  in  a  series  with  their  predecessors  and  at  the  same  time  in  a 
series  with  their  successors.  It  is,  then,  the  continuous  redivison  of  our 
diverse  human  labors  which  mainly  constitutes  social  solidarity  and  which 
becomes  the  elementary  cause  of  the  extension  and  increasing  complexity 
of  the  social  organism. 

If  this  hypothesis  is  demonstrated,  division  of  labor  plays  a  role 
much  more  important  than  that  which  has  ordinarily  been  attributed 
to  it.  It  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  luxury,  desirable  perhaps, 
but  not  indispensable  to  society;  it  is  rather  a  condition  of  its  very 
existence.  It  is  this,  or  at  least  it  is  mainly  this,  that  assures  the 
solidarity  of  social  groups;  it  determines  the  essential  traits  of  their 
constitution.  It  follows — even  though  we  are  not  yet  prepared  to 
give  a  final  solution  to  the  problem,  we  can  nevertheless  foresee 
from  this  point — that,  if  such  is  really  the  function  of  the  division 
of  labor,  it  may  be  expected  to  have  a  moral  character,  because  the 
needs  of  order,  of  harmony,  of  social  solidarity  generally,  are  what 
we  understand  by  moral  needs. 


ACCOMMODATION  717 

Social  life  is  derived  from  a  double  source:  (a)  from  a  similarity 
of  minds,  and  (6)  from  the  division  of  labor.  The  individual  is 
socialized  in  the  first  case,  because,  not  having  his  own  individuality, 
he  is  confused,  along  with  his  fellows,  in  the  bosom  of  the  same  collec- 
tive type;  in  the  second  case,  because,  even  though  he  possesses  a 
physiognomy  and  a  temperament  which  distinguish  him  from  others, 
he  is  dependent  upon  these  in  the  same  measure  in  which  he  is  dis- 
tinguished from  them.  Society  results  from  this  union. 

Like-mindedness  gives  birth  to  judicial  regulations  which,  under 
the  menace  of  measures  of  repression,  impose  upon  everybody  uniform 
beliefs  and  practices.  The  more  pronounced  this  like-mindedness, 
the  more  completely  the  social  is  confused  with  the  religious  life,  the 
more  nearly  economic  institutions  approach  communism. 

The  division  of  labor,  on  the  other  hand,  gives  birth  to  regulations 
and  laws  which  determine  the  nature  and  the  relations  of  the  divided 
functions,  but  the  violation  of  which  entails  only  punitive  measures 
not  of  an  expiatory  character. 

Every  code  of  laws  is  accompanied  by  a  body  of  regulations 
purely  moral.  Where  the  penal  law  is  voluminous,  moral  consensus 
is  very  extended;  that  is  to  say,  a  multitude  of  collective  activities 
is  under  the  guardianship  of  public  opinion.  Where  the  right  of 
reparation  is  well  developed,  there  each  profession  maintains  a  code 
of  professional  ethics.  In  a  group  of  workers  there  invariably  exists 
a  body  of  opinion,  diffused  throughout  the  limits  of  the  group,  which, 
although  not  fortified  with  legal  sanctions,  still  enforces  its  decrees. 
There  are  manners  and  customs,  recognized  by  all  the  members  of 
a  profession,  which  no  one  of  them  could  infringe  without  incurring 
the  blame  of  society.  Certainly  this  code  of  morals  is  distinguished 
from  the  preceding  by  differences  analogous  to  those  which  separate 
the  two  corresponding  kinds  of  laws.  It  is,  hi  fact,  a  code  localized 
in  a  limited  region  of  society.  Furthermore,  the  repressive  character 
of  the  sanctions  which  are  attached  to  it  is  sensibly  less  accentuated. 
Professional  faults  arouse  a  much  feebler  response  than  offenses 
against  the  mores  of  the  larger  society. 

Nevertheless,  the  customs  and  code  of  a  profession  are  imperative. 
They  oblige  the  individual  to  act  hi  accordance  with  ends  which  to 
him  are  not  his  own,  to  make  concessions,  to  consent  to  compromises, 
to  take  account  of  interests  superior  to  his  own.  The  consequence 


7i8          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

is  that,  even  where  the  society  rests  most  completely  upon  the  divi- 
sion of  labor,  it  does  not  disintegrate  into  a  dust  of  atoms,  between 
which  there  can  exist  only  external  and  temporary  contacts.  Every 
function  which  one  individual  exercises  is  invariably  dependent  upon 
functions  exercised  by  others  and  forms  with  them  a  system  of 
interdependent  parts.  It  follows  that,  from  the  nature  of  the  task 
one  chooses,  corresponding  duties  follow.  Because  we  nil  this  or 
that  domestic  or  social  function,  we  are  imprisoned  in  a  net  of  obliga- 
tions from  which  we  do  not  have  the  right  to  free  ourselves.  There  is 
especially  one  organ  toward  which  our  state  of  dependencies  is  ever 
increasing — the  state.  The  points  at  which  we  are  in  contact  with 
it  are  multiplying.  So  are  the  occasions  in  which  it  takes  upon 
itself  to  recall  us  to  a  sense  of  the  common  solidarity. 

There  are  then  two  great  currents  in  the  social  life,  collectivism 
and  individualism,  corresponding  to  which  we  discover  two  types  of 
structure  not  less  different.  Of  these  currents,  that  which  has  its 
origin  in  like-mindedness  is  at  first  alone  and  without  rival.  At 
this  moment  it  is  identified  with  the  very  life  of  the  society;  little 
by  little  it  finds  its  separate  channels  and  diminishes,  whilst  the  second 
becomes  ever  larger.  In  the  same  way,  the  segmentary  structure  of 
society  is  more  and  more  overlaid  by  the  other,  but  without  ever 
disappearing  completely. 

in.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    Forms  of  Accommodation 

The  literature  upon  accommodation  will  be  surveyed  under  four 
heads;  (a)  forms  of  accommodation;  (6)  subordination  and  super- 
ordination;  (c)  accommodation  groups;  and  (d)  social  organization. 

The  term  accommodation,  as  has  been  noted,  developed  as  a 
differentiation  within  the  field  of  the  biological  concept  of  adapta- 
tion. Ward's  dictum  that  "the  environment  transforms  the  animal, 
while  man  transforms  the  environment"1  contained  the  distinction. 
Thomas  similarly  distinguished  between  the  animal  with  its  method 
of  adaptation  and  man  with  his  method  of  control.  Bristol  in  his 
work  on  Social  Adaptation  is  concerned,  as  the  subtitle  of  the  volume 
indicates,  "with  the  development  of  the  doctrine  of  adaptation  as  a 

*  Pure  Sociology,  p.  16. 


ACCOMMODATION  719 

theory  of  social  progress."  Of  the  several  types  of  adaptation  that 
he  proposes,  however,  all  but  the  first  represent  accommodations. 
Baldwin,  though  not  the  first  to  make  the  distinction,  was  the  first 
student  to  use  the  separate  term  accommodation.  "By  accommoda- 
tion old  habits  are  broken  up,  and  new  co-ordinations  are  made  which 
are  more  complex."1 

Baldwin  suggested  a  division  of  accommodation  into  the  three 
fields:  acclimatization,  naturalization,  and  equilibrium.  The  term 
equilibrium  accurately  describes  the  type  of  organization  established 
by  competition  between  the  different  biological  species  and  the 
environment,  but  not  the  more  permanent  organizations  of  individuals 
and  groups  which  we  find  in  human  society.  In  human  society 
equilibrium  means  organization.  The  research  upon  acclimatization 
is  considerable,  although  there  is  far  from  unanimity  of  opinion  in 
regard  to  its  findings. 

Closely  related  to  acclimatization  but  in  the  field  of  social  naturali- 
zation are  the  accommodations  that  take  place  in  colonization  and 
immigration.  In  colonization  the  adjustment  is  not  only  to  climatic 
conditions  but  to  the  means  of  livelihood  and  habits  of  life  required 
by  the  new  situation.  Historic  colonial  settlements  have  not  infre- 
quently been  made  in  inhospitable  areas,  and  that  involved  accommo- 
dations to  primitive  peoples  of  different  and  generally  lower  cultural 
level  than  the  settlers.  Professor  Keller's  work  on  Colonization 
surveys  the  differences  in  types  of  colonial  ventures  and  describes 
the  adjustments  involved.  It  includes  also  a  valuable  bibliography 
of  the  literature  of  the  subject. 

In  immigration  the  accommodation  to  the  economic  situation 
and  to  the  folkways  and  mores  of  the  native  society  are  more  impor- 
tant than  in  colonization.  The  voluminous  literature  upon  immigra- 
tion deals  but  slightly  with  the  interesting  accommodations  of  the 
newcomer  to  his  new  environment.  One  of  the  important  factors  in 
the  process,  as  emphasized  in  the  recent  "Americanization  Study"  of 
the  Carnegie  Corporation,  is  the  immigrant  community  which  serves 
as  a  mediating  agency  between  the  familiar  and  the  strange.  The 
greater  readiness  of  accommodation  of  recent  immigrants  as  compared 
with  that  of  an  earlier  period  has  been  explained  in  terms  of  facilities 

1  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race,  p.  23. 


720           INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  transportation,  communication,  and  even  more  in  the  mobility 
of  employment  in  large-scale  modern  industry  with  its  minute  sub- 
division of  labor  and  its  slight  demand  for  skill  and  training  on  the 
part  of  the  employees. 

The  more  subtle  forms  of  accommodation  to  new  social  situations 
have  not  been  subjected  to  analysis,  although  there  is  a  small  but 
important  number  of  studies  upon  homesickness.  In  fiction,  to 
be  sure,  the  difficulties  of  the  tenderfoot  in  the  frontier  community,  or 
the  awkward  rural  lad  in  an  urban  environment  and  the  nouveaux 
riches  in  their  successful  entree  among  the  social  elite  are  often  accu- 
rately and  sympathetically  described.  The  recent  immigrant  auto- 
biographies contain  materials  which  throw  much  new  light  on  the 
situation  of  the  immigrant  in  process  of  accommodation  to  the 
American  environment. 

The  whole  process  of  social  organization  is  involved  in  the  processes 
by  which  persons  find  their  places  in  groups  and  groups  are  articulated 
into  the  life  of  the  larger  and  more  inclusive  societies.  The  literature 
on  the  taming  of  animals,  the  education  of  juveniles  and  adults,  and 
on  social  control  belongs  in  this  field.  The  writings  on  diplomacy,  on 
statescraft,  and  upon  adjudication  of  disputes  are  also  to  be  con- 
sidered here.  The  problem  of  the  person  whether  in  the  narrow 
field  of  social  work  or  the  broader  fields  of  human  relations  is  funda- 
mentally a  problem  of  the  adjustment  of  the  person  to  his  social 
milieu,  to  his  family,  to  his  primary  social  groups,  to  industry,  and  to 
cultural,  civic,  and  religious  institutions.  The  problems  of  com- 
munity organization  are  for  the  most  part  problems  of  accommodation, 
of  articulation  of  groups  within  the  community  and  of  the  adjustment 
of  the  local  community  to  the  life  of  the  wider  community  of  which  it 
is  a  part. 

Adjustments  of  personal  and  social  relations  in  the  past  have  been 
made  unreflectively  and  with  a  minimum  of  personal  and  social  con- 
sciousness. The  extant  literature  reveals  rather  an  insistent  demand 
for  these  accommodations  than  any  systematic  study  of  the  processes 
by  which  the  accommodations  take  place.  Simmers  observation 
upon  subordination  and  superordination  is  almost  the  only  attempt 
that  has  been  made  to  deal  with  the  subject  from  the  point  of  view 
of  sociology. 


ACCOMMODATION  721 

2.     Subordination  and  Superordination 

Materials  upon  subordination  and  superordination  may  be  found 
in  the  literature  under  widely  different  names.  Thorndike,  Mc- 
Dougall,  and  others  have  reported  upon  the  original  tendencies  in 
the  individual  to  domination  and  submission  or  to  self-assertion 
and  self-abasement.  Veblen  approaches  nearer  to  a  sociological 
explanation  in  his  analysis  of  the  self-conscious  attitudes  of  invidious 
comparison  and  conspicuous  waste  in  the  leisure  class. 

The  application  of  our  knowledge  of  rapport,  esprit  de  corps,  and 
morale  to  an  explanation  of  personal  conduct  and  group  behavior 
is  one  of  the  most  promising  fields  for  future  research.  In  the  family, 
rapport  and  consensus  represent  the  most  complete  co-ordination  of 
its  members.  The  life  of  the  family  should  be  studied  intensively 
in  order  to  define  more  exactly  the  nature  of  the  family  consensus, 
the  mechanism  of  family  rapport,  and  minor  accommodations  made 
to  minimize  conflict  and  to  avert  tendencies  to  disintegration  in  the 
interest  of  this  real  unity. 

Strachey's  Life  of  Queen  Victoria  sketches  an  interesting  case  of 
subordination  and  superordination  in  which  the  queen  is  the  sub- 
ordinate, and  her  adroit  but  cynical  minister,  Disraeli,  is  the  master. 

Future  research  will  provide  a  more  adequate  sociology  of  sub- 
ordination and  superordination.  A  survey  of  the  present  output  of 
material  upon  the  nature  and  the  effects  of  personal  contacts  rein- 
forces the  need  for  such  a  fundamental  study.  The  obsolete  writ- 
ings upon  personal  magnetism  have  been  replaced  by  the  so-called 
"psychology  of  salesmanship,"  "scientific  methods  of  character 
reading,"  and  "the  psychology  of  leadership."  The  wide  sale  of 
these  books  indicates  the  popular  interest,  quite  as  much  as  the  lack  of 
any  fundamental  understanding  of  the  technique  of  human  relations. 

3.    Accommodation  Groups 

The  field  of  investigation  available  for  the  study  of  accommodation 
groups  and  their  relation  to  conflict  groups  may  perhaps  be  best  illus- 
trated by  the  table  on  page  722. 

The  existence  of  conflict  groups  like  parties,  sects,  nationalities, 
represents  the  area  in  any  society  of  unstable  equilibrium.  Accommo- 
dation groups,  classes,  castes,  and  denominations  on  the  other  hand, 


722  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

represent  in  this  saroe  society  the  areas  of  stable  equilibrium.  A 
boys'  club  carries  on  contests,  under  recognized  rules,  with  similar 
organizations.  A  denomination  engager  in  fraternal  rivalry  with 
other  denominations  for  the  advancement  of  common  interests  of  the 
church  universal.  A  nation  possesses  status,  rights,  and  responsi- 
bilities only  in  a  commonwealth  of  nations  of  which  it  is  a  member. 
The  works  upon  accommodation  groups  are  concerned  almost 
exclusively  with  the  principles,  methods,  and  technique  of  organiza- 
tion. There  are,  indeed,  one  or  two  important  descriptive  works 

Conflict  Groups  Accommodation  Group 

1.  Gangs  i.  Clubs 

2.  Labor  organizations,  employers'  2.  Social  classes,  vocational 
associations,  middle-class  unions,  groups 

tenant  protective  unions  3.  Castes 

3.  Races  4.  Denominations 

4.  Sects  5.  Nations 

5.  Nationalities 

upon  secret  organizations  in  primitive  and  modern  times.  The 
books  and  articles,  however,  on  organized  boys'  groups  deal  with 
the  plan  of  organization  of  Boy  Scouts,  Boys'  Brotherhood  Republic, 
George  Junior  Republics,  Knights  of  King  Arthur,  and  many  other 
clubs  of  these  types.  They  are  not  studies  of  natural  groups. 

The  comparative  study  of  social  classes  and  vocational  groups 
is  an  un worked  field.  The  differentiation  of  social  types,  especially 
in  urban  life,  and  the  complexity  and  subtlety  of  the  social  distinctions 
separating  social  and  vocational  classes,  opens  a  fruitful  prospect 
for  investigation.  Scattered  through  a  wide  literature,  ranging 
from  official  inquuies  to  works  of  fiction,  there  are,  in  occasional 
paragraphs,  pages,  and  chapters,  observations  of  value. 

In  the  field  of  castes  the  work  of  research  is  well  under  way.  The 
caste  system  of  India  has  been  the  subject  of  careful  examination  and 
analysis.  Sighele  points  out  that  the  prohibition  of  intermarriage 
observed  in  its  most  rigid  and  absolute  form  is  a  fundamental  dis- 
tinction of  the  caste.  If  this  be  regarded  as  the  fundamental  criterion, 
the  Negro  race  in  the  United  States  occupies  the  position  of  a  caste. 
The  prostitute,  in  America,  until  recently  constituted  a  separate 
caste.  With  the  systematic  breaking  up  of  the  segregated  vice 
districts  in  our  great  cities  prostitution,  as  a  caste,  seems  to  have 


ACCOMMODATION  723 

disappeared.  The  place  of  the  prostitute  seems  to  have  been  occupied 
by  the  demimondaine  who  lives  on  the  outskirts  of  society  but  who 
is  not  by  any  means  an  outcast. 

It  is  difficult  to  dissociate  the  materials  upon  nationalities  from 
those  upon  nations.  The  studies,  however,  of  the  internal  organiza- 
tion of  the  state,  made  to  promote  law  and  order,  would  come  under 
the  latter  head.  Here,  also,  would  be  included  studies  of  the  extension 
of  the  police  power  to  promote  the  national  welfare.  In  international 
relations  studies  of  international  law,  of  international  courts  of  arbi- 
tration, of  leagues  or  associations  of  nations  manifest  the  increasing 
interest  in  the  accommodations  that  would  avert  or  postpone  conflicts 
of  militant  nationalities. 

In  the  United  States  there  is  a  considerable  literature  upon  church 
federation  and  the  community  church.  This  literature  is  one  expres- 
sion of  the  transition  of  the  Protestant  churches  from  sectarian 
bodies,  engaged  in  warfare  for  the  support  of  distinctive  doctrines  and 
dogmas,  to  co-operating  denominations  organized  into  the  Federal 
Council  of  the  Churches  of  Christ  in  America. 

4.     Social  Organization 

Until  recently  there  has  been  more  interest  manifested  in  elaborat- 
ing theories  of  the  stages  in  the  evolution  of  society  than  in  analyzing 
the  structure  of  different  types  of  societies.  Durkheim,  however,  in 
De  la  division  du  travail  social,  indicated  how  the  division  of  labor  and 
the  social  attitudes,  or  the  mental  accommodations  to  the  life-situation, 
shape  social  organization.  Cooley,  on  the  other  hand,  in  his  work 
Social  Organization  conceived  the  structure  of  society  to  be  "the 
larger  mind,"  or  an  outgrowth  of  human  nature  and  human  ideals. 

The  increasing  number  of  studies  of  individual  primitive  commu- 
nities has  furnished  data  for  the  comparative  study  of  different  kinds 
of  social  organization.  Schurtz,  Vieikandt,  Rivers,  Lowie,  and  others 
in  the  last  twenty  years  have  made  important  comparative  studies  in 
this  field.  The  work  of  these  scholars  has  led  to  the  abandonment  of 
the  earlier  notions  of  uniform  evolutionary  stages  of  culture  in  which 
all  peoples,  primitive,  ancient,  and  modern  alike,  might  be  classified. 
New  light  has  been  thrown  upon  the  actual  accommodations  in  the 
small  family,  in  the  larger  family  group,  the  clan,  gens  or  sib,  in  the 
secret  society,  and  in  the  tribe  which  determined  the  patterns  of  life  of 
primitive  peoples  under  different  geographical  and  historical  conditions. 


724  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

At  the  present  time,  the  investigations  of  social  organization  of 
current  and  popular  interest  have  to  do  with  the  problems  of  social 
work  and  of  community  life.  "  Community  organization, "  "commu- 
nity action, "  "  know  your  own  community  "  are  phrases  which  express 
the  practical  motives  behind  the  attempts  at  community  study. 
Such  investigations  as  have  been  made,  with  a  few  shining  exceptions, 
the  Pittsburgh  Survey  and  the  community  studies  of  the  Russell  Sage 
Foundation,  have  been  superficial.  All,  perhaps,  have  been  tentative 
and  experimental.  The  community  has  not  been  studied  from  a 
fundamental  standpoint.  Indeed,  there  was  not  available,  as  a 
background  of  method  and  of  orientation,  any  adequate  analysis  of 
social  organization. 

A  penetrating  analysis  of  the  social  structure  of  a  community 
must  quite  naturally  be  based  upon  studies  of  human  geography. 
Plant  and  animal  geography  has  been  studied,  but  slight  attention 
has  been  given  to  human  geography,  that  is,  to  the  local  distribution 
of  persons  who  constitute  a  community  and  the  accommodations  that 
are  made  because  of  the  consequent  physical  distances  and  social 
relationships. 

Ethnological  and  historical  studies  of  individual  communities 
furnish  valuable  comparative  materials  for  a  treatise  upon  human 
ecology  which  would  serve  as  a  guidebook  for  studies  in  community 
organization.  C.  J.  Galpin's  The  Social  Anatomy  of  an  Agricultural 
Community  is  an  example  of  the  recognition  of  ecological  factors  as 
basic  in  the  study  of  social  organization. 

In  the  bibliography  of  this  chapter  is  given  a  list  of  references  to 
certain  of  the  experiments  in  community  organization.  Students 
should  study  this  literature  in  the  light  of  the  more  fundamental 
studies  of  types  of  social  groups  and  studies  of  individual  communities 
listed  in  an  earlier  bibliography.1  It  is  at  once  apparent  that  the  rural 
community  has  been  more  carefully  studied  than  has  the  urban  com- 
munity. Yet  more  experiments  in  community  organization  have 
been  tried  out  in  the  city  than  in  the  country.  Reports  upon  social- 
center  activities,  upon  community  councils,  and  other  types  of  com- 
munity organization  have  tended  to  be  enthusiastic  rather  than  factual 
and  critical.  The  most  notable  experiment  of  community  organiza- 
tion, the  Social  Unit  Plan,  tried  out  in  Cincinnati,  was  what  the 

1  Supra,  pp.  218-19. 


ACCOMMODATION  725 

theatrical  critics  call  a  succes  d'estime,  but  after  the  experiment  had 
been  tried  it  was  abandoned.  Control  of  conditions  of  community  life 
is  not  likely  to  meet  with  success  unless  based  on  an  appreciation  and 
understanding  of  human  nature  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  natural 
or  ecological  organization  of  community  life  on  the  other. 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 
I.      THE  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  SOCIOLOGY  OF  ACCOMMODATION 

A.  Accommodation  Defined 

(1)  Morgan,  C.  Lloyd,  and  Baldwin,  J.  Mark.    Articles  on  "Accom- 
modation and  Adaptation,"  Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psy- 
chology, I,  7-8,  14-15. 

(2)  Baldwin,  J.  Mark.     Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race. 
Methods  and  processes.     Chap,  xvi,   "Habit  and  Accommoda- 
tion," pp.  476-88.    New  York,  1895. 

(3)  Simmel,  Georg.   Soziologie.   Untersuchungen  iiber  die  Formen  der 
Vergesellschaf tung.    "  Kompromiss  und  Versohnung,"  pp.  330-36. 
Leipzig,  1908. 

(4)  Bristol,  L.  M.    Social  Adaptation.    A  study  in  the  development 
of  the  doctrine  of  adaptation  as  a   theory  of  social  progress. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  1915. 

(5)  Ross,    E.   A.    Principles   of   Sociology.     "Toleration,"    "Com- 
promise," "Accommodation,"  pp.  225-34.    New  York,  1920. 

(6)  Ritchie,  David  G.     Natural  Rights.     A  criticism  of  some  political 
and  ethical  conceptions.     Chap,  viii,  "Toleration,"  pp.  157-209. 
London,  1895. 

(7)  Morley,  John.     On  Compromise.     London,  1874. 

(8)  Tardieu,  E.  "Le    cynisme:   etude  psychologique,"  Revue  philo- 
sophique,  LVII  (1904),  1-28. 

(9)  Jellinek,  Georg.    Die  Lehre  von  den  Staatenverbindungen.     Berlin, 
1882. 

B.  Acclimatization  and  Colonization 

(1)  Wallace,  Alfred  R.    Article  on  "Acclimatization."    Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,  I,  114-19. 

(2)  Brinton,  D.  G.     The  Basis  of  Social  Relations.     A  study  in  ethnic 
psychology.     Part  II,  chap,  iv,   "The  Influence  of  Geographic 
Environment,"  pp.  180-99.     New  York,  1902. 

(3)  Ripley,   W.   Z.     The  Races    of  Europe.     A   sociological   study. 
Chap,  xxi,  "Acclimatization:    the   Geographical   Future  of  the 
European  Races,"  pp.  560-89.     New  York,  1899.     [Bibliography.] 

(4)  Virchow,  Rudolph.     "Acclimatization,"  Popular  Science  Monthly, 
XXVIII  (1886),  507-17. 

(5)  Boas,   Franz.     "Changes    in    Bodily   Form  of  Descendants  of 
Immigrants,"  Report  of  Immigration  Commission,  1907.     Wash- 
ington, 1911. 


726  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(6)  Keller,  Albert  G.     Colonization.    A  study  of  the  founding  of  new 
societies.    Boston,  1908.     [Bibliography.] 

(7)  -      — .     "The  Value  of  the  Study  of  Colonies  for  Sociology," 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XII  (1906),  417-20. 

(8)  Roscher,  W.,  and  Jannasch,   R.    Kolonien,  Kolonialpolitik  und 
Auswanderung.    3d  ed.    Leipzig,  1885. 

(9)  Leroy-Beaulieu,  P.    De  la  colonisation  chez  les  peuples  modernes. 
5th  ed.,  2  vols.    Paris,  1902. 

(10)  Huntington,  Ellsworth.  Civilization  and  Climate.  Chap,  iii, 
"The  White  Man  in  the  Tropics,"  pp.  35-48.  New  Haven,  1915. 

(n)  Ward,  Robert  De  C.  Climate.  Considered  especially  in  rela- 
tion to  man.  Chap,  viii,  "The  Life  of  Man  in  the  Tropics," 
pp.  220-71.  New  York,  1908. 

(12)  Bryce,  James.  "British  Experience  in  the  Government  of 
Colonies,"  Century,  LVII  (1898-99),  718-29. 

C.  Superordination  and  Subordination 

(1)  Simmel,  Georg.   "Superiority  and  Subordination  as  Subject  Matter 
of  Sociology,"  translated  from  the  German  by  Albion  W.  Small, 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  II  (1896-97),  167-89,  392-415. 

(2)  Thorndike,  E.  L.     The  Original  Nature  of  Man.     "Mastering  and 
Submissive  Behavior,"  pp.  92-97.    New  York,  1913. 

(3)  McDougall,    William.    An    Introduction   to    Social   Psychology. 
"The  Instincts  of  Self -Abasement   (or  Subjection)  and  of  Self- 
Assertion  (or  Self-Display)  and  the  Emotions  of  Subjection  and 
Elation,"  pp.  62-66.     i2th  ed.    Boston,  1917. 

(4)  Miinsterberg,  Hugo.    Psychology,  General  and  Applied.     Chap, 
xviii,  "Submission,"  pp.  254-64.    New  York,  1914. 

(5)  Gallon,  Francis.    Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty  and  Its  Develop- 
ment.    "Gregarious  and   Slavish  Instincts,"  pp.  68-82.     New 
York,  1883. 

(6)  Ellis,  Havelock.    Studies  in  the  Psychology  of  Sex.   Vol.  Ill,"  Analy- 
sis of  the   Sexual  Impulse."    "Sexual  Subjection,"  pp.  60-71; 
85-87.    Philadelphia,  1914. 

(7)  Calhoun,  Arthur  W.    A  Social  History  of  the  American  Family. 
From  colonial  times  to  the  present.    Vol.  II,  "  From  Independence 
through  the  Civil  War."     Chap,  iv,  "The  Social  Subordination 
of  Woman,"  pp.  79-101.    3  vols.     Cincinnati,  1918. 

(8)  Galton,  Francis.     "The  First  Steps  toward  the  Domestication  of 
Animals,"  Transactions  of  the  Ethnological  Society  of  London,  III, 
122-38. 

D.  Conversion 

(1)  Starbuck,  Edwin  D.     The  Psychology  of  Religion.    London,  1899. 

(2)  James,  William.     The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience.    Lectures 
ix  and  x,  "Conversion,"  pp.  189-258.    London,  1902. 

(3)  Coe,  George  A.     The  Psychology  of  Religion.     Chap,  x,  "Con- 
version," pp.  152-74.     Chicago,  1916. 


ACCOMMODATION  727 

(4)  Prince,  Morton.     "The  Psychology  of  Sudden   Religious  Con- 
version," Journal  of  Abnormal  Psychology,  I  (1906-7),  42-54. 

(5)  Tawney,   G.   A.     "The   Period  of    Conversion,"    Psychological 
Review,  XI  (1004),  210-16. 

(6)  Partridge,   G.   E.    Studies  in  the  Psychology  of  Intemperance. 
Pp.  152-63.    New  York,  1912.     [Mental  cures  of  alcoholism.] 

(7)  Begbie,  Harold.     Twice-born  Men.    A  clinic  in  regeneration.    A 
footnote  in  narrative  to  Professor  William  James's  The  Varieties 
of  Religious  Experience.    New  York,  1909. 

(8)  Burr,  Anna  R.    Religious  Confessions  and  Confessants.    With  a 
chapter  on  the  history  of  introspection.    Boston,  1914. 

(9)  Patterson,  R.  J.    Catch-My-Pal.    A  story  of  Good  Samaritan- 
ship.    New  York,  1913. 

(10)  Weber,  John  L.  "A  Modern  Miracle,  the  Remarkable  Con- 
version of  Former  Governor  Patterson  of  Tennessee,"  Congre- 
gationalist,  XCIX  (1914),  6,  8.  [See  also  "The  Conversion  of 
Governor  Patterson,"  Literary  Digest,  XL VIII  (1914),  111-12.] 

n.      FORMS   OF  ACCOMMODATION 

Slavery 

(1)  Letburneau,  Ch.    L'evolution  de  I'esclavage  dans  les  diverses  races 
humaines.    Paris,  1897. 

(2)  Nieboer,  Dr.  H.  J.    Slavery  as  an  Industrial  System.    Ethnological 
researches.    The  Hague,  1900.     [Bibliography.] 

(3)  Wallon,   H.    Historic  de    I'esclavage   dans  Vantiquite.     2d   ed., 
3  vols.     Paris,  1879. 

(4)  Sugenheim,  S.    Geschichte  der  Aufhebung  der  Leibeigenschafl  und 
Horigkeit  in  Europa  bis  um  die  Mitte  des  neunzehnten  Jahrhunderts. 
St.  Petersburg,  1861. 

(5)  Edwards,   Bryan.     The   History,   Civil  and  Commercial,   of  the 
British  Colonies  in  the  West  Indies.    3  vols.    London,  1793-1801. 

(6)  Helps,  Arthur.    Life  of  Las  Casas,  "the  Apostle  of  the  Indies." 
5th  ed.     London,  1890. 

(7)  Phillips,  Ulrich  B.    American  Negro  Slavery.    A  survey  of  the 
supply,  employment,  and  control  of  Negro  labor  as  determined 
by  the  plantation  regime.    New  York,  1918. 

(8)  .     Plantation    and    Frontier,    1649-1863.     Documentary 

history  of  American  industrial  society.     Vols.  I-II.     Cleveland, 
1910-11. 

(9)  A  Professional  Planter.    Practical  rules  for  the  management  and 
medical  treatment  of  Negro  slaves  in  the  Sugar  Colonies.    London. 
1803.     [Excerpt  in  Phillips,  U.  B.,  Plantation  and  Frontier,  I, 
129-30.] 

(10)  Russell,  J.  H.  "Free  Negro  in  Virginia,  1619-1865,"  Johns 
Hopkins  University  Studies  in  Historical  and  Political  Science. 
Baltimore,  1913. 

(n)  Olmsted,  F.  L.    A  Journey  in  the  Seaboard  Slave  Stales. 
remarks  on  their  economy.    New  York,  1856. 


728  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(12)  Smedes,  Susan  D.     Memorials  of  a  Southern  Planter.     Baltimore, 
1887. 

(13)  Sartorius  von  Walterhausen,  August.    Die  Arbeitsver  -fas  sung  der 
englischen  Kolonien  in  Nor  darner  ika.     Strassburg,  1894. 

(14)  Ballagh,  James  C.     "A  History  of  Slavery  in  Virginia,"  Johns 
Hopkins  University  Studies  in  Historical  and  Political  Science. 
Baltimore,  1902. 

(15)  McCormac,  E.  I.     "White  Servitude  in  Maryland,  1634-1820," 
Johns    Hopkins   University   Studies  in  Historical  and  Political 
Science.    Baltimore,  1904. 

(16)  Kemble,  Frances  A.    Journal  of  a  Residence  on  a  Georgian  Planta- 
tion in  1838-1839.    New  York,  1863. 

B.  Caste 

(i)  Risley,  Herbert  H.     The  People  of  India.     Calcutta  and  London, 


(2)  -  .    India.     Ethnographic  Appendices,  being  the  data  upon 
which  the  caste  chapter  of  the  report  is  based.     Appendix  IV. 
Typical  Tribes  and  Castes.     Calcutta,  1903. 

(3)  Bougie,  M.  C.     "Remarques  generates  sur  le  regime  des  castes," 
L'Annee  sociologique,  IV  (1899-1900),  1-64. 

(4)  Crooke,  W.     "The  Stability   of  Caste  and  Tribal  Groups  in 
India,"    Journal  of  the  Royal  Anthropological  Institute,  XLIV 
(1914),  270-81. 

(5)  Bhattacharya,  Jogendra  Nath.     Hindu  Castes  and  Sects.     An 
exposition  of  the  origin  of  the  Hindu  caste  system  and  the  bearing 
of  the   sects   toward   each   other    and   toward   other   religious 
systems.     Calcutta,  1896. 

(6)  Somlo,    F.    Der    Giiterverkehr     in    der    Urgesettschaft.     "Zum 
Ursprung  der  Kastenbildung,"   pp.   157-59.     Instituts  Solvay: 
Travaux  de  1'Institut  de  Sociologie.    Notes  el  memoires,  Fasci- 
cule 8.    Bruxelles,  1909. 

(7)  Ratzel,  Friedrich.     Volkerkunde.    I,  Si.    2drev.  ed.    Leipzig  and 
Wien,  1894.     [The  origin  of  caste  in  the  difference  of  occupation.] 

(8)  Iyer,  L.  K.  Anantha  Krishna.     The  Cochin  Tribes  and  Castes. 
London,  1909. 

(9)  Bailey,  Thomas  P.    Race  Orthodoxy  in  the  South.     And  other 
aspects  of  the  Negro  question.    New  York,  1914. 

C.  Classes 

(1)  Bucher,   Carl.    Industrial   Evolution.    Translated  from  the  3d 
German  edition  by  S.  Morley  Wickett.     Chap,  ix,  "Organization 
of  Work  and  the  Formation  of  Social  Classes,"  pp.  315-44.    New 
York,  1907. 

(2)  Hobhouse,  L.  T.    Morals  in  Evolution.    A  study  in  comparative 
ethics.    Part  I,   chap,   vii,    "Class    Relations,"    pp.    270-317. 
New  York,  1915. 


ACCOMMODATION  729 

(3)  Schmoller,  Gustav.    Grundriss  der  allgemeinen  V  olkswirtschafts- 
lehre.     Vol.  I,  Book  II,  chap,  vi,  "Die  gesellschaftliche  Klassen- 
bildung,"  pp.  391-411.    6.  Aufl.    Leipzig,  1901. 

(4)  Cooley,    Charles   H.    Social    Organization.    Part    IV,    "Social 
Classes,"  pp.  209-309.    New  York,  1909. 

(5)  Bauer,  Arthur.     "Les  classes  sociales,"  Revue  internationale  de 
sociologie,  XI  (1903),  119-35;   243-58;  301-16;  398-413;  474-Q8; 
576-87.     [Includes   discussions   at    successive  meetings  of   the 
Societe  de  Sociologie  de  Paris  by  G.  Tarde,  Ch.  Limousin,  H. 
Monin,  Rene  Worms,  E.  Delbet,  L.  Philippe,  M.  Coicou,  H. 
Blondel,  G.  Pinet,  P.  Vavin,  E.  de  Roberty,  G.  Lafargue,  M. 
le  Gouix,  M.  Kovalewsky,  I.  Loutschisky,  E.  S6menoff,  Mme.  de 
Mouromtzeff,  R.  de  la  Grasserie,  E.  Cheysson,  D.  Draghicesco.] 

(6)  Bougie,  C.    Lesideesegalitaires.    Etude  sociologique.    Paris,  1899. 

(7)  Thomas,   William  I.    Source  Book  for  Social  Origins.     "The 
Relation  of  the  Medicine  Man  to  the  Origin  of  the  Professional 
Occupations,"  pp.  281-303.     Chicago,  1909. 

(8)  Tarde,    Gabriel.     "L'heredite    des  professions,"    Revue    inter- 
nationale de  sociologie,  VIII  (1900),  50-59.     [Discussion  of  the 
subject  was  continued  under  the  title  "L'heredite  et  la  continuite 
des  professions,"  pp.  117-24,  196-207.] 

(9)  Knapp,  Georg  F.    Die  Bauernbefreiung  und  der   Ursprung  der 
Landarbeiter  in  den  alteren  Theilen  Preussens.     Leipzig,  1887. 

(10)  Zimmern,  Alfred  E.  •  The   Greek  Commonwealth.     Politics  and 

economics  in  fifth-century  Athens.     Pp.  255-73,  323~47j  378-94- 

2d  rev.  ed.    Oxford,  1915. 
(u)  Mallock,  W.  H.     Aristocracy   and  Evolution.     A  study  of  the 

rights,  the  origin,  and  the  social  functions  of  the  wealthier  classes. 

New  York,  1898. 

(12)  Veblen,  Thorstein.    The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class.    An  eco- 
nomic study  in  the  evolution  of  institutions.     New  York,  1899. 

(13)  D'Aeth,  F.  G.     "Present  Tendencies  of  Class  Differentiation," 
Sociological  Review,  III  (1910),  267-76. 

HI.      ACCOMMODATION  AND   ORGANIZATION 

Social  Organization 

(1)  Durkheim,  E.    De  la  division  du  travail  social.    2ded.    Paris,  1902. 

(2)  Cooley,  Charles  H.     Social  Organization.     A  study  of  the  larger 
mind.     Part  V,  "Institutions,"  pp.  313-92.    New  York,  1909. 

(3)  Salz,    Arthur.     "Zur    Geschichte   der   Berufsidee,"   Archiv  fiir 
Soziahuissenschaft,  XXXVII  (1913),  380-423. 

(4)  Rivers,  W.  H.  R.    Kinship  and  Social  Organization.     Studies  in 
economic  and  political  science.    London,  1914. 

(5)  Schurtz,  Heinrich.    Altersklassen  und  Mannerbiinde.    Eine  Dar- 
stellung  der  Grundformen  der  Gesellschaft.    Berlin,  1902. 

(6)  Vierkandt,  A.     "Die  politischen  Verhaltnisse  der  Naturvolker," 
Zeitschrift  fiir  Sozialwissenschaft,  IV,  417-26,  497-510. 


730  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(7)  Lowie,  Robert  H.    Primitive  Society.    Chap,  x,  "Associations," 
chap,  xi,  "Theory  of  Associations,"  pp.  257-337.  New  York,  1920. 

(8)  Zimmern,  Alfred  E.     The  Greek   Commonwealth.     Politics  and 
economics  in  fifth-century  Athens.     2d  rev.  ed.    Oxford,  1915. 

(9)  Thomas,    William   I.    Source   Book  for    Social   Origins.     Eth- 
nological   materials,    psychological    standpoint,    classified    and 
annotated  bibliographies  for  the  interpretation  of  savage  society. 
Part  VII,  "Social  Organization,  Morals,  the  State,"  pp.  753-869. 
Chicago,  1909.    [Bibliography.] 

B.  Secret  Societies 

(1)  Simmel,    Georg.     "The   Sociology   of    Secrecy   and   of   Secret 
Societies,"  translated  from  the  German  by  Albion  W.  Small, 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XI  (1905-6),  441-98. 

(2)  Heckethorn,  C.  W.     The  Secret  Societies  of  All  Ages  and  Countries. 
A  comprehensive  account  of  upwards  of  one  hundred  and  sixty 
secret  organizations — religious,  political,  and  social — from  the 
most  remote  ages  down  to  the  present  time.     New  ed.,  rev.  and 
enl.,  2  vols.    London,  1897. 

(3)  Webster,  Hutton.    Primitive  Secret  Societies.    A  study  in  early 
politics  and  religion.    New  York,  1908. 

(4)  Schuster,    G.    Die  geheimen   Gesellschaften,    Verbindungen   und 
Or  den.     2  vols.    Leipzig,  1906. 

(5)  Boas,  Franz.     "The  Social  Organization  and  the  Secret  Societies 
of   the   Kwakiutl  Indians,"    U.S.   National    Museum,   Annual 
Report,  1895,  pp.  311-738.    Washington,  1897. 

(6)  Frobenius,    L.     "Die    Masken    und    Geheimbunde    Afrikas," 
Abhandlungen     der     Kaiserlichen     Leopoldinisch-Carolinischen 
deutschen  Akademie  der  Naturforscher,  LXXIV,  1-278. 

(7)  Pfleiderer,  Otto.    Primitive  Christianity,  Its  Writings  and  Teach- 
ings in  Their  Historical  Connections.     Vol.  Ill,  chap,  i,  "The 
Therapeutae  and  the  Essenes,"  pp.  1-22.    Translated  from  the 
German  by  W.  Montgomery.     New  York,  1910. 

(8)  Jennings,  Hargrave.     The  Rosicrucians,  Their  Rites  and  Mysteries. 
3d  rev.  and  enl.  ed.,  2  vols.    London,  1887. 

(9)  Stillson,  Henry  L.,  and  Klein,  Henri  F.    Article  on  "  The  Masonic 
Fraternity,"  The  Americana,  XVIII,  383-89.     [Bibliography.] 

(10)  Johnston,  R.  M.  The  Napoleonic  Empire  in  Southern  Italy  and 
the  Rise  of  the  Secret  Societies.  Part  II,  "The  Rise  of  the  Secret 
Societies,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  3-139,  153-55;  especially  chap,  ii,  "Origin 
and  Rites  of  the  Carbonari,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  19-44.  London,  1904. 
[Bibliography.] 

(n)  Fleming,  Walter  L.  Documentary  History  of  Reconstruction. 
Vol.  II,  chap,  xii,  "The  Ku  Klux  Movement,"  pp.  327-77. 
Cleveland,  1907. 

(12)  Lester,  J.  C.,  and  Wilson,  D.  L.  The  Ku  Klux  Klan.  Its  origin, 
growth,  and  disbandment.  With  appendices  containing  the 


ACCOMMODATION  731 

prescripts  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan,  specimen  orders  and  warnings. 
With  introduction  and  notes  by  Walter  L.  Fleming.  New  York 
and  Washington,  1905. 

(13)  La  Hodde,  Lucien  de.     The  Cradle  of  Rebellions,    A  history  of 
the  secret  societies  of  France.    Translated  from  the  French  by 
J.  W.  Phelps.    New  York,  1864. 

(14)  Spadoni,  D.    Sette,  cospirazioni  e  cospiratori  netto  Stato  Pontificio 
all'indomani  delta  restaurazioni.    Torino,  1904. 

(15)  "Societies,  Criminal,"  The  Americana,  XXV,  201-5. 

(16)  Clark,  Thomas  A.     The  Fraternity  and  the  College.    Being  a 
series  of  papers  dealing  with  fraternity  problems.     Menasha, 
Wis.,  1915. 

C.  Social  Types 

(1)  Thomas,  W.  L,  and  Znaniecki,  F.     The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe 
and  America,    Monograph  of  an  immigrant  group.    Vol.  Ill, 
"Life  Record  of  an  Immigrant."    Boston,  1919.     ["Introduc- 
tion," pp.  5-88,  analyzes  and  interprets  three  social  types:   the 
philistine,  the  bohemian,  and  the  creative.] 

(2)  Paulhan,  Fr.    Les  caracteres.    Livre  II,  "Les  types  determines 
par  les  tendances  sociales,"  pp.  143-89.    Paris,  1902. 

(3)  Rousiers,  Paul  de.    V elite  dans  la  societe  moderne.     Son  role, 
etc.    Paris,  1914. 

(4)  Bradford,   Gamaliel,  Jr.     Types  of  American  Character.    New 
York,  1895. 

(5)  Kellogg,  Walter  G.     The  Conscientious  Objector.    Introduction  by 
Newton  D.  Baker.    New  York,  1919. 

(6)  Hapgood,  Hutchins.     Types  from  City  Streets.    New  York,  1910. 

(7)  Bab,  Julius.    Die  Berliner  Boheme.    Berlin,  1905. 

(8)  Cory,  H.  E.     The  Intellectuals  and  the  Wage  Workers.    A  study 
in  educational  psychoanalysis.    New  York,  1919. 

(9)  Buchanan,  J.  R.     The  Story  of  a  Labor  Agitator.    New  York,  1903. 
(10)  Taussig,  F.  W.  Inventors  and  Money-Makers,    New  York,  1915. 
(n)  Stoker,  Bram.    Famous  Impostors,    London,  1910. 

D.  Community  Organization 

(1)  Galpin,  Charles  J.    "Rural  Relations  of  the  Village  and  Small 
City,"  University  of  Wisconsin  Bulletin  No.  411, 

(2)  .    Rural  Life.    Chaps,  vii-xi,  pp.  153-314.   New  York,  1918. 

(3)  Hayes,  A.  W.    Rural  Community  Organization.     Chicago,  1921. 
[In  Press.] 

(4)  Morgan,  E.L.    "Mobilizing  a  Rural  Community,"  Massachusetts 
Agricultural  College,  Extension  Bulletin  No.  23,    Amherst,  1918. 

(5)  "Rural  Organization,"  Proceedings  of  the  Third  National  Country 
Life  Conference,  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  1920.     Chicago,  1921. 

(6)  Hart,  Joseph  K.    Community  Organization.    New  York,  1920. 

(7)  National  Social  Unit  Organization,  Bulletins  i,  2,  za,  3,  4,  5. 
Cincinnati,  1917-19. 


732  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(8)  Devine,  Edward  T.    "Social  Unit  in  Cincinnati,"  Survey,  XLIII 
(1919),  115-26. 

(9)  Hicks,  Mary  L.,  and  Eastman,  Rae  S.     "Block  Workers  as 
Developed  under  the  Social  Unit  Experiment  in  Cincinnati," 
Survey  XLIV  (1920),  671-74. 

(10)  Ward,  E.  J.    The  Social  Center.    New  York,  1913.    [Bibliography.] 
(u)  Collier,  John.     "  Community  Councils — Democracy  Every  Day," 
Survey,  XL  (1918),  604-6;    689-91;  709-11.     [Describes  com- 
munity defense  organizations  formed  in  rural  and  urban  districts 
during  the  war.] 

(12)  Weller,  Charles  F.     "Democratic  Community  Organization,"  An 
after-the-war  experiment  in  Chester,  Survey,  XLIV  (1920),  77-79. 

(13)  Rainwater,  Clarence  E.     Community  Organization.     Sociological 
Monograph  No.   15,   University  of    Southern  California.    Los 
Angeles,  1920.     [Bibliography.] 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

r.  Biological  Accommodation  and  Social  Accommodation 

2.  Acclimatization  as  Accommodation 

3.  The  Psychology  of  Accommodation 

4.  Conversion  as  a  Form  of  Accommodation:   A  Study  of  Mutations  of 
Attitudes  in  Religion,  Politics,  Morals,  Personal  Relation,  etc. 

5.  The  Psychology  and  Sociology  of  Homesickness  and  Nostalgia 

6.  Conflict  and  Accommodation:   War  and  Peace,  Enmity  and  Concilia- 
tion, Rivalry  and  Status 

7.  Compromise  as  a  Form  of  Accommodation 

8.  The  Subtler  Forms  of  Accommodation :  Flattery /'Front,"  Ceremony,  etc. 

9.  The  Organization  of  Attitudes  in  Accommodation;    Prestige,  Taboo, 
Rapport,  Prejudice,  Fear,  etc. 

10.  Slavery,  Caste,  and  Class  as  Forms  of  Accommodation 

11.  The  Description  and  Analysis  of  Typical  Examples  of  Accommodation: 
the  Political  "Boss"  and  the  Voter,  Physician  and  Patient,  the  Coach 
and  the  Members  of  the  Team,  the  Town  Magnate  and  His  Fellow- 
Citizens,  "The  Four  Hundred"  and  "Hoi  Polloi,"  etc. 

12.  Social  Solidarity  as  the  Organization  of  Competing  Groups 

13.  Division  of  Labor  as  a  Form  of  Accommodation 

14.  A  Survey  of  Historical  Types  of  the  Family  in  Terms  of  the  Changes  in 
Forms  of  Subordination  and  Superordination  of  Its  Members 

15.  Social  Types  as  Accommodations:    the  Quack  Doctor,  the  Reporter, 
the  Strike  Breaker,  the  Schoolteacher,  the  Stockbroker,  etc. 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  biological  adaptation  and  social 
accommodation  ? 

2.  Is  domestication  biological  adaptation  or  accommodation? 

3.  Give  illustrations  of  acclimatization  as  a  form  of  accommodation. 

4.  Discuss  phenomena  of  colonization  with  reference  to  accommodation. 

5.  What  is  the  relation  of  lonesomeness  to  accommodation  ? 


ACCOMMODATION  733 

6.  Do  you  agree  with  Nieboer's  definition  of  slavery  ? 
Is  the  slave  a  person  ?    If  so,  to  what  extent  ? 

How  would  you  compare  the  serf  with  the  slave  in  respect  to  his  status  ? 

7.  To  what  extent  do  slavery  and  caste  as  forms  of  accommodation  rest 
upon  (a)  physical  force,  (ft)  mental  attitudes  ? 

8.  What  is  the  psychology  of  subordination  and  superordination  ? 

9.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  relation  of  suggestion  and  rapport 
to  subordination  and  superordination  ? 

10.  What  is  meant  by  a  person  "knowing  his  place"  ? 
n.  How  do  you  explain  the  attitude  of  "the  old  servant"  to  society? 
Do  you  agree  with  her  in  lamenting  the  change  in  attitude  of  persons 
engaged  in  domestic  service  ? 

12.  What  types  of  the  subtler  forms  of  accommodation  occur  to  you  ? 

13.  What  arguments  would  you  advance  for  the  proposition  that  the  rela- 
tion of  superiority  and  inferiority  is  reciprocal  ? 

14.  "All  leaders  are  also  led,  as  in  countless  cases  the  master  is  the  slave  of 
his  slaves."    Explain. 

15.  What  illustrations,  apart  from  the  text,  occur  to  you  of  reciprocal 
relations  in  superiority  and  subordination  ? 

1 6.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  characteristic  differences  of  the 
three  types  of  superordination  and  subordination  ? 

17.  How  would  you  classify  the  following  groups  according  to  these  three 
types:  the  patriarchal  family,  the  modern  family,  England  from  1660 
to  1830,  manufacturing  enterprise,  labor  union,  army,  boys'  gang, 
boys'  club,  Christianity,  humanitarian  movement  ? 

1 8.  What  do  you  think  Simmel  means  by  the  term  "accommodation"  ? 

19.  How  is  accommodation  related  to  peace  ? 

20.  Does  accommodation  end  struggle  ? 

21.  In  what  sense  does  commerce  imply  accommodation? 

22.  What  type  of  interaction  is  involved  in  compromise?     What  illustra- 
tions would  you  suggest  to  bring  out  your  point  ? 

23.  Does  compromise  make  for  progress? 

24.  Is  a  compromise  better  or  worse  than  either  or  both  of  the  proposals 
involved  in  it  ? 

25.  What,  in  your  judgment,  is  the  relation  of  personal  competition  to  the 
division  of  labor  ? 

26.  What  examples  of  division  of  labor  outside  the  economic  field  would 
you  suggest  ? 

27.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  relation  of  personal  competition 
and  group  competition  ? 

28.  In  what  different  ways  does  status  (a)  grow  out  of,  and  (ft)  prevent, 
the  processes  of  personal  competition  and  group  competition  ? 

29.  To  what  extent,  at  the  present  time,  is  success  in  life  determined  by 
personal  competition,  and  social  selection  by  status  ? 

30.  In  what  ways  does  the  division  of  labor  make  for  social  solidarity  ? 

31.  What  is  the  difference  between  social  solidarity  based  upon  like- 
mindedness  and  based  upon  diverse-mindedness  ? 


CHAPTER  XI 
ASSIMILATION 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
z.    Popular  Conceptions  of  Assimilation 

The  concept  assimilation,  so  far  as  it  has  been  denned  in  popular 
usage,  gets  its  meaning  from  its  relation  to  the  problem  of  immigration. 
The  more  concrete  and  familiar  terms  are  the  abstract  noun  Ameri- 
canization and  the  verbs  Americanize,  Anglicize,  Germanize,  and  the 
like.  All  of  these  words  are  intended  to  describe  the  process  by  which 
the  culture  of  a  community  or  a  country  is  transmitted  to  an  adopted 
citizen.  Negatively,  assimilation  is  a  process  of  denationalization 
!  and  this  is,  in  fact,  the  form  it  has  taken  in  Europe. 

The  difference  between  Europe  and  America,  hi  relation  to  the 
problem  of  cultures,  is  that  hi  Europe  difficulties  have  arisen  from  the 
forcible  incorporation  of  minor  cultural  groups,  i.e.,  nationalities, 
within  the  limits  of  a  larger  political  unit,  i.e.,  an  empire.  In  America 
the  problem  has  arisen  from  the  voluntary  migration  to  this  country 
of  peoples  who  have  abandoned  the  political  allegiances  of  the  old 
country  and  are  gradually  acquiring  the  culture  of  the  new.  In  both 
cases  the  problem  has  its  source  in  an  effort  to  establish  and  maintain 
a  political  order  in  a  community  that  has  no  common  culture.  Funda- 
mentally the  problem  of  maintaining  a  democratic  form  of  government 
hi  a  southern  village  composed  of  whites  and  blacks,  and  the  problem 
of  maintaining  an  international  order  based  on  anything  but  force 
are  the  same.  The  ultimate  basis  of  the  existing  moral  and  political 
order  is  still  kinship  and  culture.  Where  neither  exist,  a  political 
order,  not  based  on  caste  or  class,  is  at  least  problematic. 

Assimilation,  as  popularly  conceived  in  the  United  States,  was 
expressed  symbolically  some  years  ago  in  ZangwilPs  dramatic  parable 
_  of  The  Melting  Pot.  William  Jennings  Bryan  has  given  oratorical 
expression  to  the  faith  hi  the  beneficent  outcome  of  the  process: 
"  Great  has  been  the  Greek,  the  Latin,  the  Slav,  the  Celt,  the  Teuton, 
and  the  Saxon;  but  greater  than  any  of  these  is  the  American, 
who  combines  the  virtues  of  them  all." 

734 


ASSIMILATION  735 

Assimilation,  as  thus  conceived,  is  a  natural  and  unassisted 
process,  and  practice,  if  not  policy,  has  been  in  accord  with  this 
laissez  faire  conception,  which  the  outcome  has  apparently  justified. 
In  the  United  States,  at  any  rate,  the  tempo  of  assimilation  has  been 
more  rapid  than  elsewhere. 

Closely  akin  to  this  "magic  crucible"  notion  of  assimilation  is 
the  theory  of  "like-mindedness."  This  idea  was  partly  a  product 
of  Professor  Giddings'  theory  of  sociology,  partly  an  outcome  of  the 
popular  notion  that  similarities  and  homogeneity  are  identical  with 
unity.  The  ideal  of  assimilation  was  conceived  to  be  that  of  feeling,  — 
thinking,  and  acting  alike.  Assimilation  and  socialization  have  both 
been  described  in  these  terms  by  contemporary  sociologists. 

Another  and  a  different  notion  of  assimilation  or  Americanization 
is  based  on  the  conviction  that  the  immigrant  has  contributed  hi  the 
past  and  may  be  expected  in  the  future  to  contribute  something  of  co"' 
his  own  in  temperament,  culture,  and  philosophy  of  life  to  the  future 
American  civilization.  This  conception  had  its  origin  among  the 
immigrants  themselves,  and  has  been  formulated  and  interpreted  by 
persons  who  are,  like  residents  in  social  settlements,  in  close  contact 
with  them.  This  recognition  of  the  diversity  hi  the  elements  entering 
into  the  cultural  process  is  not,  of  course,  inconsistent  with  the 
expectation  of  an  ultimate  homogeneity  of  the  product.  It  has 
called  attention,  at  any  rate,  to  the  fact  that  the  process  of  assimilation  - 
is  concerned  with  differences  quite  as  much  as  with  likenesses. 

2.    The  Sociology  of  Assimilation 

Accommodation  has  been  described  as  a  process  of  adjustment, 
that  is,  an  organization  of  social  relations  and  attitudes  to  prevent 
or  to  reduce  conflict,  to  control  competition,  and  to  maintain  a  basis 
of  security  in  the  social  order  for  persons  and  groups  of  divergent 
interests  and  types  to  carry  on  together  their  varied  life-activities. 
Accommodation  in  the  sense  of  the  composition  of  conflict  is  invari- 
ably the  goal  of  the  political  process. 

Assimilation  is  a  process  of  interpenetration  and  fusion  in  which 
persons  and  groups  acquire  the  memories,  sentiments,  and  attitudes  ^y 
of  other  persons  or  groups,  and,  by  sharing  their  experience  and    / 
history,  are  incorporated  with  them  in  a  common  cultural  life.    In 
so  far  as  assimilation  denotes  this  sharing  of  tradition,  this  intimate 


736  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

participation  in  common  experiences,  assimilation  is  central  in  the 
historical  and  cultural  processes. 

This  distinction  between  accommodation  and  assimilation,  with 
reference  to  then*  r61e  in  society,  explains  certain  significant  formal 
\  differences  between  the  two  processes.  An  accommodation  of  a 
conflict,  or  an  accommodation  to  a  new  situation,  may  take  place  with 
rapidity.  The  more  intimate  and  subtle  changes  involved  in  assimi- 
lation are  more  gradual.  The  changes  that  occur  in  accommodation 
are  frequently  not  only  sudden  but  revolutionary,  as  in  the  mutation 
of  attitudes  in  conversion.  The  modifications  of  attitudes  in  the 
process  of  assimilation  are  not  only  gradual,  but  moderate,  even  if 
they  appear  considerable  in  their  accumulation  over  a  long  period  of 
time.  If  mutation  is  the  symbol  for  accommodation,  growth  is  the 
metaphor  for  assimilation.  In  accommodation  the  person  or  the 
group  is  generally,  though  not  always,  highly  conscious  of  the 
occasion,  as  in  the  peace  treaty  that  ends  the  war,  in  the  arbitra- 
tion of  an  industrial  controversy,  in  the  adjustment  of  the  person 
to  the  formal  requirements  of  life  in  a  new  social  world.  In  assimi- 
lation the  process  is  typically  unconscious;  the  person  is  incorporated 
into  the  common  life  of  the  group  before  he  is  aware  and  with  little 
conception  of  the  course  of  events  which  brought  this  incorporation 
about. 

James  has  described  the  way  in  which  the  attitude  of  the  person 

changes  toward  certain  subjects,  woman's  suffrage,  for  example,  not 

as  the  result  of  conscious  reflection,  but  as  the  outcome  of  the  unreflec- 

tive  responses  to  a  series  ofjnew  experiences.    The  intunate~assb- 

ciations  of  the  family  and  of  TheTpIay  group",  participation  in  the 

ceremonies  of  religious  worship  and  in  the  celebrations  of  national 

/•(holidays,  all  these  activities  transmit  to  the  immigrant  and  to  the 

V  Ji>(     [alien  a  store  of  memories  and  sentiments  common  to  the  native-born, 

and  these  memories  are  the  basis  of  all  that  is  peculiar  and  sacred  in 

our  cultural  life. 

As  social  contact  initiates  interaction,  assimilation  is  its  final 


perfect  product  The  nature  ol  the  social  contacts  is  decisive  in 
the  process.  Assimilation  naturally  takes  place  most  rapidly  where 
contacts  are  primary,  that  is,  where  they  are  the  most  intimate  and 
intense,  as  in  the  area  of  touch  relationship,  in  the  family  circle  and 
in  intimate  congenial  groups.  Secondary  contacts  facilitate  accom- 


ASSIMILATION  737 

modations,  but  do  not  greatly  promote  assimilation.  The  contacts 
here  are  external  and  too  remote. 

A  common  language  is  indispensable  for  the  most  intimate  asso- 
ciation of  the  members  of  the  group;  its  absence  is  an  insurmountable 
barrier  to  assimilation.  The  phenomenon  "that  every  group  has  its 
own  language,"  its  peculiar  "universe  of  discourse,"  and  its  cultural 
symbols  is  evidence  of  the  interrelation  between  communication  and 
assimilation. 

Through  the  mechanisms  of  imitation  and  suggestion,  communi- 
cation effects  a  gradual  and  unconscious  modification  of  the  attitudes 
and  sentiments  of  the  members  of  the  group.  The  unity  thus  achieved 
is  not  necessarily  or  even  normally  like-mindedness;  it  is  rather  a 
unity  of  experience  and  of  orientation,  out  of  which  may  develop  a 
community  of  purpose  and  action. 

3.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  selections  in  the  materials  on  assimilation  have  been  arranged 
under  three  heads:  (a)  biological  aspects  of  assimilation;  (b)  the 
conflict  and  fusion  of  cultures;  and  (c)  Americanization  as  a  problem 
in  assimilation.  The  readings  proceed  from  an  analysis  of  the  nature 
of  assimilation  to  a  survey  of  its  processes,  as  they  have  manifested 
themselves  historically,  and  finally  to  a  consideration  of  the  problems 
of  Americanization. 

a)  Biological  aspects  of  assimilation. — Assimilation  is  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  amalgamation,  with  which  it  is,  however,  closely 
related.  Amalgamation  is  a  biological  process,  the  fusion  of  races  by 
interbreeding  q.nd  intermarriage  Assimilation,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  limited  to  the  fusion  of  cultures.  Miscegenation,  or  the  mingling 
of  races,  is  a  universal  phenomenon  among  the  historical  races.  There 
are  no  races,  hi  other  words,  that  do  not  interbreed.  Accultura- 
tion, or  the  transmission  of  cultural  elements  from  one  social  group 
to  another,  however,  has  invariably  taken  place  on  a  larger  scale  and 
over  a  wider  area  than  miscegenation. 

Amalgamation,  while  it  is  limited  to  the  crossing  of  racial  traits 
through  inter  marriage,  naturally  promoteg  assimilation  nr  thP  rjQgs- 
fertiHgalioiLof  social  heritages.  The  offspring  of  a  "  mixed  "  marriage 
not  only  biologically  inherits  physical  and  temperamental  traits  from 


738  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

both  parents,  but  also  acquires  in  the  nurture  of  family  life  the  atti- 
tudes, sentiments,  and  memories  of  both  father  and  mother.  Thus 
amalgamation  of  races  insures  the  conditions  of  primary  social  con- 
tacts most  favorable  for  assimilation. 

b)  The  conflict  and  fusion  of  cultures. — The  survey  of  the  process 
of  what  the  ethnologists  call  acculturation,  as  it  is  exhibited  historically 
in  the  conflicts  and  fusions  of  cultures,  indicates  the  wide  range  of  the 
phenomena  in  this  field. 

(1)  Social  contact,  even  when  slight  or  indirect,  is  sufficient  for 
the  transmission  from  one  cultural  group  to  another  of  the  material 
elements  of  civilization.     Stimulants  and  firearms  spread  rapidly 
upon  the  objective  demonstration  of  their  effects.    The  potato,  a 
native  of  America,  has  preceded  the  white  explorer  in  its  penetration 
into  many  areas  of  Africa. 

(2)  The  changes  in  languages  hi  the  course  of  the  contacts,  conflicts, 
and  fusions  of  races  and  nationalities  afford  data  for  a  more  adequate 
description  of  the  process  of  assimilation.    Under  what  conditions 
does  a  ruling  group  impose  its  speech  upon  the  masses,  or  finally 
capitulate  to  the  vulgar  tongue  of  the  common  people  ?    In  modern 
times  the  printing-press,  the  book,  and  the  newspaper  have  tended  to 
fix  languages.    The  press  has  made  feasible  language  revivals  in 
connection  with  national  movements  on  a  scale  impossible  hi  earlier 
periods. 

The  emphasis  placed  upon  language  as  a  medium  of  cultural 
transmission  rests  upon  a  sound  principle.  For  the  idioms,  particu- 
larly of  a  spoken  language,  probably  reflect  more  accurately  the 
historical  experiences  of  a  people  than  history  itself.  The  basis 
of  unity  among  most  historical  peoples  is  linguistic  rather  than  racial. 
The  Latin  peoples  are  a  convenient  example  of  this  fact.  The  experi- 
ment now  in  progress  hi  the  Philippine  Islands  is  significant  in  this 
connection.  To  what  extent  will  the  national  and  cultural  develop- 
ment of  those  islands  be  determined  by  native  temperament,  by 
Spanish  speech  and  tradition,  or  by  the  English  language  and  the 
American  school  system  ? 

(3)  Rivers  in  his  study  of  Melanesian  and  Hawaiian  cultures 
was  impressed  by  the  persistence  of  fundamental  elements  of  the 
social  structure.    The  basic  patterns  of  family  and  social  life  remained 
practically  unmodified  despite  profound  transformations  hi  technique, 


ASSIMILATION  739 

in  language,  and  in  religion.  Evidently  many  material  devices  and 
formal  expressions  of  an  alien  society  can  be  adopted  without  signifi- 
cant changes  in  the  native  culture. 

The  question,  however,  may  be  raised  whether  or  not  the  complete 
adoption  of  occidental  science  and  organization  of  industry  would 
not  produce  far-reaching  changes  in  social  organization.  The  trend 
of  economic,  social,  and  cultural  changes  in  Japan  will  throw  light  on 
this  question.  Even  if  revolutionary  social  changes  actually  occur, 
the  point  may  well  be  made  that  they  will  be  the  outcome  of  the  new 
economic  system,  and  therefore  not  effects  of  acculturation. 

(4)  The  rapidity  and  completeness  of  assimilation  depends 
directly  upon  the  intimacy  of  social  contact.  By  a  curious  paradox, 
slavery,  and  particularly  household  slavery,  has  probably  been,  aside 
from  intermarriage,  the  most  efficient  device  for  promoting  assimi- 
lation. 

Adoption  and  initiation  among  primitive  peoples  provided  a 
ceremonial  method  for  inducting  aliens  and  strangers  into  the  group, 
the  significance  of  which  can  only  be  understood  after  a  more  adequate 
study  of  ceremonial  in  general. 

c)  Americanization  as  a  problem  of  assimilation. — Any  considera- 
tion of  policies,  programs,  and  methods  of  Americanization  gain 
perspective  when  related  to  the  sociology  of  assimilation.  The  "  Study 
of  Methods  of  Americanization,"  of  the  Carnegie  Corporation,  defines 
Americanization  as  "the  participation  of  the  immigrant  in  the  life 
of  the  community  in  which  he  lives."  From  thisstandpoint  partici- 
pation  is  both  the  medium  and  the  goal  of  assimilation.  Partici- 
pation of  the  immigrant  in  American  life  in  any  area  of  life  prepares 
him  for  participation  in  every  other.  What  the  immigrant  and  the 
alien  need  most  is  an  opportunity  for  participation.  Of  first  impor- 
tance, of  course,  is  the  language.  In  addition  he  needs  to  know  how 
to  use  our  institutions  for  his  own  benefit  and  protection.  But  ! 
participation,  to  be  real,  must  be  spontaneous  and  intelligent,  and 
that  means,  hi  the  long  run,  that  the  immigrant's  life  hi  America  must 
be  related  to  the  life  he  already  knows.  Not  by  the  suppression  of 
old  memories,  but  by  their  incorporation  in  his  new  life  is  assimilation 
achieved.  The  failure  of  conscious,  coercive  policies  of  denationali- 
zation  in  Europe  and  the  great  success  of  the  early,  passive  phase  of 
Americanization  hi  this  country  afford  hi  this  connection  an  impressive 


740  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

contrast.  It  follows  that  assimilation  cannot  be  promoted  directly, 
but  only  indirectly,  that  is,  by  supplying  the  conditions  that  make 
for  participation. 

There  is  no  process  but  life  itself  that  can  effectually  wipe  out 
the  immigrant's  memory  of  his  past.  The  inclusion  of  the  immigrant 
in  our  common  life  may  perhaps  be  best  reached,  therefore,  in  co- 
operation that  looks  not  so  much  to  the  past  as  to  the  future.  The 
second  generation  of  the  immigrant  may  share  fully  in  our  memories, 
but  practically  all  that  we  can  ask  of  the  foreign-born  is  participation 
in  our  ideals,  our  wishes,  and  our  common  enterprises. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      BIOLOGICAL  ASPECTS  OF  ASSIMILATION 
i.     Assimilation  and  Amalgamation1 

Writers  on  historical  and  social  science  are  just  beginning  to  turn 
their  attention  to  the  large  subject  of  social  assimilation.  That  the 
subject  has  until  recently  received  little  attention  is  readily  seen  by 
a  mere  glance  at  the  works  of  our  leading  sociologists  and  historians. 
The  word  itself  rarely  appears;  and  when  the  theme  is  touched  upon, 
no  clearly  defined,  stable  idea  seems  to  exist,  even  in  the  mind  of  the 
author.  Thus  Giddings  at  one  time  identifies  assimilation  with 
"reciprocal  accommodation."  In  another  place  he  defines  it  as  "the 
process  of  growing  alike,"  and  once  again  he  tells  us  it  is  the  method 
by  which  foreigners  in  the  United  States  society  become  Americans. 
Nor  are  M.  Novicow's  ideas  on  the  subject  perfectly  lucid,  for  he 
considers  assimilation  sometimes  as  a  process,  at  other  times  as  an 
art,  and  again  as  a  residt.  He  makes  the  term  "ifonfHonalization" 
coextensive  with  our  "assimilation,"  and  says  that  the  ensemble  of 
measures  which  a  government  takes  for  inducing  a  population  to 
abandon  one  type  of  culture  for  another  is  denationalization.  Dena- 
tionalization by  the  authority  of  the  state  carries  with  it  a  certain 
amount  of  coercion;  it  is  always  accompanied  by  a  measure  of 
violence.  In  the  next  sentence,  however,  we  are  told  that  the  word 
"denationalization"  may  also  be  used  for  the  non-coercive  process 

•Adapted  from  Sarah  E.  Simons,  "Social  Assimilation,"  in  the  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  VI  (1001),  790-801. 


ASSIMILATION  741 

by  which  one  nationality  is  assimilated  with  another.  M.  Novicow 
further  speaks  of  the  art  of  assimilation,  and  he  tells  us  that  the 
result  of  the  intellectual  struggle  between  races  living  under  the  same 
government,  whether  free  or  forced,  is  in  every  case  assimilation. 
Burgess  also  takes  a  narrow  view  of  the  subject,  restricting  the  opera- 
tion of  assimilating  forces  to  the  present  and  considering  assimilation 
a  result  of  modern  political  union.  He  says:  "In  modern  times  the 
political  union  of  different  races  under  the  leadership  of  the  dominant 
race  results  in  assimilation." 

From  one  point  of  view  assimilation  is  a  process  with  its  active 
and  passive  elements;  from  another  it  is  a  result.     In  this  discussion," 
however,  assimilation  is  considered  as  a  process  due  to  prolonged 
contact.     It  may,  perhaps,  be  defined  as  that  process  of  adjustment  J 
or  accommodation  which  occurs  between  the  members  of  two  differ- 
ent races,  if  thetr  contact  is  prolonged  and  if  the  necessary  psychic 
conditions  are  present.     The  result  is  group  homogeneity  to  a  greater 
or  less  degree.     Figuratively  speaking,  it  is  the  process  by  which  the 
aggregation  of  peoples  is  changed  from  a  mere  mechanical  mixture 
into  a  chemical  compound. 

The  process  of  assimilation  is  of^a^pgychological  rather  than  of 
a  biological  nature,  and  refers  to  the  growing  alike  in  character,  ^o 
thoughts,  and  institutions,  rather  than  to  the  blood-mingling  brcrught , v 
about  by  intermarriage.     The  intellectual  results  of  the  process  ofj 
assimilation  are  far  more  lasting  than  the  physiological.     Thus  in 
France  today,  though  nineteen-twentieths  of  the  blood  is  that  of  the 
aboriginal  races,  the  language  is  directly  derived  from  that  imposed 
by   the   Romans   in   their   conquest   of    Gaul.     Intermarriage,    the 
inevitable  result  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  of  race  contact,  plays  its 
part  in  the  process  of  assimilation,  but  mere  mixture  of  races  will  not 
cause  assimilation.     Moreover,  assimilation  is  possible,  partially  at  - 
least,  without  intermarriage.     Instances  of  this  are  furnished  by  the 
partial  assimilation  of  the  Negro  and  the  Indian  of  the  United  States. 
Thinkers  are  beginning  to  doubt  the  great  importance  once  attributed 
to   intermarriage   as   a  factor   in   civilization.     Says   Mayo-Smith, 
"It  is  not  in  unity  of  blood  but  in  unity  of  institutions  and  social 
habits  and  ideals  that  we  are  to  seek  that  which  we  call  nationality," 
and  nationality  is  the  result  of  assimilation. 


742  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

2.    The  Instinctive  Basis  of  Assimilation1 

It  is  a  striking  fact  that  among  animals  there  are  some  whose 
conduct  can  be  generalized  very  readily  in  the  categories  of  self- 
preservation,  nutrition,  and  sex,  while  there  are  others  whose  conduct 
cannot  be  thus  summarized.  The  behavior  of  the  tiger  and  the  cat 
is  simple  and  easily  comprehensible,  whereas  that  of  the  dog  with 
his  conscience,  his  humor,  his  terror  of  loneliness,  his  capacity  for 
devotion  to  a  brutal  master,  or  that  of  the  bee  with  her  selfless  devotion 
to  the  hive,  furnishes  phenomena  which  no  sophistry  can  assimilate 
without  the  aid  of  a  fourth  instinct.  But  little  examination  will 
show  that  the  animals  whose  conduct  it  is  difficult  to  generalize  under 
the  three  primitive  instinctive  categories  are  gregarious.  If,  then, 
it  can  be  shown  that  gregariousness  is  of  a  biological  significance 
approaching  in  importance  that  of  the  other  instincts  we  may  expect 
to  find  in  it  the  source  of  these  anomalies  of  conduct,  and  of  the 
complexity  of  human  behavior. 

Gregariousness  seems  frequently  to  be  regarded  as  a  somewhat 
superficial  character,  scarcely  deserving,  as  it  were,  the  name  of  an 
instinct,  advantageous,  it  is  true,  but  not  of  fundamental  importance 
or  likely  to  be  deeply  ingrained  in  the  inheritance  of  the  species. 
This  attitude  may  be  due  to  the  fact  that  among  mammals,  at  any 
rate',  the  appearance  of  gregariousness  has  not  been  accompanied  by 
any  very  gross  physical  changes  which  are  obviously  associated  with  it. 

To  whatever  it  may  be  due,  this  method  of  regarding  the  social 
habit  is,  in  the  opinion  of  the  present  writer,  not  justified  by  the  facts, 
and  prevents  the  attainment  of  conclusions  of  considerable  fruitfulness. 

A  study  of  bees  and  ants  shows  at  once  how  fundamental  the 
importance  of  gregariousness  may  become.  The  individual  in  such 
communities  is  completely  incapable,  often  physically,  of  existing 
apart  from  the  community,  and  this  fact  at  once  gives  rise  to  the 
suspicion  that,  even  in  communities  less  closely  knit  than  those  of 
the  ant  and  the  bee,  the  individual  may  in  fact  be  more  dependent 
on  communal  life  than  appears  at  first  sight. 

Another  very  striking  piece  of  general  evidence  of  the  significance 
of  gregariousness  as  no  mere  late  acquirement  is  the  remarkable 
coincidence  of  its  occurrence  with  that  of  exceptional  grades  of  intelli- 

1  Adapted  from  W.  Trotter,  "Herd  Instinct,"  in  the  Sociological  Review,  I 
(1908),  231-42. 


ASSIMILATION  743 

gence  or  the  possibility  of  very  complex  reactions  to  environment. 
It  can  scarcely  be  regarded  as  an  unmeaning  accident  that  the  dog, 
the  horse,  the  ape,  the  elephant,  and  man  are  all  social  animals. 
The  instances  of  the  bee  and  the  ant  are  perhaps  the  most  amazing. 
Here  the  advantages  of  gregariousness  seem  actually  to  outweigh 
the  most  prodigious  differences  of  structure,  and  we  find  a  condition 
which  is  often  thought  of  as  a  mere  habit,  capable  of  enabling  the 
insect  nervous  system  to  compete  in  the  complexity  of  its  power 
of  adaptation  with  that  of  the  higher  vertebrates. 

From  the  biological  standpoint  the  probability  of  gregariousness 
being  a  primitive  and  fundamental  quality  in  man  seems  to  be  con- 
siderable. It  would  appear  to  have  the  effect  of  enlarging  the  advan- 
tages of  variation.  Varieties  not  immediately  favorable,  varieties 
departing  widely  from  the  standard,  varieties  even  unfavorable  to 
the  individual,  may  be  supposed  to  be  given  by  it  a  chance  of  survival. 
Now  the  course  of  the  development  of  man  seems  to  present  many 
features  incompatible  with  its  having  proceeded  among  isolated 
individuals  exposed  to  the  unmodified  action  of  natural  selection. 
Changes  so  serious  as  the  assumption  of  the  upright  posture,  the 
reduction  in  the  jaw  and  its  musculature,  the  reduction  in  the  acuity 
of  smell  and  hearing,  demand,  if  the  species  is  to  survive,  either  a 
delicacy  of  adjustment  with  the  compensatingly  developing  intelli- 
gence so  minute  as  to  be  almost  inconceivable,  or  the  existence  of 
some  kind  of  protective  enclosure,  however  imperfect,  in  which  the 
varying  individuals  may  be  sheltered  from  the  direct  influence  of 
natural  selection.  The  existence  of  such  a  mechanism  would  com- 
pensate losses  of  physical  strength  in  the  individual  by  the  greatly 
increased  strength  of  the  larger  unit,  of  the  unit,  that  is  to  say,  upon 
which  natural  selection  still  acts  unmodified. 

The  cardinal  quality  of  the  herd  is  homogeneity.  It  is  clear 
that  the  great  advantage  of  the  social  habit  is  to  enable  large  numbers 
to  act  as  one,  whereby  in  the  case  of  the  hunting  gregarious  animal 
strength  in  pursuit  and  attack  is  at  once  increased  beyond  that  of  the 
creatures  preyed  upon,  and  hi  protective  socialism  the  sensitiveness 
of  the  new  unit  to  alarms  is  greatly  in  excess  of  that  of  the  individual 
member  of  the  flock. 

To  secure  these  advantages  of  homogeneity,  it  is  evident  that  the 
members  of  the  herd  must  possess  sensitiveness  to  the  behavior  of 


744  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

their  fellows.  The  individual  isolated  will  be  of  no  meaning;  the 
individual  as  part  of  the  herd  will  be  capable  of  transmitting  the  most 
potent  impulses.  Each  member  of  the  flock  tending  to  follow  his 
neighbor,  and  in  turn  to  be  followed,  each  is  in  some  sense  capable 
of  leadership;  but  no  lead  will  be  followed  that  departs  widely  from 
normal  behavior.  A  lead  will  only  be  followed  from  its  resemblance 
to  the  normal.  If  the  leader  go  so  far  ahead  as  definitely  to  cease 
to  be  in  the  herd,  he  will  necessarily  be  ignored. 

The  original  in  conduct,  that  is  to  say,  resistiveness  to  the  voice 
of  the  herd,  will  be  suppressed  by  natural  selection;  the  wolf  which 
does  not  follow  the  impulses  of  the  herd  will  be  starved;  the  sheep 
which  does  not  respond  to  the  flock  will  be  eaten. 

Again,  not  only  will  the  individual  be  responsive  to  impulses  com- 
ing from  the  herd  but  he  will  treat  the  herd  as  his  normal  environment. 
The  impulse  to  be  in  and  always  to  remain  with  the  herd  will  have  the 
strongest  instinctive  weight.  Anything  which  tends  to  separate  him 
from  his  fellows,  as  soon  as  it  becomes  perceptible  as  such,  will  be 
strongly  resisted. 

So  far  we  have  regarded  the  gregarious  animal  objectively.  Let 
us  now  try  to  estimate  the  mental  aspects  of  these  impulses.  Sup- 
pose a  species  in  possession  of  precisely  the  instinctive  endowments 
which  we  have  been  considering  to  be  also  self-conscious,  and  let  us 
ask  what  will  be  the  forms  under  which  these  phenomena  will  present 
themselves  hi  its  mind.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  quite  evident  that 
impulses  derived  from  herd  feeling  will  enter  the  mind  with  the  value 
of  instincts —  they  will  present  themselves  as  "a  priori  syntheses  of  the 
most  perfect  sort  needing  no  proof  but  their  own  evidence."  They 
will  not,  however,  it  is  important  to  remember,  necessarily  always  give 
this  quality  to  the  same  specific  acts,  but  will  show  this  great  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  that  they  may  give  to  any  opinion  whatever 
the  characters  of  instinctive  belief,  making  it  into  an  "a  priori  syn- 
thesis"; so  that  we  shall  expect  to  find  acts  which  it  would  be  absurd 
to  look  upon  as  the  results  of  specific  instincts  carried  out  with  all 
the  enthusiasm  of  instinct  and  displaying  all  the  marks  of  instinctive 
behavior. 

In  interpreting  into  mental  terms  the  consequences  of  gregarious- 
ness  we  may  conveniently  begin  with  the  simplest.  The  conscious 
individual  will  feel  an  unanalysable  primary  sense  of  comfort  in  the 


ASSIMILATION  745 

actual  presence  of  his  fellows  and  a  similar  sense  of  discomfort  in  their 
absence.  It  will  be  obvious  truth  to  him  that  it  is  not  good  for  man 
to  be  alone.  Loneliness  will  be  a  real  terror  insurmountable  by  reason. 

Again,  certain  conditions  will  become  secondarily  associated  with 
presence  with,  or  absence  from,  the  herd.  For  example,  take  the 
sensations  of  heat  and  cold.  The  latter  is  prevented  in  gregarious 
animals  by  close  crowding  and  experienced  in  the  reverse  condition; 
hence  it  conies  to  be  connected  in  the  mind  with  separation  and  so 
acquires  altogether  unreasonable  associations  of  harmfumess.  Simi- 
larly, the  sensation  of  warmth  is  associated  with  feelings  of  the  secure 
and  salutary. 

Slightly  more  complex  manifestations  of  the  same  tendency  to 
homogeneity  are  seen  in  the  desire  for  identification  with  the  herd  in 
matters  of  opinion.  Here  we  find  the  biological  explanation  of  the 
ineradicable  impulse  mankind  has  always  displayed  toward  segrega- 
tion into  classes.  Each  one  of  us  in  his  opinions,  and  his  conduct,  in 
matters  of  dress,  amusement,  religion,  and  politics,  is  compelled  to 
obtain  the  support  of  a  class,  of  a  herd  within  the  herd.  The  most 
eccentric  in  opinion  or  conduct  is,  we  may  be  sure,  supported  by  the 
agreement  of- a  class,  the  smallness  of  which  accounts  for  his  apparent 
eccentricity,  and  the  preciousness  of  which  accounts  for  his  fortitude 
in  defying  general  opinion.  Again,  anything  which  tends  to  emphasize 
difference  from  the  herd  is  unpleasant.  In  the  individual  mind  there 
will  be  an  analysable  dislike  of  the  novel  in  action  or  thought.  It 
will  be  "wrong,"  "wicked,"  "foolish,"  "undesirable,"  or,  as  we  say, 
"bad  form,"  according  to  varying  circumstances  which  we  can  already 
to  some  extent  define. 

Manifestations  relatively  more  simple  are  shown  in  the  dislike  of 
being  conspicuous,  in  shyness,  and  in  stage  fright.  It  is,  however, 
sensitiveness  to  the  behavior  of  the  herd  which  has  the  most  important 
effects  upon  the  structure  of  the  mind  of  the  gregarious  animal.  This 
sensitiveness  is,  as  Sidis  has  clearly  seen,  closely  associated  with  the 
suggestibility  of  the  gregarious  animal,  and  therefore  with  that  of  man. 
The  effect  of  it  will  clearly  be  to  make  acceptable  those  suggestions 
which  come  from  the  herd,  and  those  only.  It  is  of  especial  impor- 
tance to  note  that  this  suggestibility  is  not  general,  and  that  it  is  only 
herd  suggestions  which  are  rendered  acceptable  by  the  action  of 
instinct. 


746  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

B.      THE  CONFLICT  AND  FUSION  OF  CULTURES 
i.     The  Analysis  of  Blended  Cultures' 

In  the  analysis  of  any  culture,  a  difficulty  which  soon  meets  the 
investigator  is  that  he  has  to  determine  what  is  due  to  mere  contact 
and  what  is  due  to  intimate  intermixture,  such  intermixture,  for 
instance,  as  is  produced  by  the  permanent  blending  of  one  people 
with  another,  either  through  warlike  invasion  or  peaceful  settlement. 
The  fundamental  weakness  of  most  of  the  attempts  hitherto  made  to 
analyze  existing  cultures  is  that  they  have  had  their  starting-point 
in  the  study  of  material  objects,  and  the  reason  for  this  is  obvious. 
Owing  to  the  fact  that  material  objects  can  be  collected  by  anyone 
and  subjected  at  leisure  to  prolonged  study  by  experts,  our  knowledge 
of  the  distribution  of  material  objects  and  of  the  technique  of  their 
manufacture  has  very  far  outrun  that  of  the  less  material  elements. 
What  I  wish  now  to  point  out  is  that  in  distinguishing  between  the 
effects  of  mere  contact  and  the  intermixture  of  peoples,  material 
objects  are  the  least  trustworthy  of  all  the  constituents  of  culture. 
Thus  in  Melanesia  we  have  the  clearest  evidence  that  material  objects 
and  processes  can  spread  by  mere  contact,  without  any  true  admixture 
^of  peoples  and  without  influence  on  other  features  of  the  culture. 
While  the  distribution  of  material  objects  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
in  suggesting  at  the  outset  community  of  culture,  and  while  it  is  of 
equal  importance  in  the  final  process  of  determining  points  of  contact 
and  hi  filling  hi  the  details  of  the  mixture  of  cultures,  it  is  the  least 
satisfactory  guide  to  the  actual  blending  of  peoples  which  must  form 
the  solid  foundation  of  the  ethnological  analysis  of  culture.  The  case 
for  the  value  of  magico-religious  institutions  is  not  much  stronger. 
Here,  again,  in  Melanesia  there  is  little  doubt  that  whole  cults  can 
pass  from  one  people  to  another  without  any  real  intermixture  of 
peoples.  I  do  not  wish  to  imply  that  such  religious  institutions  can 
pass  from  people  to  people  with  the  ease  of  material  objects,  but 
to  point  out  that  there  is  evidence  that  they  can  and  do  so  pass  with 
very  little,  if  any,  admixture  of  peoples  or  of  the  deeper  and  more 
fundamental  elements  of  the  culture.  Much  more  important  is 
language;  and  if  you  will  think  over  the  actual  conditions  when  one 

1  From  W.  H.  R.  Rivers,  "The  Ethnological  Analysis  of  Culture,"  in  Nature, 
LXXXVII  (1911),  358-60. 


ASSIMILATION  747 

people  either  visit  or  settle  among  another,  this  greater  importance 
will  be  obvious.  Let  us  imagine  a  party  of  Melanesians  visiting  a 
Polynesian  island,  staying  there  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  returning 
home  (and  here  I  am  not  taking  a  fictitious  occurrence,  but  one  which 
really  happens).  We  can  readily  understand  that  the  visitors  may 
take  with  them  their  betel-mixture,  and  thereby  introduce  the  custom 
of  betel-chewing  into  a  new  home;  we  can  readily  understand  that 
they  may  introduce  an  ornament  to  be  worn  in  the  nose  and  another 
to  be  worn  on  the  chest;  that  tales  which  they  tell  will  be  remembered, 
and  dances  they  perform  will  be  imitated.  A  few  Melanesian  words 
may  pass  into  the  language  of  the  Polynesian  island,  especially  as 
names  for  the  objects  or  processes  which  the  strangers  have  intro- 
duced; but  it  is  incredible  that  the  strangers  should  thus  in  a  short 
visit  produce  any  extensive  change  in  the  vocabulary,  and  still  more 
that  they  should  modify  the  structure  of  the  language.  Such  changes 
can  never  be  the  result  of  mere  contact  or  transient  settlement  but 
must  always  indicate  a  far  more  deeply  seated  and  fundamental 
process  of  blending  of  peoples  and  cultures. 

Few  will  perhaps  hesitate  to  accept  this  position;  but  I  expect 
my  next  proposition  to  meet  with  more  skepticism,  and  yet  I  believe 
it  to  be  widely,  though  not  universally,  true.  This  proposition  is 
that  the  social  structure,  the  framework  of  society,  is  still  more  funda- 
mentally important  and  still  less  easily  changed  except  as  the  result  c 
of  the  intimate  bleridmg.jjf_p.eQrjilesi_and  for  that  reason  furnishes  by 
far  the  firmest  foundation  on  which  to  base  the  process  of  analysis 
of  culture.  I  cannot  hope  to  establish  the  truth  of  this  proposition  in 
the  course  of  a  brief  address,  and  I  propose  to  draw  your  attention 
to  one  line  of  evidence  only. 

At  the  present  moment  we  have  before  our  eyes  an  object-lesson 
in  the  spread  of  our  own  people  over  the  earth's  surface,  and  we  are 
thus  able  to  study  how  external  influence  affects  different  elements 
of  culture.  What  we  find  is  that  mere  contact  is  able  to  transmit 
much  in  the  way  of  material  culture.  A  passing  vessel,  which  does 
not  even  anchor,  may  be  able  to  transmit  iron,  while  European 
weapons  may  be  used  by  people  who  have  never  even  seen  a  white 
man.  Again,  missionaries  introduce  the  Christian  religion  among 
people  who  cannot  speak  a  word  of  English  or  any  language  but  their 
own  or  only  use  such  European  words  as  have  been  found  necessary 


748  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  express  ideas  or  objects  connected  with  the  new  religion.  There 
is  evidence  how  readily  language  may  be  affected,  and  here  again 
the  present  day  suggests  a  mechanism  by  which  such  a  change  takes 
place.  English  is  now  becoming  the  language  of  the  Pacific  and  of 
other  parts  of  the  world  through  its  use  as  a  lingua  franca,  which 
enables  natives  who  speak  different  languages  to  converse  not  only 
with  Europeans  but  with  one  another,  and  I  believe  that  this  has 
often  been  the  mechanism  in  the  past;  that,  for  instance,  the  intro- 
duction of  what  we  now  call  the  Melanesian  structure  of  language 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  language  of  an  immigrant  people  who 
settled  in  a  region  of  great  linguistic  diversity  came  to  be  used  as  a 
lingua  franca,  and  thus  gradually  became  the  basis  of  the  languages 
of  the  whole  people. 

But  now  let  us  turn  to  social  structure.  We  find  in  Oceania 
islands  where  Europeans  have  been  settled  as  missionaries  or  traders 
perhaps  for  fifty  or  a  hundred  years;  we  find  the  people  wearing 
European  clothes  and  European  ornaments,  using  European  utensils 
and  even  European  weapons  when  they  fight;  we  find  them  holding 
the  beliefs  and  practicing  the  ritual  of  a  European  religion;  we  find 
them  speaking  a  European  language,  often  even  among  themselves, 
and  yet  investigation  shows  that  much  of  their  social  structure 
remains  thoroughly  native  and  uninfluenced,  not  only  in  its  general 
form,  but  often  even  in  its  minute  details.  The  external  influence 
has  swept  away  the  whole  material  culture,  so  that  objects  of  native 
origin  are  manufactured  only  to  sell  to  tourists;  it  has  substituted  a 
wholly  new  religion  and  destroyed  every  material,  if  not  every  moral, 
vestige  of  the  old;  it  has  caused  great  modification  and  degeneration 
of  the  old  language;  and  yet  it  may  have  left  the  social  structure  in 

main  untouched.  And  the  reasons  for  this  are  clear.  Most  of 
the  essential  social  structure  of  a  people  lies  so  below  the  surface,  it 
is  so  literally  the  foundation  of  the  whole  life  of  the  people,  that  it  is 
not  seen;  it  is  not  obvious,  but  can  only  be  reached  by  patient  and 
laborious  exploration.  I  will  give  a  few  specific  instances.  In  several 
islands  of  the  Pacific,  some  of  which  have  had  European  settlers  on 
them  for  more  than  a  century,  a  most  important  position  in  the  com- 
munity is  occupied  by  the  father's  sister.  If  any  native  of  these 
islands  were  asked  who  is  the  most  important  person  in  the  determi- 
nation of  his  life-history,  he  would  answer,  "My  father's  sister"; 


ASSIMILATION  749 

and  yet  the  place  of  this  relative  in  the  social  structure  has  remained 
absolutely  unrecorded,  and,  I  believe,  absolutely  unknown,  to  the 
European  settlers  in  those  islands.  Again,  Europeans  have  settled 
in  Fiji  for  more  than  a  century,  and  yet  it  is  only  during  this  summer 
that  I  have  heard  from  Mr.  A.  M.  Hocart,  who  is  working  there  at 
present,  that  there  is  the  clearest  evidence  of  what  is  known  as  the 
dual  organization  of  society  as  a  working  social  institution  at  the 
present  time.  How  unobtrusive  such  a  fundamental  fact  of  social 
structure  may  be  comes  home  to  me  in  this  case  very  strongly,  for  it 
wholly  eluded  my  own  observation  during  a  visit  three  years  ago. 

Lastly,  the  most  striking  example  of  the  permanence  of  social 
structure  which  I  have  met  is  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  There  the 
original  native  culture  is  reduced  to  the  merest  wreckage.  So  far  as 
material  objects  are  concerned,  the  people  are  like  ourselves;  the 
old  religion  has  gone,  though  there  probably  still  persists  some  of 
the  ancient  magic.  The  people  themselves  have  so  dwindled  in 
number,  and  the  political  conditions  are  so  altered,  that  the  social 
structure  has  also  necessarily  been  greatly  modified,  and  yet  I  was 
able  to  ascertain  that  one  of  its  elements,  an  element  which  I  believe 
to  form  the  deepest  layer  of  the  foundation,  the  very  bedrock  of 
social  structure,  the  system  of  relationship,  is  still  in  use  unchanged. 
I  was  able  to  obtain  a  full  account  of  the  system  as  actually  used  at 
the  present  time,  and  found  it  to  be  exactly  the  same  as  that  recorded 
forty  years  ago  by  Morgan  and  Hyde,  and  I  obtained  evidence  that 
the  system  is  still  deeply  interwoven  with  the  intimate  mental  life 
of  the  people. 

If,  then,  social  structure  has  this  fundamental  and  deeply  seated 
character,  if  it  is  the  least  easily  changed,  and  only  changed  as  the 
result  either  of  actual  blending  of  peoples  or  of  the  most  profound 
political  changes,  the  obvious  inference  is  that  it  is  with  social  struc- 
ture that  we  must  begin  the  attempt  to  analyze  culture  and  to  ascer- 
tain how  far  community  of  culture  is  due  to  the  blending  of  peoples, 
how  far  to  transmission  through  mere  contact  or  transient  settlement. 

The  considerations  I  have  brought  forward  have,  however,  in 
my  opinion  an  importance  still  more  fundamental.  If  social  institu- 
tions have  this  relatively  great  degree  of  permanence,  if  they  are  so 
deeply  seated  and  so  closely  interwoven  with  the  deepest  instincts 
and  sentiments  of  a  people  that  they  can  only  gradually  suffer  change, 


750  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

will  not  the  study  of  this  change  give  us  our  surest  criterion  of  what 
is  early  and  what  is  late  in  any  given  culture,  and  thereby  furnish  a 
guide  for  the  analysis  of  culture?  Such  criteria  of  early  and  late 
are  necessary  if  we  are  to  arrange  the  cultural  elements  reached  by 
our  analysis  in  order  of  time,  and  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  mere 
geographical  distribution  itself  will  ever  furnish  a  sufficient  basis  for 
this  purpose.  I  may  remind  you  here  that  before  the  importance 
of  the  complexity  of  Melanesian  culture  had  forced  itself  on  my 
mind,  I  had  already  succeeded  in  tracing  out  a  course  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  structure  of  Melanesian  society,  and  after  the  complexity 
of  the  culture  had  been  established,  I  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  alter 
anything  of  essential  importance  in  this  scheme.  I  suggest,  there- 
fore, that  while  the  ethnological  analysis  of  cultures  must  furnish  a 
necessary  preliminary  to  any  general  evolutionary  speculations,  there 
is  one  element  of  culture  which  has  so  relatively  high  a  degree  of 
permanence  that  its  course  of  development  may  furnish  a  guide  to 
the  order  in  time  of  the  different  elements  into  which  it  is  possible 
to  analyze  a  given  complex. 

If  the  development  of  social  structure  is  thus  to  be  taken  as  a 
guide  to  assist  the  process  of  analysis,  it  is  evident  that  there  will  be 
involved  a  logical  process  of  considerable  complexity  in  which  there 
will  be  the  danger  of  arguing  in  a  circle.  If,  however,  the  analysis 
of  culture  is  to  be  the  primary  task  of  the  anthropologist,  it  is  evident 
that  the  logical  methods  of  the  science  will  attain  a  complexity  far 
exceeding  those  hitherto  in  vogue.  I  believe  that  the  only  logical 
process  which  will  in  general  be  found  possible  will  be  the  formulation 
of  hypothetical  working  schemes  into  which  the  facts  can  be  fitted, 
and  that  the  test  of  such  schemes  will  be  their  capacity  to  fit  in  with 
themselves,  or,  as  we  generally  express  it,  "explain"  new  facts  as 
they  come  to  our  knowledge.  This  is  the  method  of  other  sciences 
which  deal  with  conditions  as  complex  as  those  of  human  society. 
In  many  other  sciences  these  new  facts  are  discovered  by  experi- 
ment. In  our  science  they  must  be  found  by  exploration,  not  only 
of  the  cultures  still  existent  in  living  form,  but  also  of  the  buried 
cultures  of  past  ages. 


ASSIMILATION  751 

2.    The  Extension  of  Roman  Culture  in  Gaul1 

The  Roman  conquest  of  Gaul  was  partially  a  feat  of  arms;  but 
it  was  much  more  a  triumph  of  Roman  diplomacy  and  a  genius  for 
colonial  government.  Roman  power  in  Gaul  was  centered  in  the 
larger  cities  and  in  their  strongly  fortified  camps.  There  the  laws 
and  decrees  of  Rome  were  promulgated  and  the  tribute  of  the  con- 
quered tribes  received.  There,  too,  the  law  courts  were  held  and 
justice  administered.  Rome  bent  her  efforts  to  the  Latinizing  of 
her  newly  acquired  possessions.  Gradually  she  forced  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  larger  cities  to  use  the  Latin  tongue.  But  this  forcing 
was  done  in  a  diplomatic,  though  effective,  manner.  Even  in  the  days 
of  Caesar,  Latin  was  made  the  only  medium  for  the  administration  of 
the  law,  the  promulgation  of  decrees,  the  exercise  of  the  functions 
of  government,  the  administration  of  justice,  and  the  performing  of 
the  offices  of  religion.  It  was  the  only  medium  of  commerce  and 
trade  with  the  Romans,  of  literature  and  art,  of  the  theater  and 
of  social  relations.  Above  all,  it  was  the  only  road  to  office  under 
the  Roman  government  and  to  political  preferment.  The  Roman 
officials  in  Gaul  encouraged  and  rewarded  the  mastery  of  the  Latin 
tongue  and  the  acquirement  of  Roman  culture,  customs,  and  manners. 
Thanks  to  this  well-defined  policy  of  the  Roman  government,  native 
Gauls  were  found  in  important  offices  even  in  Caesar's  time.  The 
number  of  these  Gallo-Roman  offices  increased  rapidly,  and  their 
influence  was  steadily  exercised  in  favor  of  the  acquirement,  by  the 
natives,  of  the  Latin  language.  A  greater  inducement  still  was  held 
out  to  the  Gauls  to  acquire  the  ways  and  culture  of  their  conquerors. 
This  was  the  prospect  of  employment  or  political  preference  and 
honors  in  the  imperial  city  of  Rome  itself.  Under  this  pressure  so 
diplomatically  applied,  the  study  of  the  Latin  language,  grammar, 
literature,  and  oratory  became  a  passion  throughout  the  cities  of 
Gaul,  which  were  full  of  Roman  merchants,  traders,  teachers,  philoso- 
phers, lav/yers,  artists,  sculptors,  and  seekers  for  political  and  other 
offices.  Latin  was  the  symbol  of  success  in  every  avenue  of  life. 
Native  Gauls  became  noted  merchant  princes,  lawyers,  soldiers, 
local  potentates  at  home,  and  favorites  of  powerful  political  per- 
sonages in  Rome  and  even  in  the  colonies  outside  Gaul.  Natives  of 

1  From  John  H.  Cornyn,  "French  Language,"  in  the  Encyclopedia  Americana, 
XI  (1919),  646-47. 


752  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Gaul,  too,  reached  the  highest  offices  in  the  land,  becoming  even 
members  of  the  Senate;  and  later  on  a  native  Gaul  became  one 
of  the  most  noted  of  the  Roman  emperors.  The  political  policy  of 
Rome  made  the  imposition  of  the  Latin  language  upon  the  cities  of 
Gaul  a  comparatively  easy  matter,  requiring  only  time  to  assure  its 
accomplishment.  Everywhere  throughout  the  populous  cities  of 
Gaul  there  sprang  up"  schools  that  rivaled,  in  their  efficacy  and 
reputation,  the  most  famous  institutions  of  Rome.  Rich  Romans 
sent  their  sons  to  these  schools  because  of  their  excellence  and  the 
added  advantage  that  they  could  acquire  there  a  first-hand  knowledge 
of  the  life  and  customs  of  the  natives,  whom  they  might  be  called 
upon  in  the  future  to  govern  or  to  have  political  or  other  relations 
with.  Thus  all  urban  Gaul  traveled  Rome-ward — "all  roads  led  to 
Rome." 

The  influence  of  Roman  culture  extended  itself  much  more  slowly 
over  the  rural  districts,  the  inhabitants  of  which,  in  addition  to 
being  much  more  conservative  and  passionately  attached  to  their 
native  institutions  and  language,  lacked  the  incentive  of  ambition 
and  of  commercial  and  trade  necessity.  A  powerful  Druidical 
priesthood  held  the  rural  Celts  together  and  set  their  faces  against 
Roman  culture  and  religion.  But  even  in  the  rural  districts  Latin 
made  its  way  slowly  and  in  a  mangled  form,  yet  none  the  less  surely. 
This  was  accomplished  almost  entirely  through  the  natural  pressure 
from  without  exercised  by  the  growing  power  of  the  Latin  tongue, 
which  had  greatly  increased  during  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Claudius 
(41-54  A.D.).  Claudius,  who  was  born  in  Lyon  and  educated  in 
Gaul,  opened  to  the  Gauls  all  the  employments  and  dignities  of  the 
empire.  On  the  construction  of  the  many  extensive  public  works 
he  employed  many  inhabitants  of  Gaul  in  positions  requiring  faith- 
fulness, honesty,  and  skill.  These,  in  their  turn,  frequently  drew 
laborers  from  the  rural  districts  of  Gaul.  These  latter,  during  their 
residence  in  Rome  or  other  Italian  cities,  or  in  the  populous  centers 
of  Gaul,  acquired  some  knowledge  of  Latin.  Thus,  in  time,  through 
these  and  other  agencies,  a  sort  of  lingua  franca  sprang  up  throughout 
the  rural  districts  of  Gaul  and  served  as  a  medium  of  communication 
between  the  Celtic-speaking  population  and  the  inhabitants  of  the 
cities  and  towns.  This  consisted  of  a  frame  of  Latin  words  stripped 
of  most  of  their  inflections  and  subjected  to  word-contractions  and 


ASSIMILATION  753 

other  modifications.  Into  this  frame  were  fitted  many  native  words 
which  had  already  become  the  property  of  trade  and  commerce  and 
the  other  activities  of  life  in  the  city,  town,  and  country.  Thus,  as 
the  influence  of  Latin  became  stronger  in  the  cities,  it  continued  to 
exercise  greater  pressure  on  the  rural  districts.  This  pressure  soon 
began  to  react  upon  the  centers  of  Latin  culture.  The  uneducated 
classes  of  Gaul  everywhere,  even  in  the  cities,  spoke  very  imperfect 
Latin,  the  genius  of  which  is  so  different  from  that  of  the  native 
tongues  of  Gaul.  But  while  the  cities  afforded  some  correction  for 
this  universal  tendency  among  the  masses  to  corrupt  the  Latin 
language,  the  life  of  the  rural  districts,  where  the  native  tongues 
were  still  universally  spoken,  made  the  disintegration  of  the  highly 
inflected  Roman  speech  unavoidable.  As  the  masses  in  the  city  and 
country  became  more  Latinized,  at  the  expense  of  their  native 
tongues,  the  corrupted  Latin  spoken  over  immense  districts  of  the 
country  tended  to  pass  current  as  the  speech  of  the  populace  and  to 
crowd  out  classical  or  school  Latin.  As  this  corrupted  local  Latin 
varied  greatly  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  due  to  linguistic  and 
other  influences,  there  resulted  numerous  Roman  dialects  throughout 
Gaul,  many  of  which  are  still  in  existence. 

The  introduction  of  Christianity  gave  additional  impulse  to  the 
study  of  Latin,  which  soon  became  the  official  language  of  the  Chris- 
tian church;  and  it  was  taught  everywhere  by  the  priests  to  the 
middle  and  upper  classes,  and  they  also  encouraged  the  masses  to 
learn  it.  It  seemed  as  if  this  was  destined  to  maintain  the  prestige 
of  Latin  as  the  official  language  of  the  country.  But  in  reality  it 
hastened  its  downfall  by  making  it  more  and  more  the  language  of 
the  illiterate  masses.  Soon  the  rural  districts  furnished  priests  who 
spoke  their  own  Roman  tongue;  and  the  struggle  to  rehabilitate  the 
literary  Latin  among  the  masses  was  abandoned.  The  numerous 
French  dialects  of  Latin  had  already  begun  to  assume  shape  when 
the  decline  of  the  Roman  Empire  brought  the  Germanic  tribes  down 
upon  Gaul  and  introduced  a  new  element  into  the  Romanic  speech, 
which  had  already  worked  its  will  upon  the  tongue  of  the  Caesars. 
Under  its  influence  the  loose  Latin  construction  disappeared;  articles 
and  prepositions  took  the  place  of  the  inflectional  terminations 
brought  to  a  high  state  of  artificial  perfection  in  Latin;  and  the 
wholesale  suppression  of  unaccented  syllables  had  so  contracted  the 


754  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Latin  words  that  they  were  often  scarcely  recognizable.  The  modi- 
fication of  vowel  sounds  increased  the  efficacy  of  the  disguise  assumed 
by  Latin  words  masquerading  in  the  Romanic  dialects  throughout 
Gaul;  and  the  Celtic  and  other  native  words  in  current  use  to  desig- 
nate the  interests  and  occupations  of  the  masses  helped  to  differ- 
entiate the  popular  speech  from  the  classical  Latin.  Already  Celtic, 
as  a  spoken  tongue,  had  almost  entirely  disappeared  from  the  cities; 
and  even  in  the  rural  districts  it  had  fallen  into  a  certain  amount  of 
neglect,  as  the  lingua  franca  of  the  first  centuries  of  Roman  occupa- 
tion, reaching  out  in  every  direction,  became  the  ever-increasing 
popular  speech. 

3.     The  Competition  of  the  Cultural  Languages1 

Some  time  ago  a  typewriter  firm,  in  advertising  a  machine  with 
Arabic  characters,  made  the  statement  that  the  Arabic  alphabet 
is  used  by  more  people  than  any  other.  A  professor  of  Semitic 
languages  was  asked:  "How  big  a  lie  is  that?"  He  answered:  "It 
is  true." 

In  a  certain  sense,  it  is  true;  the  total  population  of  all  the 
countries  whose  inhabitants  use  the  Arabic  alphabet  (if  they  use  any) 
is  slightly  larger  than  that  of  those  who  use  the  Latin  alphabet  and 
its  slight  variations,  or  the  Chinese  characters  (which  of  course  are 
not  an  alphabet),  or  the  Russian  alphabet.  If,  however,  the  question 
is  how  many  people  can  actually  use  any  alphabet  or  system  of 
writing,  the  Arabic  stands  lowest  of  the  four. 

The  question  of  the  relative  importance  of  a  language  as  a  literary 
medium  is  a  question  of  how  many  people  want  to  read  it.  There 
are  two  classes  of  these:  those  to  whom  it  is  vernacular,  and  those 
who  learn  it  in  addition  to  their  own  language.  The  latter  class  is 
of  the  greater  importance  in  proportion  to  its  numbers;  a  man  who 
has  education  enough  to  acquire  a  foreign  language  is  pretty  sure  to 
use  it,  while  many  of  the  former  class,  who  can  read,  really  do  read 
very  little.  Those  who  count  in  this  matter  are  those  who  can  get 
information  from  a  printed  page  as  easily  as  by  listening  to  someone 
talking.  A  fair  index  of  the  relative  number  of  these  in  a  country  is 
the  newspaper  circulation  there. 

'Adapted  from  E.  H.  Babbitt,  '"The  Geography  of  the  Great  Languages," 
in  World's  Work,  XV  (1907-8),  9903-7. 


ASSIMILATION  755 

A  language  must  have  a  recognized  literary  standard  and  all  the 
people  in  its  territory  must  learn  to  use  it  as  such  before  its  influence 
goes  far  abroad.  English,  French,  and  German,  and  they  alone, 
have  reached  this  point.  French  and  German  have  no  new  country, 
and  practically  the  whole  of  their  country  is  now  literate;  their 
relative  share  in  the  world's  reading  can  only  increase  as  their  popu- 
lation increases.  Spanish  and  Russian,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
both  new  country  and  room  for  a  much  higher  percentage  of  literacy. 

It  is  probable  that  all  the  countries  in  temperate  zones  will  have 
universal  literacy  by  the  end  of  the  century.  In  this  case,  even  if 
no  one  read  English  outside  its  vernacular  countries,  it  would  still 
hold  its  own  as  the  leading  literary  language.  German  and  French 
are  bound  to  fall  off  relatively  as  vernaculars,  and  this  implies  a 
falling  off  of  their  importance  as  culture  languages;  but  the  importance 
of  English  in  this  respect  is  bound  to  grow.  The  first  place  among 
foreign  languages  has  been  given  to  it  in  the  schools  of  many  European 
and  South  American  countries;  Mexico  and  Japan  make  it  compul- 
sory in  all  schools  of  upper  grades;  and  China  is  to  follow  Japan  in 
this  respect  as  soon  as  the  work  can  be  organized. 

The  number  of  people  who  can  actually  read,  or  will  learn  if 
now  too  young,  for  the  various  languages  of  the  world  appears  to  be 
as  follows:  Numl?er 

in  Millions  Per  Cent 

English 136  27.2 

German 82  16.4 

Chinese* 70  14.0 

French 28  9.6 

Russian 30  6.0 

Arabic 25  5.0 

Italian 18  4.6 

Spanish 12  2.6 

Scandinavian n  2.2 

Dutch  and  Flemish 9  1.9 

Minor  Europeanf 34  6.8 

Minor  Asiaticf 16  3.2 

Minor  African  and  Polynesian f       ....         2+  0.5 


Total 473+  100. o 

*  Not  a  spoken  language,  but  a  system  of  writing, 
t  None  representing  as  much  as  i  per  cent  of  total. 


756  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

English,  therefore,  now  leads  all  other  languages  in  the  number 
of  its  readers.  Three-fourths  of  the  world's  mail  matter  is  addressed 
in  English.  More  than  half  of  the  world's  newspapers  are  printed 
in  English,  and,  as  they  have  a  larger  circulation  than  those  hi  other 
languages,  probably  three-fourths  of  the  world's  newspaper  reading 
is  done  in  English. 

The  languages  next  in  importance,  French  and  German,  cannot 
maintain  their  relative  positions  because  English  has  more  than  half 
of  the  new  land  in  the  temperate  zone  and  they  have  none.  The 
languages  which  have  the  rest  of  the  new  territory,  Spanish  and 
Russian,  are  not  established  as  culture  languages,  as  English  is.  No 
other  language,  not  even  French  or  German,  has  a  vernacular  so 
uniform  and  well  established,  and  with  so  few  variations  from  the 
literary  language.  English  is  spoken  in  the  United  States  by  more 
than  fifty  million  people  with  so  slight  variations  that  no  foreigner 
would  ever  notice  them.  No  other  language  whatever  can  show 
more  than  a  fraction  of  this  number  of  persons  who  speak  so  nearly 
alike. 

It  is  then  probable  that,  within  the  century,  English  will  be  the 
vernacular  of  a  quarter  instead  of  a  tenth  of  the  people  of  the  world, 
and  be  read  by  a  half  instead  of  a  quarter  of  the  people  who  can 
read. 

4.     The  Assimilation  of  Races1 

The  race  problem  has  sometimes  been  described  as  a  problem  in 
assimilation.  It  is  not  always  clear,  however,  what  assimilation 
means.  Historically  the  word  has  had  two  distinct  significations. 
According  to  earlier  usage  it  meant  "to  compare"  or  "to  make  like." 
According  to  later  usage  it  signifies  "to  take  up  and  incorporate." 

There  is  a  process  that  goes  on  in  society  by  which  individuals 
spontaneously  acquire  one  another's  language,  characteristic  atti- 
tudes, habits,  and  modes  of  behavior.  There  is  also  a  process  by 
which  individuals  and  groups  of  individuals  are  taken  over  and 
incorporated  into  larger  groups.  Both  processes  have  been  con- 
cerned in  the  formation  of  modern  nationalities.  The  modern 
Italian,  Frenchman,  and  German  is  a  composite  of  the  broken  frag- 

*From  Robert  E.  Park,  "Racial  Assimilation  in  Secondary  Groups,"  in  the 
Publications  of  Ike  American  Sociological  Society,  VIII  (1914),  66-72. 


ASSIMILATION  757 

ments  of  several  different  racial  groups.  Interbreeding  has  broken 
up  the  ancient  stocks,  and  interaction  and  imitation  have  created 
new  national  types  which  exhibit  definite  uniformities  in  language, 
manners,  and  formal  behavior. 

Ithas  sometimes  been  asatwigd  t%t  foe  ""Cation  of  a  national  type 
is  the  specific  function  of  assimilation  and  that  national  solidarity 
is  based  upon  national  homogeneity  and  "like-mindedness."  The 
extent  and  importance  of  the  kind  of  homogeneity  that  individuals 
of  the  same  nationality  exhibit  have  been  greatly  exaggerated. 
Neither  interbreeding  nor  interaction  has  created,  in  what  the  French 
term  "nationals,"  a  more  than  superficial  likeness  or  like-mindedness. 
Racial  differences  have,  to  be  sure,  disappeared  or  been  obscured,  but  ^ 
individual  differences  remain.  Individual  differences,  again,  have 
been  intensified  by  education,  personal  competition,  and  the  division 
of  labor,  until  individual  members  of  cosmopolitan  groups  probably 
represent  greater  variations  in  disposition,  temperament,  and  mental 
capacity  than  those  which  distinguished  the  more  homogeneous  races 
and  peoples  of  an  earlier  civilization. 

What  then,  precisely,  is  the  nature  of  the  homogeneity  which 
characterizes  cosmopolitan  groups  ? 

The  growth  of  modern  states  exhibits  the  progressive  merging  of 
smaller,  mutually  exclusive,  into  larger  and  more  inclusive,  social 
groups.  This  result  has  been  achieved  in  various  ways,  but  it  has 
usually  been  followed  or  accompanied  by  a  more  or  less  complete 
adoption  by  the  members  of  the  smaller  groups  of  the  language, 
technique,  and  mores  of  the  larger  and  more  inclusive  ones.  The 
immigrant  readily  takes  over  the  language,  manners,  the  social  ritual, 
and  outward  forms  of  his  adopted  country.  In  America  it  has 
become  proverbial  that  a  Pole,  Lithuanian,  or  Norwegian  cannot  be 
distinguished,  in  the  second  generation,  from  an  American  born  of 
native  parents. 

There  is  no  reason  to  assume  that  this  assimilation  of  alien  groups 
to  native  standards  has  modified  to  any  great  extent  fundamental 
racial  characteristics.  It  has,  however,  erased  the  external  signs 
which  formerly  distinguished  the  members  of  one  race  from  those  of 
another. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  breaking  up  of  the  isolation  of  smaller 
groups  has  had  the  effect  of  emancipating  the  individual  man,  giving 


758  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

him  room  and  freedom  for  the  expansion  and  development  of  his 
individual  aptitudes. 

What  one  actually  finds  in  cosmopolitan  groups,  then,  is  a  super- 
ficial uniformity,  a  homogeneity  in  manners  and  fashion,  associated 
with  relatively  profound  differences  in  individual  opinions,  senti- 
ments, and  beliefs.  This  is  just  the  reverse  of  what  one  meets  among 
primitive  peoples,  where  diversity  in  external  forms,  as  between 
different  groups,  is  accompanied  by  a  monotonous  sameness  in  the 
mental  attitudes  of  individuals.  There  is  a  striking  similarity  in  the 
sentiments  and  mental  attitudes  of  peasant  peoples  in  all  parts  of 
the  world,  although  the  external  differences  are  often  great.  In  the 
Black  Forest,  in  Baden,  Germany,  almost  every  valley  shows  a  differ- 
ent style  of  costume,  a  different  type  of  architecture,  although  in 
each  separate  valley  every  house  is  like  every  other  and  the  costume, 
as  well  as  the  religion,  is  for  every  member  of  each  separate  com- 
munity absolutely  after  the  same  pattern.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
German,  Russian,  or  Negro  peasant  of  the  southern  states,  different 
as  each  is  in  some  respects,  are  all  very  much  alike  in  certain  habitual 
attitudes  and  sentiments. 

What,  then,  is  the  role  of  homogeneity  and  like-mindedness,  such 
as  we  find  them  to  be,  in  cosmopolitan  states?  So  far  as  it  makes 
each  individual  look  like  every  other — no  matter  how  different  under 
the  skin — homogeneity  mobilizes  the  individual  man.  It  removes  the 
social  taboo,  permits  the  individual  to  move  into  strange  groups, 
and  thus  facilitates  new  and  adventurous  contacts.  In  obliterating 
the  external  signs,  which  in  secondary  groups  seem  to  be  the  sole 
basis  of  caste  and  class  distinctions,  it  realizes,  for  the  individual, 
the  principle  of  laissez  faire,  laissez  oiler.  Its  ultimate  economic  effect 
is  to  substitute  personal  for  racial  competition,  and  to  give  free  play 
to  forces  that  tend  to  relegate  every  individual,  irrespective  of  race 
or  status,  to  the  position  he  or  she  is  best  fitted  to  fill. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  ease  and  rapidity  with  which  aliens,  under 
existing  conditions  in  the  United  States,  have  been  able  to  assimilate 
themselves  to  the  customs  and  manners  of  American  life  have  enabled 
this  country  to  swallow  and  digest  every  sort  of  normal  human  differ- 
ence, except  the  purely  external  ones,  like  the  color  of  the  skin. 

It  is  probably  true,  also,  that  like-mindedness  of  the  kind  that 
expresses  itself  in  national  types  contributes  indirectly  by  facilitating 


ASSIMILATION  759 

the  intermingling  of  the  different  elements  of  the  population  to  the 
national  solidarity.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  solidarity  of 
modern  states  depends  less  on  the  homogeneity  of  population  than,  as 
James  Bryce  has  suggested,  upon  the  thorough-going  mixture  of 
heterogeneous  elements.  Like-mindedness,  so  far  as  that  term  signi- 
fies a  standard  grade  of  intelligence,  contributes  little  or  nothing  to 
national  solidarity.  Likeness  is,  after  all,  a  purely  formal  concept 
which  of  itself  cannot  hold  anything  together. 

In  the  last  analysis  social  solidarity  is  based  on  sentiment  and 
habit.  It  is  the  sentiment  of  loyalty  and  the  habit  of  what  Sumner 
calls  "concurrent  action"  that  gives  substance  and  insures  unity  to 
the  state  as  to  every  other  type  of  social  group.  This  sentiment  of 
loyalty  has  its  basis  in  a  modus  vivendi,  a  working  relation  and  mutual 
understanding  of  the  members  of  the  group.  Social  institutions 
are  not  founded  in  similarities  any  more  than  they  are  founded 
in  differences,  but  in  relations,  and  in  the  mutual  interdepend- 
ence of  parts.  When  these  relations  have  the  sanction  of  custom 
and  are  fixed  in  individual  habit,  so  that  the  activities  of  the 
group  are  running  smoothly,  personal  attitudes  and  sentiments, 
which  are  the  only  forms  in  which  individual  minds  collide  and 
clash  with  one  another,  easily  accommodate  themselves  to  the  exist- 
ing situation. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  said  that  loyalty  itself  is  a  form  of  like- 
mindedness  or  that  it  is  dependent  in  some  way  upon  the  like- 
mindedness  of  the  individuals  whom  it  binds  together.  This, 
however,  cannot  be  true,  for  there  is  no  greater  loyalty  than  that 
which  binds  the  dog  to  his  master,  and  this  is  a  sentiment  which 
that  faithful  animal  usually  extends  to  other  members  of  the  house- 
hold to  which  he  belongs.  A  dog  without  a  master  is  a  dangerous 
animal,  but  the  dog  that  has  been  domesticated  is  a  member  of 
society.  He  is  not,  of  course,  a  citizen,  although  he  is  not  entirely 
without  rights.  But  he  has  got  into  some  sort  of  practical  working 
relations  with  the  group  to  which  he  belongs. 

It  is  this  practical  working  arrangement,  into  which  individuals 
with  widely  different  mental  capacities  enter  as  co-ordinate  parts, 
that  gives  the  corporate  character  to  social  groups  and  insures  their 
solidarity.  It  is  the  process  of  assimilation  by  which  groups  of 
individuals,  originally  indifferent  or  perhaps  hostile,  achieve  this 


760  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

corporate  character,  rather  than  the  process  by  which  they  acquire  a 
formal  like-mindedness,  with  which  this  paper  is  mainly  concerned. 

The  difficulty  with  the  conception  of  assimilation  which  one 
ordinarily  meets  in  discussions  of  the  race  problem  is  that  it  is  based 
on  observations  confined  to  individualistic  groups  where  the  char- 
acteristic relations  are  indirect  and  secondary.  It  takes  no  account 
of  the  kind  of  assimilation  that  takes  place  in  primary  groups  where 
relations  are  direct  and  personal — in  the  tribe,  for  example,  and  in 
the  family. 

Thus  Charles  Francis  Adams,  referring  to  the  race  problem  in  an 
address  at  Richmond,  Virginia,  in  November,  1908,  said: 

The  American  system,  as  we  know,  was  founded  on  the  assumed  basis 
of  a  common  humanity,  that  is,  absence  of  absolutely  fundamental  racial 
characteristics  was  accepted  as  an  established  truth.  Those  of  all  races 
were  welcomed  to  our  shores.  They  came,  aliens;  they  and  their  descend- 
ants would  become  citizens  first,  natives  afterward.  It  was  a  process  first 
of  assimilation  and  then  of  absorption.  On  this  all  depended.  There 
could  be  no  permanent  divisional  lines.  That  theory  is  now  plainly  broken 
down.  We  are  confronted  by  the  obvious  fact,  as  undeniable  as  it  is 
hard,  that  the  African  will  only  partially  assimilate  and  that  he  cannot 
be  absorbed.  He  remains  an  alien  element  in  the  body  politic.  A  foreign 
substance,  he  can  neither  be  assimilated  nor  thrown  out. 

More  recently  an  editorial  in  the  Outlook,  discussing  the  Japanese 
situation  in  California,  made  this  statement: 

The  hundred  millions  of  people  now  inhabiting  the  United  States  must 
be  a  united  people,  not  merely  a  collection  of  groups  of  different  peoples, 
different  in  racial  cultures  and  ideals,  agreeing  to  live  together  in  peace 
and  amity.  These  hundred  millions  must  have  common  ideals,  common 
aims,  a  common  custom,  a  common  culture,  a  common  language,  and 
common  characteristics,  if  the  nation  is  to  endure. 

All  this  is  quite  true  and  interesting,  but  it  does  not  clearly  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  the  chief  obstacle  to  the  assimilation  of  the  Negro 
and  the  Oriental  are  not  mental  but  physical  traits.  It  is  not  because 
the  Negro  and  the  Japanese  are  so  differently  constituted  that  they 
do  not  assimilate.  If  they  were  given  an  opportunity,  the  Japanese 
are  quite  as  capable  as  the  Italians,  the  Armenians,  or  the  Slavs  of 
acquiring  our  culture  and  sharing  our  national  ideals.  The  trouble  is 


ASSIMILATION  761 

not  with  the  Japanese  mind  but  with  the  Japanese  skin.    The  Jap 
is  not  the  right  color. 

The  fact  that  the  Japanese  bears  in  his  features  a  distinctive 
racial  hallmark,  that  he  wears,  so  to  speak,  a  racial  uniform,  classifies 
him.  He  cannot  become  a  mere  individual,  indistinguishable  in 
the  cosmopolitan  mass  of  the  population,  as  is  true,  for  example, 
of  the  Irish,  and,  to  a  lesser  extent,  of  some  of  the  other  immigrant 
races.  The  Japanese,  like  the  Negro,  is  condemned  to  remain  among 
us  an  abstraction,  a  symbol — and  a  symbol  not  merely  of  his  own  race 
but  of  the  Orient  and  of  that  vague,  ill-defined  menace  we  sometimes 
refer_to  as^the  "yellow  peril."  This  not  only  determines  to  a  very 
large  extent  the  attitude  of  the  white  world  toward  the  yellow  man 
but  it  determines  the  attitude  of  the  yellow  man  toward  the  white. ' 
It  jmts  between  the  races  the  invisible  but  very  real  gulf  of_sejf- 
consciousness. 

There  is  another  consideration.  Peoples  we  know  intimately  we 
respect  and  esteem.  In  our  casual  contact  with  aliens,  however,  it 
is  the  offensive  rather  than  the  pleasing  traits  that  impress  us.  These 
impressions  accumulate  and  reinforce  natural  prejudices.  Where 
races  are  distinguished  by  certain  external  marks,  these  furnish  a 
permanent  physical  substratum  upon  which  and  around  which  the 
irritations  and  animosities,  incidental  to  all  human  intercourse, 
tend  to  accumulate  and  so  gain  strength  and  volume. 

Assimilation,  as  the  word  is  here  used,  brings  with  it  a  certain 
borrowed  significance  which  it  carried  over  from  physiology,  where  it 
is  employed  to  describe  the  process  of  nutrition.  By  a  process  of 
nutrition,  somewhat  similar  to  the  physiological  one,  we  may  conceive 
alien  peoples  to  be  incorporated  with,  and  made  part  of,  the  com- 
munity or  state.  Ordinarily  assimilation  goes  on  silently  and  uncon- 
sciously, and  only  forces  itself  into  popular  conscience  when  there 
is  some  interruption  or  disturbance  of  the  process. 

At  the  outset  it  may  be  said,  then,  that  assimilation  rarely  becomes 
a  problem  except  in  secondary  groups.    Admission  to  the  primary 
group,  that  is  to  say,  the  group  hi  which  relationships  are  direct  and 
personal,  as,  for  example,  in  the  family  and  hi  the  tribe,  makes  > 
assimilation  comparatively  easy  and  almost  inevitable. 

The  most  striking  illustration  of  this  is  the  fact  of  domestic 
slavery.  Slavery  has  been,  historically,  the  usual  method  by  which 


Y 


762  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

peoples  have  been  incorporated  into  alien  groups.  When  a  member 
of  an  alien  race  is  adopted  into  the  family  as  a  servant  or  as  a  slave, 
and  particularly  when  that  status  is  made  hereditary,  as  it  was  in  the 
case  of  the  Negro  after  his  importation  to  America,  assimilation 
followed  rapidly  and  as  a  matter  of  course. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  two  races  farther  removed  from  each 
other  in  temperament  and  tradition  than  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the 
Negro,  and  yet  the  Negro  in  the  southern  states,  particularly  where 
he  was  adopted  into  the  household  as  a  family  servant,  learned  in  a 
comparatively  short  time  the  manners  and  customs  of  his  master's 
family.  He  very  soon  possessed  himself  of  so  much  of  the  language, 
religion,  and  the  technique  of  the  civilization  of  his  master  as,  in  his 
station,  he  was  fitted  or  permitted  to  acquire.  Eventually,  also, 
Negro  slaves  transferred  their  allegiance  to  the  state  of  which  they 
were  only  indirectly  members,  or  at  least  to  their  masters'  families, 
with  whom  they  felt  themselves  in  most  things  one  in  sentiment  and 
interest. 

The  assimilation  of  the  Negro  field  hand,  where  the  contact  of  the 
slave  with  his  master  and  his  master's  family  was  less  intimate,  was 
naturally  less  complete.  On  the  large  plantations,  where  an  overseer 
stood  between  the  master  and  the  majority  of  his  slaves,  and  especially 
on  the  sea  island  plantations  off  the  coast  of  South  Carolina,  where 
the  master  and  his  family  were  likely  to  be  merely  winter  visitors, 
this  distance  between  master  and  slave  was  greatly  increased.  The 
consequence  is  that  the  Negroes  in  these  regions  are  less  touched 
today  by  the  white  man's  influence  and  civilization  than  elsewhere 
in  the  southern  states. 

C.      AMERICANIZATION  AS  A   PROBLEM  IN  ASSIMILATION1 
i.    Americanization  as  Assimilation 

The  Americanization  Study  has  assumed  that  the  fundamental 
condition  of  what  we  call  "Americanization"  is  the  participation  of 
tbejimmigrant  in  the  life  of  Uie  community  in  which  he  lives.  The 
point  here  emphasized  is  that  patriotism,  loyalty,  and  common  sense 

*The  three  selections  under  this  heading  are  adapted  from  Memorandum  on 
Americanization,  prepared  by  the  Division  of  Immigrant  Heritages,  of  the  Study 
of  Methods  of  Americanization,  of  the  Carnegie  Corporation,  New  York  City,  1919 


ASSIMILATION  763 

are  neither  created  nor  transmitted  by  purely  intellectual  processes. 
Men  must  live  and  work  and  fight  together  in  order  to  create  that 
community  of  interest  and  sentiment  which  will  enable  them  to  meet 
the  crises  of  their  common  life  with  a  common  will. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  word  "participation"  as  here 
employed  has  a  wide  application,  and  it  becomes  important  for  work- 
ing purposes  to  give  a  more  definite  and  concrete  meaning  to  the  term. 

2.    Language  as  a  Means  and  a  Product  of  Participation 

Obviously  any  organized  social  activity  whatever  and  any  partici- 
pation in  this  activity  implies  "communication."  In  human,  as 
distinguished  from  animal,  society  common  life  is  based  on  a  com- 
mon speech.  To  share  a  common  speech  does  not  guarantee  participa- 
tion in  the  community  life  but  it  is  an  instrument  of  participation,  and 
its  acquisition  by  the  members  of  an  immigrant  group  is  rightly 
considered  a  sign  and  a  rough  index  of  Americanization. 

It  is,  however,  one  of  the  ordinary  experiences  of  social  intercourse 
that  words  and  things  do  not  have  the  same  meanings  with  different  - 
people,  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  in  different  periods  of  time, 
and,  in  general,  in  different  contexts.  The  same  "thing"  has  a 
different  meaning  for  the  naive  person  and  the  sophisticated  person, 
for  the  child  and  the  philosopher;  the  new  experience  derives  its 
significance  from  the  character  and  organization  of  the  previous 
experiences.  To  the  peasant  a  comet,  a  plague,  and  an  epileptic 
person  may  mean  a  divine  portent,  a  visitation  of  God,  a  possession 
by  the  devil;  to  the  scientific  man  they  mean  something  quite  differ- 
ent. The  word  "slavery"  had  very  different  connotations  in  the 
ancient  world  and  today.  It  has  a  very  different  significance  today 
in  the  southern  states  and  in  the  northern  states.  "Socialism"  has 
a  very  different  significance  to  the  immigrant  from  the  Russian 
pale  living  on  the  "East  Side"  of  New  York  City,  to  the  citizen  on 
Riverside  Drive,  and  to  the  native  American  in  the  hills  of  Georgia. 

Psychologists  explain  this  difference  in  the  connotation  of  the 
same  word  among  people  using  the  same  language  in  terms  of  differ- 
ence in  the  "apperception  mass"  in  different  individuals  and  different 
groups  of  individuals.  In  their  phraseology  the  " apperception  mass  " 
represents  the  body  of  memories  and  meanings  deposited  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  individual  from  ihe  totality  of  his  experiences.  It  is 


764  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  body  of  material  with  which  every  new  datum  of  experience  comes 
into  contact,  to  which  it  is  related,  and  in  connection  with  which  it 
gets  its  meaning. 

When  persons  interpret  data  on  different  grounds,  when  the 
apperception  mass  is  radically  different,  we  say  popularly  that  they 
live  in  different  worlds.  The  logician  expresses  this  by  saying  that 
-  they  occupy  different  "universes  of  discourse" — that  is,  they  cannot 
talk  in  the  same  terms.  The  ecclesiastic,  the  artist,  the  mystic, 
the  scientist,  the  Philistine,  the  Bohemian,  represent  more  or  less 
different  "universes  of  discourse."  Even  social  workers  occupy 
universes  of  discourse  not  mutually  intelligible. 

Similarly,  different  races  and  nationalities  as  wholes  represent 
different  apperception  masses  and  consequently  different  universes 
of  discourse  and  are  not  mutually  intelligible.  Even  our  remote 
forefathers  are  with  difficulty  intelligible  to  us,  though  always  more 
intelligible  than  the  Eastern  immigrant  because  of  the  continuity  of 
our  tradition.  Still  it  is  almost  as  difficult  for  us  to  comprehend 
Elsie  Dinsmore  or  the  Westminster  Catechism  as  the  Koran  or  the 
Talmud. 

It  is  apparent,  therefore,  that  in  the  wide  extension  and  vast  com- 
plexity of  modern  life,  in  which  peoples  of  different  races  and  cultures 
are  now  coming  into  intimate  contact,  the  divergences  in  the  mean- 
ings and  values  which  individuals  and  groups  attach  to  objects  and 
forms  of  behavior  are  deeper  than  anything  expressed  by  differences 
in  language. 

Actually  common  participation  in  common  activities  implies  a 
—  common  "definition  of  the  situation."  In  fact,  every  single  act,  and 
eventually  all  moral  life,  is  dependent  upon  the  definition  of  the 
situation.  A  definition  of  the  situation  precedes  and  limits  any 
possible  action,  and  a  redefinition  of  the  situation  changes  the  char- 
acter of  the  action.  An  abusive  person,  for  example,  provokes  anger 
and  possibly  violence,  but  if  we  realize  that  the  man  is  insane  this 
redefinition  of  the  situation  results  in  totally  different  behavior. 

Every  social  group  develops  systematic Land  unsystematic  means 
of  defining  the  situation  for  its  members.  Among  these  means  are 
the  "don'ts"  of  the  mother,  the  gossip  of  the  community,  epithets 
("liar,"  "traitor,"  "scab"),  the  sneer,  the  shrug,  the  newspaper, 
the  theater,  the  school,  libraries,  the  law,  and  the  gospel.  Education 


ASSIMILATION  765 

in  the  widest  sense — intellectual,  moral,  aesthetic — is  the  process  of 
defining  the  situation.  It  is  the  process  by  which  the  definitions 
of  an  older  generation  are  transmitted  to  a  younger.  In  the  case  of 
the  immigrant  it  is  the  process  by  which  the  definitions  of  one  cul- 
tural group  are  transmitted  to  another. 

Differences  in  meanings  and  values,  referred  to  above  in  terms 
of  the  "apperception  mass,"  grow  out  of  the  fact  that  different 
individuals  and  different  peoples  have  defined  the  situation  in  differ- 
ent ways.  When  we  speak  of  the  different  "heritages"  or  "tradi- 
tions"  which  our  different  immigrant  groups  bring,  it  means  that, 
owing  to  different  historical  circumstances,  they  have  defined  the 
situation  differently.  Certain  prominent  personalities,  schools  ofj 
thought,  bodies  of  doctrine,  historical  events,  have  contributed  in 
defining  the  situation  and  determining  the  attitudes  and  values  of 
our  various  immigrant  groups  in  characteristic  ways  in  their  home 
countries.  To  the  Sicilian,  for  example,  marital  infidelity  means  the 
stiletto;  to  the  American,  the  divorce  court.  And  even  when  the 
immigrant  thinks  that  he  understands  us,  he  nevertheless  does  not 
do  this  completely.  At  the  best  he  interprets  our  cultural  traditions  ^» 
in  terms  of  his  own.  Actually  the  situation  is  progressively  redefined 
by  the  consequences  of  the  actions,  provoked  by  the  previous 
definitions,  and  a  prison  experience  is  designed  to  provide  a  datum 
toward  the  redefinition  of  the  situation. 

It  is  evidently  important  that  the  people  who  compose  a  com- 
munity and  share  in  the  common  life  should  have  a  sufficient  body  of 
common  memories  to  understand  one  another.  This  is  particularly 
true  in  a  democracy,  where  it  is  intended  that  the  public  institutions 
should  be  responsive  to  public  opinion.  There  can  be  no  public 
opinion  except  in  so  far  as  the  persons  who  compose  the  public  are 
able  to  live  in  the  same  world  and  speak  and  think  in  the  same  uni- 
verse of  discourse.  For  that  reason  it  seems  desirable  that  the 
immigrants  should  not  only  speak  the  language  of  the  country  but 
should  know  something  of  the  history  of  the  people  among  wThom 
they  have  chosen  to  dwell.  For  the  same  reason  it  is  important  that 
native  Americans  should  know  the  history  and  social  life  of  the 
countries  from  which  the  immigrants  come. 

It  is  important  also  that  every  individual  should  share  as  fully 
as  possible  a  fund  of  knowledge,  experience,  sentiments,  and  ideals 


766  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

common  to  the  whole  community  and  himself  contribute  to  this  fund. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  maintain  and  seek  to  maintain  freedom 
of  speech  and  free  schools.  The  function  of  literature,  including 
poetry,  romance,  and  the  newspaper,  is  to  enable  all  to  share  vic- 
toriously and  imaginatively  in  the  inner  life  of  each.  The  function  of 
science  is  to  gather  up,  classify,  digest,  and  preserve,  in  a  form  in 
which  they  may  become  available  to  the  community  as  a  whole, 
the  ideas,  inventions,  and  technical  experience  of  the  individuals  com- 
posing it.  Thus  not  merely  the  possession  of  a  common  language 
but  the  wide  extension  of  the  opportunities  for  education  become 
conditions  of  Americanization. 

The  immigration  problem  is  unique  in  the  sense  that  the  immi- 
grant brings  divergent  definitions  of  the  situation,  and  this  renders 
his  participation  in  our  activities  difficult.  At  the  same  tune  this 
problem  is  of  the  same  general  type  as  the  one  exemplified  by  "  syn- 
dicalism," "bolshevism,"  "socialism,"  etc.,  where  the  definition  of 
the  situation  does  not  agree  with  the  traditional  one.  The  modern 
"social  unrest,"  like  the  immigrant  problem,  is  a  sign  of  the  lack  of 
participation  and  this  is  true  to  the  degree  that  certain  elements 
feel  that  violence  is  the  only  available  means  of  participating. 

3.    Assimilation  and  the  Mediation  of  Individual  Differences 

In  general,  a  period  of  unrest  represents  the  stage  in  which  a  new 
definition  of  the  situation  is  being  prepared.  Emotion  and  unrest  are 
connected  with  situations  where  there  is  loss  of  control.  Control  is 
secured  on  the  basis  of  habits  and  habits  are  built  up  on  the  basis  of 
the  definition  of  the  situation.  Habit  represents  a  situation  where 
the  definition  is  working.  When  control  is  lost  it  means  that  the 
habits  are  no  longer  adequate,  that  the  situation  has  changed  and 
demands  a  redefinition.  This  is  the  point  at  which  we  have  unrest 
— a  heightened  emotional  state,  random  movements,  unregulated 
behavior-  -and  this  continues  until  the  situation  is  redefined.  The 
unrest  is  associated  with  conditions  in  which  the  individual  or  society 
feels  unable  to  act.  It  represents  energy,  and  the  problem  is  to  use 
it  constructively. 

The  older  societies  tended  to  treat  unrest  by  defining  the  situation 
in  terms  of  the  suppression  or  postponement  of  the  wish;  they  tried 
to  make  the  repudiation  of  the  wish  itself  a  wish.  "  Contentment," 


ASSIMILATION  767 

"conformity  to  the  will  of  God,"  ultimate  "salvation"  in  a  better 
world,  are  representative  of  this.  The  founders  of  America  denned 
the  situation  in  terms  of  participation,  but  this  has  actually  taken 
too  exclusively  the  form  of  "political  participation."  The  present 
tendency  is  to  define  the  situation  in  terms  of  social  participation, 
including  demand  for  the  improvement  of  social  conditions  to  a 
degree  which  will  enable  all  to  participate. 

But,  while  it  is  important  that  the  people  who  are  members  of 
the  same  community  should  have  a  body  of  common  memories  and  a 
common  apperception  mass,  so  that  they  may  talk  intelligibly  to  one 
another,  it  is  neither  possible  nor  necessary  that  everything  should 
have  the  same  meaning  for  everyone.  A  perfectly  homogeneous  con- 
sciousness would  mean  a  tendency  to  define  all  situations  rigidly  and 
sacredly  and  once  and  forever.  Something  like  this  did  happen  in 
the  Slavic  village  communities  and  among  all  savage  people,  and  it 
was  the  ideal  of  the  medieval  church,  but  it  implies  a  low  level  of 
efficiency  and  a  slow  rate  of  progress. 

Mankind  is  distinguished,  in  fact,  from  the  animal  world  by  being 
composed  of  persons  of  divergent  types,  of  varied  tastes  and  interests, 
of  different  vocations  and  functions.  Civilization  is  the  product  of 
an  association  of  widely  different  individuals,  and  with  the  progress 
of  civilization  the  divergence  in  individual  human  types  has  been 
and  must  continue  to  be  constantly  multiplied.  Our  progress  in  the 
arts  and  sciences  and  in  the  creation  of  values  in  general  has  been 
dependent  on  specialists  whose  distinctive  worth  was  precisely  their 
divergence  from  other  individuals.  It  is  even  evident  that  we  have 
been  able  to  use  productively  individuals  who  hi  a  savage  or  peasant 
society  would  have  been  classed  as  insane — who  perhaps  were  indeed 
insane. 

The  ability  to  participate  productively  implies  thus  a  diversity  of 
attitudes  and  values  in  the  participants,  but  a  diversity  not  so  great  as 
to  lower  the  morals  of  the  community  and  to  prevent  effective 
co-operation.  It  is  important  to  have  ready  definitions  for  all 
immediate  situations,  but  progress  is  dependent  on  the  constant 
redefinitions  for  all  immediate  situations,  and  the  ideal  condition  for 
this  is  the  presence  of  individuals  with  divergent  definitions,  who 
contribute,  in  part  consciously  and  in  part  unconsciously,  through 
their  individualism  and  labors  to  a  common  task  and  a  common  end. 


768  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  only  in  this  way  that  an  intelligible  world,  in  which  each  can 
participate  according  to  his  intelligence,  comes  into  existence.  For  it  is 
only  through  their  consequences  that  words  get  their  meanings  or  that 
situations  become  defined.  It  is  through  conflict  and  co-operation, 
or,  to  use  a  current  phrase  of  economists,  through  "competitive 
co-operation,"  that  a  distinctively  human  type  of  society  does  any- 
where exist.  Privacy  and  publicity,  "society"  and  solitude,  public 
ends  and  private  enterprises,  are  each  and  all  distinctive  factors 
in  human  society  everywhere.  They  are  particularly  characteristic 
of  historic  American  democracy. 

In  this  whole  connection  it  appears  that  the  group  consciousness 
and  the  individual  himself  are  formed  by  communication  and  par- 
ticipation, and  that  the  communication  and  participation  are  them- 
selves dependent  for  their  meaning  on  common  interests. 

But  it  would  be  an  error  to  assume  that  participation  always 
implies  an  intimate  personal,  face-to-face  relation.  Specialists  par- 
ticipate notably  and  productively  in  our  common  life,  but  this  is 
evidently  not  on  the  basis  of  personal  association  with  their  neighbors. 
Darwin  was  assisted  by  Lyell,  Owen,  and  other  contemporaries  hi 
working  out  a  new  definition  of  the  situation,  but  these  men  were  not 
his  neighbors.  When  Mayer  worked  out  his  theory  of  the  transmu- 
tation of  energy,  his  neighbors  hi  the  village  of  Heilbronn  were  so  far 
from  participating  that  they  twice  confined  him  hi  insane  asylums.  A 
postage  stamp  may  be  a  more  efficient  instrument  of  participation 
than  a  village  meeting. 

Defining  the  situation  with  reference  to  the  participation  of  the 
immigrant  is  of  course  not  solving  the  %  problem  of  immigration. 
This  involves  an  analysis  of  the  whole  significance  of  the  qualitative 
and  quantitative  character  of  a  population,  with  reference  to  any 
given  values — standards  of  living,  individual  level  of  efficiency, 
liberty  and  determinism,  etc.  We  have,  for  instance,  in  America  a 
certain  level  of  culture,  depending,  let  us  say  as  a  minimum,  on  the 
perpetuation  of  our  public-school  system.  But,  if  by  some  con- 
ceivable lusus  naturae  the  birth  rate  was  multiplied  a  hundred  fold, 
or  by  some  conceivable  cataclysm  a  hundred  million  African  blacks 
were  landed  annually  on  our  eastern  coast  and  an  equal  number  of 
Chinese  coolies  on  our  western  coast,  then  we  should  have  neither 
teachers  enough  nor  buildings  enough  nor  material  resources  enough 


ASSIMILATION  769 

to  impart  even  the  three  R's  to  a  fraction  of  the  population,  and  the 
outlook  of  democracy,  so  far  as  it  is  dependent  upon  participation, 
would  become  very  dismal.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  conceivable  that 
certain  immigrant  populations  in  certain  numbers,  with  their  special 
temperaments,  endowments,  and  social  heritages,  would  contribute 
positively  and  increasingly  to  our  stock  of  civilization.  These  are 
questions  to  be  determined,  but  certainly  if  the  immigrant  is  admitted 
on  any  basis  whatever  the  condition  of  his  Americanization  is  that 
he  shall  have  the  widest  and  freest  opportunity  to  contribute  in  his 
own  way  to  the  common  fund  of  knowledge,  ideas,  and  ideals  which 
makes  up  the  culture  of  our  common  country.  It  is  only  in  this  way 
that  the  immigrant  can  "participate"  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  term. 

III.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    Assimilation  and  Amalgamation 

The  literature  upon  assimilation  falls  naturally  under  three  main 
heads:  (i)  assimilation  and  amalgamation;  (2)  the  conflict  and 
fusion  of  cultures;  and  (3)  immigration  and  Americanization. 

Literature  on  assimilation  is  very  largely  a  by-product  of  the  |j 
controversy  in  regard  to  the  relative  superiority  and  inferiority  of  '' 
races.    This  controversy  owes  its  existence,  in  the  present  century, 
to  the  publication  hi  1854  of  Gobineau's  The  Inequality  of  Human 
Races.    This  treatise  appeared  at  a  time  when  the  dominant  peoples 
of  Europe  were  engaged  in  extending  their  benevolent  protection 
over  all  the  "unprotected"  lesser  breeds,  and  this  book  offered  a 
justification,  on  biological  grounds,  of  the  domination  of  the  "  inferior  "  - 
by  the  "superior"  races. 

Gobineau's  theory,  and  that  of  the  schools  which  have  perpetuated 
and  elaborated  his  doctrines,  defined  culture  as  an  essentially  racial 
trait.  Other  races  might  accommodate  themselves  to,  but  could  not 
originate  nor  maintain  a  superior  culture.  This  is  the  aristocratic 
theory  of  the  inequalities  of  races  and,  as  might  be  expected,  was 
received  with  enthusiasm  by  the  chauvinists  of  the  "strong"  nations. 

The  opposing  school  is  disposed  to  treat  the  existing  civilizations" 
as  largely  the  result  of  historical  accident.    The  superior  peoples  are 
those  who  have  had  access  to  the  accumulated  cultural  materials  of 


770  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  peoples  that  preceded  them.  Modern  Europe  owes  its  civilization 
to  the  fact  that  it  went  to  school  to  the  ancients.  The  inferior 
peoples  are  those  who  did  not  have  this  advantage. 

Ratzel  was  one  of  the  first  to  venture  the  theory  that  the  natural 
and  the  cultural  peoples  were  fundamentally  alike  and  that  the 
existing  differences,  great  as  they  are,  were  due  to  geographical  and 
cultural  isolation  of  the  less  advanced  races.  Boas'  Mind  of  Primitive 
Man  is  the  most  systematic  and  critical  statement  of  that  view  of  the 
matter. 

The  discussion  which  these  rival  theories  provoked  has  led  stu- 
dents to  closer  studies  of  the  effects  of  racial  contacts  and  to  a  more 
penetrating  analysis  of  the  cultural  process. 

The  contacts  of  races  have  invariably  led  to  racial  intermixture, 
and  the  mixed  breed,  as  in  the  case  of  the  mulatto,  the  result  of  the 
white- Negro  cross,  has  tended  to  create  a  distinct  cultural  as  well  as 
a  racial  type.  E.  B.  Renter's  volume  on  The  Mulatto  is  the  first 
serious  attempt  to  study  the  mixed  blood  as  a  cultural  type  and  define 
his  role  in  the  conflict  of  races  and  cultures. 

Historical  cases  of  the  assimilation  of  one  group  by  another  are 
frequent.  Kaindl's  investigations  of  the  German  settlements  in  the 
Carpathian  lands  are  particularly  instructive.  The  story  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  early  German  settlers  in  Cracow,  Galicia,  were 
Polonized  mainly  under  the  influence  of  the  Polish  nobility,  is  all 
the  more  interesting  when  it  is  contrasted  with  the  German  colonists 
in  the  Siebenbiirgen,  which  have  remained  strongholds  of  the  German 
language  and  culture  in  the  midst  of  a  population  of  Roumanian 
peasants  for  nearly  eight  hundred  years.  Still  more  interesting  are 
the  recent  attempts  of  the  Prussians  to  Germanize  the  former  province 
of  Posen,  now  reunited  to  Poland.  Prussia's  policy  of  colonization 
of  German  peasants  in  Posen  failed  for  several  reasons,  but  it  failed 
finally  because  the  German  peasant,  finding  himself  isolated  in  the 
midst  of  a  Polish  community,  either  gave  up  the  land  the  government 
had  acquired  for  him  and  returned  to  his  native  German  province,  or 
identified  himself  with  the  Polish  community  and  was  thus  lost 
to  the  cause  of  German  nationalism.  The  whole  interesting  history 
of  that  episode  is  related  in  Bernhard's  Die  Polenfrage,  which  is  at  the 
same  time  an  account  of  the  organization  of  an  autonomous  Polish 
community  within  the  limits  of  a  German  state. 


ASSIMILATION  771 

The  competition  and  survival  of  languages  afford  interesting 
material  for  the  study  of  cultural  contacts  and  the  conditions  that 
determine  assimilation.  Investigations  of  the  racial  origins  of  Euro- 
pean peoples  have  discovered  a  great  number  of  curious  cultural 
anomalies.  There  are  peoples  like  the  Spreewalder  who  inhabit  a 
little  cultural  island  of  about  240  miles  square  in  the  Province  of 
Brandenburg,  Prussia.  Surviving  remnants  of  a  Slavic  people,  they 
still  preserve  their  language  and  their  tribal  costumes,  and,  although 
but  thirty  thousand  in  number  and  surrounded  by  Germans,  maintain 
a  lively  literary  movement  all  their  own.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
most  vigorous  and  powerful  of  the  Germanic  nationalities,  the  Prus- 
sian, bears  the  name  of  a  conquered  Slavic  people  whose  language, 
"Old  Prussian,"  not  spoken  since  the  seventeenth  century,  is  pre- 
served only  in  a  few  printed  books,  including  a  catechism  and  German- 
Prussian  vocabulary,  which  the  German  philologists  have  rescued 
from  oblivion. 

2.    The  Conflict  and  Fusion  of  Cultures 

The  contacts  and  transmission  of  cultures  have  been  investigated 
in  different  regions  of  social  life  under  different  titles.  The  ethnolo- 
gists have  investigated  the  process  among  primitive  peoples  under  the 
title  acculturation.  Among  historical  peoples,  on  the  other  hand, 
acculturation  has  been  called  assimilation.  The  aim  of  missions  has 
been,  on  the  whole,  to  bring  the  world  under  the  domination  of  a 
single  moral  order;  but  in  seeking  to  accomplish  this  task  they  have 
contributed  greatly  to  the  fusion  and  cross-fertilization  of  racial  and 
national  cultures. 

The  problem  of  origin  is  the  first  and  often  the  most  perplexing 
problem  which  the  study  of  primitive  cultures  presents.1  Was  a 
given  cultural  trait,  i.e.,  a  weapon,  a  tool,  or  a  myth,  borrowed  or 
invented?  For  example,  there  are  several  independent  centers  of 
origin  and  propagation  of  the  bow  and  arrow.  Writing  approached 
or  reached  perfection  in  at  least  five  different,  widely  separated 
regions.  Other  problems  of  acculturation  which  have  been  studied 
include  the  following:  the  degree  and  order  of  transmissibility  of 
different  cultural  traits;  the  persistence  or  the  immunity  against 
change  of  different  traits;  the  modification  of  cultural  traits  in  the 

1  See  chap,  i,  pp.  16-24. 


772  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

process  of  transmission;  the  character  of  social  contacts  between 
cultural  groups;  the  distance  that  divides  cultural  levels;  and  the 
r61e  of  prestige  in  stimulating  imitation  and  copying. 

The  development  of  a  world-commerce,  the  era  of  European 
colonization  and  imperial  expansion  in  America,  Asia,  and  Africa  and 
Australia,  the  forward  drive  of  occidental  science  and  the  Western 
system  of  large-scale  competitive  industry  have  created  racial  con- 
tacts, cultural  changes,  conflicts,  and  fusions  of  unprecedented  and 
unforeseen  extent,  intensity,  and  immediateness.  The  crash  of  a 
fallen  social  order  in  Russia  reverberates  throughout  the  world; 
reports  of  the  capitalization  of  new  enterprises  indicate  that  India 
is  copying  the  economic  organization  of  Europe;  the  feminist  move- 
ment has  invaded  Japan;  representatives  of  close  to  fifty  nations  of 
the  earth  meet  in  conclave  in  the  assembly  of  the  League  of  Nations. 

So  complete  has  been  in  recent  years  the  interpenetration  of 
peoples  and  cultures  that  nations  are  now  seeking  to  preserve  thejr 
existence  not  alone  from  assault  from  without  by  force  of  arms,  but 
they~are  equally  concerned  to  protect  themselves  from  the  more 
insidious  attacks  of  propaganda  from  within.  Under  these  circum- 
stances the  ancient  liberties  of  speech  and  press  are  being  scrutinized 
and  questioned.  Particularly  is  this  true  when  this  freedom  of  speech 
and  press  is  exercised  by  alien  peoples,  who  criticize  our  institutions 
in  a  foreign  tongue  and  claim  the  right  to  reform  native  institutions 
before  they  have  become  citizens  and  even  before  they  are  able  to 
use  the  native  language. 

3.    Immigration  and  Americanization 

The  presence  of  large  groups  of  foreign-bora  in  the  United  States 
was  first  conceived  of  as  a  problem  of  immigration.  From  the  period 
of  the  large  Irish  immigration  to  this  country  in  the  decades  following 
1820  each  new  immigrant  group  called  forth  a  popular  literature  of 
protest  against  the  evils  its  presence  threatened.  After  1890  the 
increasing  volume  of  immigration  and  the  change  in  the  source  of  the 
,  immigrants  from  northwestern  Europe  to  southeastern  Europe  inten- 
sified the  general  concern.  In  1907  the  Congress  of  the  United  States 
created  the  Immigration  Commission  to  make  "  full  inquiry,  examina- 
tion, and  investigation  into  the  subject  of  immigration."  The  plan 
and  scope  of  the  work  as  outlined  by  the  Commission  "included  a 


ASSIMILATION  773 

study  of  the  sources  of  recent  immigration  in  Europe,  the  general 
character  of  incoming  immigrants,  the  methods  employed  here  and 
abroad  to  prevent  the  immigration  of  persons  classed  as  undesirable 
in  the  United  States  immigration  law,  and  finally  a  thorough  investiga- 
tion into  the  general  status  of  the  more  recent  immigrants  as  residents 
of  the  United  States,  and  the  effect  of  such  immigration  upon  the 
institutions,  industries,  and  people  of  this  country."  In  1910  the 
Commission  made  a  report  of  its  investigations  and  findings  together 
with  its  conclusions  and  recommendations  which  were  published  in 
forty-one  volumes. 

The  European  War  focused  the  attention  of  the  country  upon 
the  problem  of  Americanization.  The  public  mind  became  conscious  ^ 
of  the  fact  that  "the  stranger  within  our  gates,"  whether  naturalized 
or  unnaturalized,  tended  to  maintain  his  loyalty  to  the  land  of  his 
origin,  even  when  it  seemed  to  conflict  with  loyalty  to  the  country  of 
his  sojourn  or  his  adoption.  A  large  number  of  superficial  investi- 
gations called  "surveys"  were  made  of  immigrant  colonies  in  the 
larger  cities  of  the  country.  Americanization  work  of  many  varieties 
developed  apace.  A  vast  literature  sprang  up  to  meet  the  public 
demand  for  information  and  instruction  on  this  topic.  In  view  of 
this  situation  the  Carnegie  Corporation  of  New  York  City  undertook 
in  1918  a  "Study  of  the  Methods  of  Americanization  or  Fusion  of 
Native  and  Foreign  Born."  The  point  of  view  from  which  the  study 
was  made  may  be  inferred  from  the  following  statement  by  its  director, 
Allen  T.  Burns: 

Americanization  is  the  uniting  of  new  with  native  born  Americans  in 
fuller  common  understanding  and  appreciation  to  secure  by  means  of  self- 
government  the  highest  welfare  of  all.  Such  Americanization  should  pro- 
duce no  unchangeable  political,  domestic,  and  economic  regime  delivered 
once  for  all  to  the  fathers,  but  a  growing  and  broadening  national  life, 
inclusive  of  the  best  wherever  found.  With  all  our  rich  heritages,  Ameri- 
canism will  develop  through  a  mutual  giving  and  taking  of  contributions 
from  both  newer  and  older  Americans  in  the  interest  of  the  common  weal. 
This  study  will  follow  such  an  understanding  of  Americanization. 

The  study,  as  originally  planned,  was  divided  into  ten  divisions,  as 
follows:  the  schooling  of  the  immigrant,  the  press  and  the  theater, 
adjustment  of  homes  and  family  life,  legal  protection  and  correction, 
health  standards  and  care,  naturalization  and  political  life,  industrial 


774  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  economic  amalgamation,  treatment  of  immigrant  heritages, 
neighborhood  agencies,  and  rural  developments.  The  findings  of 
these  different  parts  of  the  study  are  presented  in  separate  volumes. 

This  is  the  most  recent  important  survey-investigation  of  the 
immigrant,  although  there  are  many  less  imposing  but  significant 
studies  in  this  field.  Among^  these  are  the  interesting  analyses  of 
,  the  assimilation  process  in  Julius  Drachsler^s  Democracy  and  Assimi- 
lation and  in  A.  M.  Dushkin's  study  of  Jewish  Education  in  New 
York  City. 

The  natural  history  of  assimilation  may  be  best  studied  in  per- 
sonal narratives  and  documents,  such  as  letters  and  autobiographies, 
or  in  monographs  upon  urban  and  rural  immigrant  communities.  In 
recent  years  a  series  of  personal  narrative  and  autobiographical 
sketches  have  revealed  the  intimate  personal  aspects  of  the  assimi- 
lation process.  The  expectancy  and  disillusionment  of  the  first 
experiences,  the  consequent  nostalgia  and  homesickness,  gradual 
accommodation  to  the  new  situation,  the  first  participations  in 
American  life,  the  fixation  of  wishes  in  the  opportunities  of  the 
American  social  environment,  the  ultimate  identification  of  the  person 
with  the  memories,  sentiments,  and  future  of  his  adopted  country — 
all  these  steps  in  assimilation  are  portrayed  in  such  interesting  books 
as  The  Far  Journey  by  Abraham  Rihbany,  The  Promised  Land  by 
Mary  Antin,  Out  of  the  Shadow  by  Rose  Cohen,  An  American  in  the 
Making  by  M.  E.  Ravage,  My  Mother  and  I  by  E.  G.  Stern. 

The  most  reflective  use  of  personal  documents  for  the  study  of 
the  problems  of  the  immigrant  has  been  made  by  Thomas  and  Znani- 
ecki  in  The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and  America.  In  these  studies 
letters  and  life-histories  have  been,  for  the  first  time,  methodically 
employed  to  exhibit  the  processes  of  adjustment  in  the  transition 
from  a  European  peasant  village  to  the  immigrant  colony  of  an 
American  industrial  community. 

The  work  of  Thomas  and  Znaniecki  is  in  a  real  sense  a  study  of 
the  Polish  community  in  Europe  and  America.  Less  ambitious 
studies  have  been  made  of  individual  immigrant  communities.  Sev- 
eral religious  communities  composed  of  isolated  and  unassimilated 
groups,  such  as  the  German  Mennonites,  have  been  intensively  studied. 

Materials  valuable  for  the  study  of  certain  immigrant  commu- 
nities, assembled  for  quite  other  purposes,  are  contained  in  the 


ASSIMILATION  775 

almanacs,  yearbooks,  and  local  histories  of  the  various  immigrant 
communities.  The  most  interesting  of  these  are  the  Jewish  Communal 
Register  of  New  York  and  the  studies  made  by  the  Norwegian  Luth- 
eran Church  in  America  under  the  direction  of  O.  M.  Norlie.1 


SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 
I.      ASSIMILATION  AND  AMALGAMATION 

A.  The  Psychology  and  Sociology  of  Assimilation 

(1)  Wundt,  Wilhelm.      "Bemerkungen  zur  Associationslehre," 
sophische  Studien,   VII    (1892),    329-61.     ["Complication    und 
Assimilation,"  pp.  334-53-] 

(2)  -  .     Grundziige  der   physiologischen   Psychologie.     "Assimi- 
lationen,"  III,  528-35.     5th  ed.     Leipzig,  1903. 

(3)  Ward,   James.     "Association   and   Assimilation,"   Mind,   N.S., 
II  (1893),  347-62;  III  (1894),  509-32. 

(4)  Baldwin,  J.  Mark.     Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race. 
Methods  and  processes.   "Assimilation,  Recognition,"  pp.  308-19. 
New  York,  1895. 

(5)  Novicow,  J.    Les  Luttes  entre  societes  humaines  el  leur  phases  suc- 
cessives.    Book  II,  chap,  vii,  "La  Denationalisation,"  pp.  125-53. 
Paris,  1893.     [Definition  of  denationalization.] 

(6)  Ratzenhofer,    Gustav.     Die  sociologische  Erkenntnis,  pp.  41-42. 
Leipzig,  1898. 

(7)  Park,   Robert  E.     "Racial  Assimilation  in   Secondary   Groups 
with   Particular   Reference   to   the   Negro,"  American  Journal 
of  Sociology,  XLX  (1913-14),  606-23. 

(8)  Simons,  Sarah  E.     "Social  Assimilation,"  American  Journal  of 
Sociology,  VI  (1900-1901),  790-822;  VII  (1901-2),  53-79,  234-48, 
386-404,  539-56.     [Bibliography.] 

(9)  Jenks,  Albert  E.     "Assimilation  in  the  Philippines  as  Interpreted 
in  Terms  of  Assimilation  in  America,"  Publications  of  the  American 
Sociological  Society,  VIII  (1913),  140-58. 

(10)  McKenzie,  F.  A.     "The  Assimilation  of  the  American  Indian," 

Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  VIII  (1913), 

37-48.     [Bibliography.] 
(n)  Ciszewski,    S.    Kunstliche    Venvandschaft    bei    den    SUdslaven. 

Leipzig,  1897. 
(12")  Windisch,  H.     Taufe  und  Siinde  im  altesten  Christentum  bis  auf 

Origines.    Ein   Beitrag   zur   altchristlichen   Dogmengeschichte. 

Tubingen,  1908. 

1  See  Menighetskalenderen.     (Minneapolis,  Minn.:  Augsburg  Publishing  Co., 
1917.) 


776  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

B.  Assimilation  and  Amalgamation 

(1)  Gumplowicz,  Ludwig.    Der  Rassenkampf.     Sociologische  Unter- 
suchungen,  sec.  38,  "Wie  die  Amalgamirung  vor   sich   geht," 
pp.  253-63.    Innsbruck,  1883. 

(2)  Commons,  John  R.    Races  and  Immigrants  in  America.     Chap, 
ix,  "Amalgamation  and  Assimilation,"  pp.  198-238.    New  ed. 
New  York,  1920.     [See  also  pp.  17-21.] 

(3)  Ripley,  William  Z.     The  Races  of  Europe.    A  sociological  study. 
Chap,  ii,  "Language,  Nationality,  and  Race,"  pp.  15-36.     Chap, 
xviii,   "European  Origins:    Race  and  Culture,"  pp.  486-512. 
New  York,  1899. 

(4)  Fischer,  Eugen.    Die  Rehobother  Bastards  und  das  Bastardierungs- 
Problem  beim  Menschen.    Anthropologische  und  ethnographische 
Studien  am  Rehobother  Bastardvolk  in  Deutsch-Siidwest  Afrika. 
Jena,  1913. 

(5)  Mayo-Smith,  Richmond.     "Theories  of  Mixture  of  Races  and 
Nationalities,"  Yale  Review,  III  (1894),  166-86. 

(6)  Smith,  G.  Elliot.    "  The  Influence  of  Racial  Admixture  in  Egypt, " 
Eugenics  Review,  VII  (1915-16),  163-83. 

(7)  Reuter,  E.  B.     The  Mulatto  in  the  United  States.    Including  a 
study  of  the  role  of  mixed-blood  races  throughout  the  world. 
Boston,  1918. 

(8)  Weatherly,  Ulysses  G.     "The  Racial  Element  in  Social  Assimi- 
lation," Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  V  (1910), 
57-76. 

(9)  .     "Race  and  Marriage,"  American  Journal  of  Sociology, 

XV  (1909-10),  433-53- 

(10)  Roosevelt,  Theodore.    "Brazil  and  the  Negro,"  Outlook,  CVI 
(1904),  409-11. 

H.      THE  CONFLICT  AND  FUSION   OP  CULTURES 

A.  Process  of  Acculturation 

(1)  Ratzel,  Friedrich.     The  History  of  Mankind.     Vol.  I,  Book  I, 
sec.  4,  "Nature,  Rise  and  Spread  of  Civilization,"  pp.  20-30. 
Vol.  II,  Book  II,  sec.  31,  "Origin  and  Development  of  the  Old 
American  Civilization,"  pp.  160-70.    Translated  from  the   2d 
German  ed.  by  A.  J.  Butler.    3  vols.    London,  1896-98. 

(2)  Rivers,  W.  H.  R.     "The  Ethnological  Analysis  of  Culture," 
Report  of  the  8ist  Meeting  of  the  British  Association  for  the  Advance- 
ment of  Science,  1911,  pp.  490-99. 

(3)  Frobenius,  L.    Der  Ursprung  der  afrikanischen  Kulturen.     Berlin, 
1898. 


ASSIMILATION  777 

(4)  Boas,  Franz.     The  Mind  of  Primitive  Man.     Chap,  vi,  "The 
Universality  of  Cultural  Traits,"  pp.  155-73.     Chap,  vii,  "The 
Evolutionary  Viewpoint,"  pp.  174-96.    New  York,  1911. 

(5)  Vierkandt,  A.    Die  Stetigkeit  im  Kulturwandel.    Eine  sociolo- 
gische  Studie.    Leipzig,  1908. 

(6)  McGee,  W  J.     "Piratical  Acculturation,"  American  Anthropolo- 
gist, XI  (1898),  243-51. 

(7)  Crooke,  W.     "Method  of  Investigation  and  Folklore  Origins," 
Folklore,  XXIV  (1913),  14-40. 

(8)  Graebner,   F.     "Die  melanesische  Bogenkultur  und  ihre  Ver- 
wandten,"  Anthropos,  IV  (1909),  726-80,   998-1032. 

(9)  Lowie,  Robert  H.     "On  the  Principle  of  Convergence  in  Ethnol- 
ogy," Journal  of  American  Folklore,  XXV  (1912),  24-42. 

(10)  Goldenweiser,  A.  A.  "The  Principle  of  Limited  Possibilities  in 
the  Development  of  Culture,"  Journal  of  American  Folklore, 
XXVI  (1913),  259-90. 

(i  i)  Dixon,  R.  B.  "  The  Independence  of  the  Culture  of  the  American 
Indian,"  Science,  N.S.,  XXXV  (1912),  46-55. 

(12)  Johnson,    W.    Folk-Memory.    Or    the    continuity    of    British 
archaeology.    Oxford,  1908. 

(13)  Wundt,   Wilhelm.     Volkerpsychologie.     Eine  Untersuchung  der 
Entwicklungsgesetze  von  Sprache,  Mythus,  und  Sitte.     Band  I, 
"Die  Sprache."    3  vols.    Leipzig,  1900-1909. 

(14)  Tarde,  Gabriel.     The  Laws  of  Imitation.    Translated  from  the 
2d  French  ed.  by  Elsie  Clews  Parsons.    New  York,  1903. 

B.  Nationalization  and  Denationalization 

(1)  Bauer,  Otto.    Die  Nationalitiitenfrage  und  die  Sozialdemokratie. 
Chap,  vi,  sec.   30,   "Der  Sozialismus   und  das    Nationalitats- 
prinzip,"  pp.  507-21.    In:  Adler,  M.,  and  Hildering,  R.  Marx- 
Studien;   Blatter  zur  Theorie  und  Politik  des  ivissenschaftlichen 
Sozialismus.    Band  II.    Wien,  1907. 

(2)  Kerner,  R.  J.    Slavic  Europe.    A  selected  bibliography  in  the 
western  European  languages,  comprising  history,  languages,  and 
literature.     "The    Slavs   and    Germanization,"    Nos.    2612-13, 
pp.  193-95.    Cambridge,  Mass.,  1918. 

(3)  Delbriick,    Hans.     "Das   Polenthum,"  Preussische  Jahrbilcher, 
LXXVI  (April,  1894),  173-86. 

(4)  Warren,  H.  C.     "Social  Forces  and  International  Etliics,"  Inter- 
national Journal  of  Ethics,  XXVII  (1917),  350-56. 

(5)  Prince,  M.     "A  World  Consciousness  and  Future  Peace,"  Journal 
of  Abnormal  Psychology,  XI  (1917),  287-304. 


778  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(6)  Reich,  Emil.    General  History  of  Western  Nations,  from  5000  B.C. 
to   IQOO   A.D.     " Europeanization   of   Humanity,"   pp.    33-65, 
480-82.     (Vols.  I-II  published.)    London,  1908. 

(7)  Thomas,  William  I.     "The  Prussian-Polish  Situation:  an  Experi- 
ment in  Assimilation,"  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XIX  (1913- 
14),  624-39. 

(8)  Parkman,  Francis.     Conspiracy  of  Pontiac  and  the  Indian  Wars 
after  the  Conquest  of  Canada.    8th  ed.,  2  vols.     Boston,  1877. 
[Discusses  the  cultural  effects  of  the  mingling  of  French  and 
Indians  in  Canada.] 

(9)  Moore,  William  H.     The  Clash.     A  study  in  nationalities.     New 
York,  1919.     [French  and  English  cultural  contacts  in  Canada.] 

(10)  Mayo-Smith,  Richmond.  "Assimilation  of  Nationalities  in  the 
United  States,"  Political  Science  Quarterly,  IX  (1894),  426-44, 
649-70. 

(n)  Kelly,  J.  Liddell.  "New  Race  in  the  Making;  Many  National- 
ities in  the  Territory  of  Hawaii — Process  of  Fusion  Proceeding — 
the  Coming  Pacific  Race,"  Westminster  Review,  CLXXV  (1911), 
357-66- 

(12)  Kallen,  H.  M.    Structure  of  Lasting  Peace.    An  inquiry  into  the 
motives  of  war  and  peace.     Boston,  1918. 

(13)  Westermarck,  Edward.     "Finland  and  the  Czar,"  Contemporary 
Review,  LXXV  (1899),  652-59. 

(14)  Brandes,    Georg.     "Denmark    and    Germany,"    Contemporary 
Review,  LXXVI  (1899),  92-104. 

(15)  Marvin,  Francis  S.     The  Unity  of  Western  Civilization.     Essays. 
London  and  New  York,  1915. 

(16)  Fishberg,  Maurice.     The  Jews:  a  Study  in  Race  and  Environment. 
London  and  New  York,  1911.     [Chap,  xxii  deals  with  assimilation 
versus  nationalism.] 

(17)  Bailey,  W.  F.,  and  Bates,  Jean  V.     "The  Early  German  Settlers 
in  Transylvania,"  Fortnightly  Review,  CVII  (1917),  661-74. 

(18)  Auerbach,  Bertrand.    Les  Races  et  les  nationalites  en  Autriche- 
Hongrie.    Paris,  1898. 

(19)  Cunningham,  William.    Alien  Immigrants  to  England.    London 
and  New  York,  1897. 

(20)  Kaindl,  Raimund  Friedrich.    Geschichte  der  Deutschen  in  den 
Karpathenldndern.    Vol.  I,  "Geschichte  der  Deutschen  in  Gali- 
zien  bis  1772."     3  vols.  in  2.     Gotha,  1907-11. 

C.  Missions 

(i)  Moore,  Edward  C.     The  Spread  of  Christianity  in  the  Modern 
World.     Chicago,  1919.     [Bibliography.] 


ASSIMILATION  779 

(2)  World  Missionary  Conference.    Report  of  the  World  Missionary 
Conference,  1010.     9  vols.     Chicago,  1910. 

(3)  Robinson,    Charles   H.    History   of  Christian   Missions.    New 
York,  1915. 

(4)  Speer,  Robert  E.    Missions  and  Modern  History.    A  study  of  the 
missionary  aspects  of  some  great  movements  of  the  nineteenth 
century.     2  vols.    New  York,  1904. 

(5)  Warneck,  Gustav.    Outline  of  a  History  of  Protestant  Missions 
from  the  Reformation  to  the  Present  Time.    A  contribution  to 
modern  church  history.    Translated  from  the  German  by  George 
Robson.     Chicago,  1901. 

(6)  Creighton,    Louise.    Missions.    Their    rise    and    development. 
New  York,  1912.     [Bibliography.] 

(7)  Pascoe,  C.  F.     Two  Hundred  Years  of  the  Society  for  the  Propaga- 
tion of  the  Gospel,  1701-1900.    Based  on  a  digest  of  the  Society's 
records.    London,  1901. 

(8)  Parkman,  Francis.     The  Jesuits  in  North  America  in  the  Seven- 
teenth   Century.    Part    II.     "France    and    England    in    North 
America."    Boston,  1902. 

(9)  Bryce,  James.    Impressions  of  South  Africa.     Chap,  xxii,  "  Mis- 
sions," pp.  384-93.     3d  ed.    New  York,  1900. 

(10)  Sumner,  W.  G.    Folkways.     "Missions  and  Antagonistic  Mores," 

pp.  111-14,  629-31.    New  York,  1906. 
(n)  Coffin,  Ernest  W.     "On  the  Education  of  Backward  Races," 

Pedagogical  Seminary,  XV  (1908),  1-62.     [Bibliography.] 

(12)  Blackmar,  Frank  W.    Spanish  Colonization  in  the  South  West. 
"The  Mission  System,"  pp.  28-48.     "Johns  Hopkins  University 
Studies  in  Historical  and  Political  Science."    Baltimore,  1890. 

(13)  Johnston,  Harry  H.    George  Grenfell  and  the  Congo.    A  history 
and  description  of  the  Congo  Independent  State  and  adjoining 
districts  of  Congoland,  together  with  some  account  of  the  native 
peoples  and  their  languages,  the  fauna  and  flora,  and  similar 
notes  on  the  Cameroons,  and  the  Island  of  Fernando  P6,  the 
whole  founded  on  the  diaries  and  researches  of  the  late  Rev. 
George  Grenfell,  B.M.S.,  F.R.S.G.;   and  on  the  records  of  the 
British  Baptist  Missionary  society;   and  on  additional  informa- 
tion contributed  by  the  author,  by  the  Rev.  Lawson  Forfeitt, 
Mr.  Emil  Torday,  and  others.     2  vols.    London,  1908. 

(14)  Kingsley,  Mary  H.    West  African  Studies.     Pp.  107-9,  272-75. 
2d  ed.    London,  1901. 

(15)  Morel,  E.  D.    Affairs  of  West  Africa.     Chaps,  xxii-xxiii,  "Islam 
in  West  Africa,"  pp.  208-37.    London,  1902. 


780  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(16)  Sapper,     Karl.     "Der     Charakter     der     mittelamerikanischen 
Indianer,"  Globus,  LXXXVII  (1905),  128-31. 

(17)  Fleming,  Daniel  J.    Devolution  in  Mission  Administration.    As 
exemplified  by  the  legislative  history  of  five  American  missionary 
societies  in  India.    New  York,  1916.     [Bibliography.] 

HI.      IMMIGRATION  AND   AMERICANIZATION 

A.  Immigration  and  the  Immigrant 

(1)  United  States  Immigration  Commission.     Reports  of  the  Immi- 
gration Commission.    41  vols.     Washington,  1911. 

(2)  Lauck,    William   J.,   and   Jenks,   Jeremiah.     The   Immigration 
Problem.     New  York,  1912. 

(3)  Commons,  John  R.     Races  and  Immigrants  in  America.     New  ed. 
New  York,  1920. 

(4)  Fairchild,  Henry  P.     Immigration.    A  world-movement  and  its 
American  significance.     New  York,  1913.     [Bibliography.] 

(5)  Ross,  E.  A.     The  Old  World  in  the  New.    The  significance  of  past 
and  present  immigration  to  the  American  people.     New  York, 
1914. 

(6)  Abbott,  Grace.     The  Immigrant  and  the  Community.     With  an 
introduction  by  Judge  Julian  W.  Mack.    New  York,  1917. 

(7)  Steiner,  Edward  A.    On  the  Trail  of  the  Immigrant.    New  York, 
1906. 

(8)  -      — .     The  Immigrant  Tide,  Its  Ebb  and  Flow.     Chicago,  1909. 

(9)  Brandenburg,  Broughton.    Imported  Americans.    The  story  of 
the  experiences  of  a  disguised  American  and  his  wife  studying 
the  immigration  question.    New  York,  1904. 

(10)  Kapp,  Friedrich.    Immigration  and  the  Commissioners  of  Emigra- 
tion of  the  State  of  New  York.    New  York,  1880. 

B.  Immigrant  Communities 

(1)  Faust,  Albert  B.     The  German  Element  in  the  United  States. 
With  special  reference  to  its  political,  moral,  social,  and  educa- 
tional influence.    New  York,  1909. 

(2)  Green,  Samuel  S.     The  Scotch-Irish  in  America,  1895.     A  paper 
read  as  the  report  of  the  Council  of  the  American  Antiquarian 
Society,  at  the  semi-annual  meeting,  April  24,  1895,  with  corre- 
spondence called  out  by  the  paper.    Worcester,  Mass.,  1895. 

(3)  Hanna,  Charles  A.     The  Scotch-Irish.    Or  the  Scot  in  North 
Britain,  North  Ireland,  and  North  America.    New  York  and 
London,  1902. 

(4)  Jewish  Publication  Society  of  America.     The  American  Jewish 
Yearbook.    Philadelphia,  1899. 


ASSIMILATION  781 

(5)  Jewish   Communal   Register,    1917-1918.     2d   ed.     Edited   and 
published  by  the  Kehillah  (Jewish  Community)  of  New  York 
City.    New  York,  1919. 

(6)  Balch,  Emily  G.    Our  Slavic  Fellow  Citizens.    New  York,  1910. 

(7)  Horak,  Jakub.     Assimilation  of  Czechs  in  Chicago.     [In  press.] 

(8)  Millis,  Harry  A.     The  Japanese  Problem  in  the  United  States.    An 
investigation   for   the    Commission   on   Relations   with   Japan 
appointed  by  the  Federal  Council  of  the  Churches  of  Christ  in 
America.    New  York,  1915. 

(9)  Fairchild,  Henry  P.    Greek  Immigration  to  the  United  States. 
New  Haven,  1911. 

(10)  Burgess,  Thomas.  Greeks  in  America.  An  account  of  their 
coming,  progress,  customs,  living,  and  aspirations;  with  a  his- 
torical introduction  and  the  stories  of  some  famous  American- 
Greeks.  Boston,  1913. 

(n)  Coolidge,  Mary  R.    Chinese  Immigration.    New  York,  1909. 

(12)  Foerster,   Robert   F.     The  Italian  Emigration   of  Our   Times. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  1919. 

(13)  Lord,  Eliot,  Trenor,  John  J.  D.,  and  Barrows,  Samuel  J.     The 
Italian  in  America.    New  York,  1905. 

(14)  DuBois,  W.  E.  Burghardt.     The  Philadelphia  Negro,  A  Social 
Study.    Together  with  a  special  report  on  domestic  service  by 
Isabel  Eaton.     "Publications  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania, 
Series  in  Political  Economy  and  Public  Law,"  No.  14.    Phila- 
delphia, 1899. 

(15)  Williams,  Daniel  J.     The  Welsh  of  Columbus,  Ohio.     A  study  in 
adaptation  and  assimilation.    Oshkosh,  Wis.,  1913. 

C.  Americanization 

(1)  Drachsler,  Julius.    Democracy  and  Assimilation.    The  blending 
of  immigrant  heritages  in  America.     New  York,  1920.     [Bibliog- 
raphy.] 

(2)  Dushkin,  Alexander  M.    Jewish  Education  in  New  York  City. 
New  York,  1918. 

(3)  Thompson,  Frank  V.    Schooling  of  the  Immigrant.    New  York, 
1920. 

(4)  Daniels,  John.    America  via  the  Neighborhood.    New  York,  1920. 

(5)  Park,  Robert  E.,  and  Miller,   Herbert  A.     Old  World  Traits 
Transplanted.    New  York,  1921. 

(6)  Speek,  Peter  A.    A  Stake  in  the  Land.    New  York,  1921. 

(7)  Davis,  Michael  M.    Immigrant  Health  and  the  Community.     New 
York,  1921. 


782  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(8)  Breckinridge,  Sophonisba  P.   New  Homes  for  Old.    New  York,  1921. 

(9)  Leiserson,  William  M.    Adjusting  Immigrant  and  Industry.     [In 
press.] 

(10)  Gavit,  John  P.    Americans  by  Choice.     [In  press.) 

(n)  Claghorn,  Kate  H.     The  Immigrant's  Day  in  Court.     [In  press.] 

(12)  Park,  Robert  E.     The  Immigrant  Press  and  Its  Control.     [In 
press.]    New  York,  1922. 

(13)  Burns,  Allen  T.    Summary  of  the  Americanization  Studies  of  the 
Carnegie  Corporation  of  New  York.     [In  press.] 

(14)  Miller,  Herbert  A.     The  School  and  the  Immigrant.     Cleveland 
Education  Survey.     Cleveland,  1916. 

(15)  Kallen,    Horace   M.     "Democracy   versus  the   Melting-Pot,   a 
Study  of  American  Nationality."     Nation,  C   (1915),    190-94, 
217-20. 

(16)  Gulick,  Sidney  L.    American  Democracy  and  Asiatic  Citizenship. 
New  York,  1918. 

(17)  Talbot,    Winthrop,     editor.     Americanization.     Principles     of 
Americanism;  essentials  of  Americanization;  technic  of   race- 
assimilation.    New  York,  1917.     [Annotated  bibliography.] 

(18)  Stead,  W.  T.     The  Americanization  of  the  World.    Or  the  trend 
of  the  twentieth  century.     New  York  and  London,  1901. 

(19)  Aronovici,  Carol.    Americanization.     St.  Paul,   1919.     [Also  in 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XXV  (1919-20),  695-730.] 

D.  Personal  Documents 

(1)  Bridges,  Horace.    On  Becoming  an  American.     Some  meditations 
of  a  newly  naturalized  immigrant.    Boston,  1919. 

(2)  Riis,  Jacob  A.     The  Making  of  an  American.    New  York,  1901. 

(3)  Rihbany,  Abraham  Mitrie.    A  Far  Journey.     Boston,  1914. 

(4)  Hasanovitz,  Elizabeth.    One  of  Them.     Chapters  from  a  passion- 
ate autobiography.    Boston,  1918. 

(5)  Cohen,  Rose.    Out  of  the  Shadow.    New  York,  1918. 

(6)  Ravage,  M.  E.    An  American  in  the  Making.    The  life-story  of 
an  immigrant.    New  York,  1917. 

(7)  Cahan,  Abraham.     The  Rise  of  David  Levinsky.    A  novel.     New 
York,  1917. 

(8)  Antin,  Mary.     The  Promised  Land.    New  York,  1912. 

(9)  -      — .     They  Who  Knock  at  Our  Gates.    A  complete  gospel  ot 
immigration.    New  York,  1914. 

(10)  Washington,  Booker  T.     Up  from  Slavery.     An  autobiography. 

New  York,  1901. 
(n)  Steiner,  Edward  A.    From  Alien  to  Citizen.    The  story  of  my 

life  in  America.    New  York,  1914. 


ASSIMILATION  783 

(12)  Stern,   Mrs.  Elizabeth  Gertrude  (Levin).    My  Mother  and  I. 
New  York,  1919. 

(13)  DuBois,  W.  E.  Burghardt.    Darkwaler:    Voices  from  within  the 
Veil.    New  York,  1920. 

(14)  -      — .     The  Souls  of  Black  Folk.     Essays  and  sketches.     Chi- 
cago, 1903. 

(15)  Hapgood,  Hutchins.     The  Spirit  of  the  Ghetto.     Studies  of  the 
Jewish  quarter  in  New  York.    Rev.  ed.     New  York,  1909. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  Race  and  Culture,  and  the  Problem  of  the  Relative  Superiority  and 
Inferiority  of  Races 

2.  The  Relation  of  Assimilation  to  Amalgamation 

3.  The  Mulatto  as  a  Cultural  Type 

4.  Language  as  a  Means  of  Assimilation  and  a  Basis  of  National  Solidarity 

5.  History  and  Literature  as  Means  for  Preserving  National  Solidarity 

6.  Race  Prejudice  and  Segregation  in  Their  Relations  to  Assimilation 
and  Accommodation 

7.  Domestic  Slavery  and  the  Assimilation  of  the  Negro 

8.  A  Study  of  Historical  Experiments  in  Denationalization;    the  Ger- 
manization  of  Posen,  the  Russianization  of  Poland,  the  Japanese  Policy 
in  Korea,  etc. 

9.  The  "Melting-Pot"  versus  "Hyphen"  in  Their  Relation  to  Americani- 
zation 

10.  A  Study  of  Policies,  Programs,  and  Experiments  in  Americanization 
from  the  Standpoint  of  Sociology 

11.  The  Immigrant  Community  as  a  Means  of  Americanization 

12.  The  Process  of  Assimilation  as  Revealed  in  Personal  Documents,  as 
Antin,  The  Promised  Land;    Rihbany,  A  Far  Journey;    Ravage,  An 
American  in  the  Making;  etc. 

13.  Foreign  Missions  and  Native  Cultures 

14.  The  Role  of  Assimilation  and  Accommodation  in  the  Personal  Develop- 
ment of  the  Individual  Man 

15.  Assimilation  and  Accommodation  in  Their  Relations  to  the  Educational 
Process 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  What  do  you  understand  Simons  to  mean  by  the  term  "assimilation"  ? 

2.  What  is  the  difference  between  amalgamation  and  assimilation? 

3.  How  are  assimilation  and  amalgamation  interrelated? 

4.  What  do  you  consider  to  be  the  difference  between  Trotter's  explana- 
tion of  human  evolution  and  that  of  Crile  ? 


784  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

5.  What  do  you  understand  Trotter  to  mean  by  the  gregarious  instinct 
as  a  mechanism  controlling  conduct  ? 

6.  Of  what  significance  is  the  distinction  made  by  Trotter  between  (a)  the 
three  individual  instincts,  and  (b)  the  gregarious  instincts  ? 

7.  What  is  the  significance  of  material  and  non-material  cultural  elements 
for  the  study  of  race  contact  and  intermixture  ? 

8.  How  do  you  explain  the  difference  in  rapidity  of  assimilation  of  the 
various  types  of  cultural  elements  ? 

9.  What  factors  promoted  and  impeded  the  extension  of  Roman  culture 
in  Gaul  ? 

10.  What  social  factors  were  involved  in  the  origin  of  the  French  language  ? 

11.  To  what  extent  does  the  extension  of  a  cultural  language  involve 
assimilation  ? 

12.  In  what  sense  do  the  cultural  languages  compete  with  each  other? 

13.  Do  you  agree  with  the  prediction  that  within  a  century  English  will 
be  the  vernacular  of  a  quarter  of  the  people  of  the  world  ?    Justify  your 
position. 

14.  Does  Park's  definition  of  assimilation  differ  from  that  of  Simons  ? 

15.  What  do  you  understand  Park  to  mean  when  he  says,  "Social  institu- 
tions are  not  founded  in  similarities  any  more  than  they  are  founded 
in  differences,  but  in  relations,  and  in  the  mutual  interdependence  of 
the  parts "  ?    What  is  the  relation  of  this  principle  to  the  process  of 
assimilation  ? 

1 6.  What  do  you  understand  to  be  the  difference  between  the  type  of 
assimilation  (a)  that  makes  for  group  solidarity  and  corporate  action, 
and  (6)  that  makes  for  formal  like-mindedness  ?    What  conditions 
favor  the  one  or  the  other  type  of  assimilation  ? 

17.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  term  "Americanization"? 

1 8.  Is  there  a  difference  between  Americanization  and  Prussianization  ? 

19.  With  what  programs  of  Americanization  are  you  familiar?    Are  they 
adequate  from  the  standpoint  of  the  sociological  interpretation  of 
assimilation  ? 

20.  In  what  way  is  language  both  a  means  and  a  product  of  assimilation  ? 

21.  What  is  meant  by  the  phrases  "apperception  mass,"  "universes  of 
discourse,"  and  "definitions  of  the  situations"  ?    What  is  their  signifi- 
cance for  assimilation  ? 

22.  In  what  way  does  assimilation  involve  the  mediation  of  individual 
differences  ? 

23.  Does  the  segregation  of  immigrants  make  for  or  against  assimilation? 

24.  In  what  ways  do  primary  and  secondary  contacts,  imitation  and  sug- 
gestion,  competition,   conflict   and  accommodation,   enter  into   the 
process  of  assimilation  ? 


CHAPTER  XII 

SOCIAL  CONTROL 

I.    INTRODUCTION 

i.     Social  Control  Defined 

Social  control  has  been  studied,  but,  in  the  wide  extension  that 
sociology  has  given  to  the  term,  it  has  not  been  denned.  All  social 
problems  turn  out  finally  to  be  problems  of  social  control.  In  the 
introductory  chapter  to  this  volume  social  problems  were  divided 
into  three  classes:  Problems  (a)  of  administration,  (6)  of  policy  and 
polity,  (c)  of  social  forces  and  human  nature.1  Social  control  may  be 
studied  in  each  one  of  these  categories.  It  is  with  social  forces  and 
human  nature  that  sociology  is  mainly  concerned.  Therefore  it  is 
from  this  point  of  view  that  social  control  will  be  considered  in  this 
chapter. 

In  the  four  preceding  chapters  the  process  of  interaction,  in  its 
four  typical  forms,  competition,  conflict,  accommodation,  and  assimila- 
tion, has  been  analyzed  and  described.  The  community  and  the 
natural  order  within  the  limits  of  the  community,  it  appeared,  are 
an  effect  of  competition.  Social  control  and  the  mutual  subordination 
of  individual  members  to  the  community  have  their  origin  in  conflict, 
assume  definite  organized  forms  in  the  process  of  accommodation,  and 
are  consolidated  and  fixed  in  assimilation. 

Through  the  medium  of  these  processes,  a  community  assumes 
the  form  of  a  society.  Incidentally,  however,  certain  definite  and 
quite  spontaneous  forms  of  social  control  are  developed.  These 
forms  are  familiar  under  various  titles:  tradition,  custom,  folkways, 
mores,  ceremonial,  myth,  religious  and  political  beliefs,  dogmas  and 
creeds,  and  finally  public  opinion  and  law.  In  this  chapter  it  is 
proposed  to  define  a  little  more  accurately  certain  of  these  typical 
mechanisms  through  which  social  groups  are  enabled  to  act.  In  the 
chapter  on  "Collective  Behavior"  which  follows,  materials  will  be 
presented  to  exhibit  the  group  in  action. 

1  Chap,  i,  pp.  46-47. 

785 


786  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  in  action  that  the  mechanisms  of  control  are  created,  and  the 
materials  under  the  title  "Collective  Behavior"  are  intended  to 
illustrate  the  stages,  (a)  social  unrest,  (6)  mass  movements,  (c)  insti- 
tutions in  which  society  is  formed  and  reformed.  Finally,  in  the 
chapter  on  "Progress,"  the  relation  of  social  change  to  social  control 
will  be  discussed  and  the  role  of  science  and  collective  representations 
in  the  direction  of  social  changes  indicated. 

The  most  obvious  fact  about  social  control  is  the  machinery  by 
which  laws  are  made  and  enforced,  that  is,  the  legislature,  the  courts, 
and  the  police.  When  we  think  of  social  control,  therefore,  these 
are  the  images  in  which  we  see  it  embodied  and  these  are  the  terms  in 
which  we  seek  to  define  it. 

It  is  not  quite  so  obvious  that  legislation  and  the  police  must, 
in  the  long  run,  have  the  support  of  public  opinion.  Hume's  state- 
ment that  governments,  even  the  most  despotic,  have  nothing  but 
opinion  to  support  them,  cannot  be  accepted  without  some  definition 
of  terms,  but  it  is  essentially  correct.  Hume  included  under  opinion 
what  we  would  distinguish  from  it,  namely,  the  mores.  He  might 
have  added,  using  opinion  in  this  broad  sense,  that  the  governed,  no 
matter  how  numerous,  are  helpless  unless  they  too  are  united  by 
"opinion." 

A  king  or  a  political  "boss,"  having  an  army  or  a  political  "ma- 
chine" at  his  command,  can  do  much.  It  is  possible,  also,  to  confuse 
or  mislead  public  opinion,  but  neither  the  king  nor  the  boss  will,  if 
he  be  wise,  challenge  the  mores  and  the  common  sense  of  the 
community. 

Public  opinion  and  the  mores,  however,  representing  as  they  do 
the  responses  of  the  community  to  changing  situations,  are  themselves 
subject  to  change  and  variation.  They  are  based,  however,  upon  what 
we  have  called  fundamental  human  nature,  that  is,  certain  traits 
which  in  some  form  or  other  are  reproduced  in  every  form  of  society. 

During  the  past  seventy  years  the  various  tribes,  races,  and  nationali- 
ties of  mankind  have  been  examined  in  detail  by  the  students  of  ethnology, 
and  a  comparison  of  the  results  shows  that  the  fundamental  patterns  of 
life  and  behavior  are  everywhere  the  same,  whether  among  the  ancient 
Greeks,  the  modern  Italians,  the  Asiatic  Mongols,  the  Australian  blacks, 
or  the  African  Hottentots.  All  have  a  form  of  family  life,  moral  and  legal 
regulations,  a  religious  system,  a  form  of  government,  artistic  practices, 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  787 

and  so  forth.  An  examination  of  the  moral  code  of  any  given  group,  say 
the  African  Kaffirs,  will  disclose  many  identities  with  that  of  any  other 
given  group,  say  the  Hebrews.  All  groups  have  such  "commandments" 
as  "Honor  thy  father  and  mother,"  "Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  "Thou  shalt 
not  steal."  Formerly  it  was  assumed  that  this  similarity  was  the  result 
of  borrowing  between  groups.  When  Bastian  recorded  a  Hawaiian  myth 
resembling  the  one  of»0rpheus  and  Eurydice,  there  was  speculation  as  to 
how  this  story  had  been  carried  so  far  from  Greece.  But  it  is  now  recog- 
nized that  similarities  of  culture  are  due,  in  the  main,  not  to  imitation,  but 
to  parallel  development.  The  nature  of  man  is  everywhere  essentially 
the  same  and  tends  to  express  itself  everywhere  in  similar  sentiments  and 
institutions.1 

There  are  factors  in  social  control  more  fundamental  than  the 
mores.  Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  chapter  on  "Ceremonial  Govern- 
ment," has  denned  social  control  from  this  more  fundamental  point 
of  view.  In  that  chapter  he  refers  to  "the  modified  forms  of  action 
caused  in  men  by  the  presence  of  their  fellows"  as  a  form  of  control 
"out  of  which  other  more  definite  controls  are  evolved."  The 
spontaneous  responses  of  one  individual  to  the  presence  of  another 
which  are  finally  fixed,  conventionalized,  and  transmitted  as  social 
ritual  constitute  that  "primitive  undifferentiated  kind  of  government 
from  which  political  and  religious  government  are  differentiated,  and 
in  which  they  continue  immersed." 

In  putting  this  emphasis  upon  ceremonial  and  upon  those  forms 
of  behavior  which  spring  directly  and  spontaneously  out  of  the  innate 
and  instinctive  responses  of  the  individual  to  a  social  situation, 
Spencer  is  basing  government  on  the  springs  of  action  which  are 
fundamental,  so  far,  at  any  rate,  as  sociology  is  concerned. 

2.     Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  selections  on  social  control  have  been  classified  under  three 
heads:  (a)  elementary  forms  of  social  control,  (b)  public  opinion, 
and  (c)  institutions.  This  order  of  the  readings  indicates  the  develop- 
ment of  control  from  its  spontaneous  forms  in  the  crowd,  in  ceremony, 
prestige,  and  taboo;  its  more  explicit  expression  in  gossip,  rumor, 
news,  and  public  opinion;  to  its  more  formal  organization  in  law, 

'Robert  E.  Park  and  Herbert  A.  Miller,  Old  World  Traits  Transplanted, 
pp.  1-2.  (New  York,  1921.) 


788  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

dogma,  and  in  religious  and  political  institutions.  Ceremonial, 
public  opinion,  and  law  are  characteristic  forms  in  which  social  life 
finds  expression  as  well  as  a  means  by  which  the  actions  of  the  indi- 
vidual are  co-ordinated  and  collective  impulses  are  organized  so  that 
they  issue  in  behavior,  that  is,  either  (a)  primarily  expressive — play, 
for  example — or  (b)  positive  action. 

A  very  much  larger  part  of  all  human  behavior  than  we  ordinarily 
imagine  is  merely  expressive.  Art,  play,  religious  exercises,  and 
political  activity  are  either  wholly  or  almost  wholly  forms  of  expres- 
sion, and  have,  therefore,  that  symbolic  and  ceremonial  character 
which  belongs  especially  to  ritual  and  to  art,  but  is  characteristic 
of  every  activity  carried  on  for  its  own  sake.  Only  work,  action 
which  has  some  ulterior  motive  or  is  performed  from  a  conscious 
sense  of  duty,  falls  wholly  and  without  reservation  into  the  second 
class. 

a)  Elementary  forms  of  social  control. — Control  in  the  crowd, 
where  rapport  is  once  established  and  every  individual  is  immediately 
responsive  to  every  other,  is  the  most  elementary  form  of  control. 

Something  like  this  same  direct  and  spontaneous  response  of  the 
individual  in  the  crowd  to  the  crowd's  dominant  mood  or  impulse 
may  be  seen  in  the  herd  and  the  flock,  the  "animal  crowd." 

Under  the  influence  of  the  vague  sense  of  alarm,  or  merely  as  an 
effect  of  heat  and  thirst,  cattle  become  restless  and  begin  slowly  mov- 
ing about  in  circles,  "milling."  This  milling  is  a  sort  of  collective 
gesture,  an  expression  of  discomfort  or  of  fear.  But  the  very  expres- 
sion of  the  unrest  tends  to  intensify  its  expression  and  so  increases  the 
tension  in  the  herd.  This  continues  up  to  the  point  where  some 
sudden  sound,  the  firing  of  a  pistol  or  a  flash  of  lightning,  plunges 
the  herd  into  a  wild  stampede. 

Milling  in  the  herd  is  a  visible  image  of  what  goes  on  in  subtler 
and  less  obvious  ways  in  human  societies.  Alarms  or  discomforts 
frequently  provoke  social  unrest.  The  very  expression  of  this  unrest 
tends  to  magnify  it.  The  situation  is  a  vicious  circle.  Every  attempt 
to  deal  with  it  merely  serves  to  aggravate  it.  Such  a  vicious  circle 
we  witnessed  in  our  history  from  1830  to  1861,  when  every  attempt 
to  deal  with  slavery  served  only  to  bring  the  inevitable  conflict 
between  the  states  nearer.  Finally  there  transpired  what  had  for 
twenty  years  been  visibly  preparing  and  the  war  broke. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  789 

Tolstoi  in  his  great  historical  romance,  War  and  Peace,  describes, 
in  a  manner  which  no  historian  has  equaled,  the  events  that  led  up 
to  the  Franco-Russian  War  of  1812,  and  particularly  the  manner  in 
which  Napoleon,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  avoid  it,  was  driven  by  social 
forces  over  which  he  had  no  control  to  declare  war  on  Russia,  and  so 
bring  about  his  own  downfall. 

The  condition  under  which  France  was  forced  by  Bismarck  to 
declare  war  on  Prussia  hi  1870,  and  the  circumstances  under  which 
Austria  declared  war  on  Serbia  in  1914  and  so  brought  on  the  world- 
war,  exhibit  the  same  fatal  circle.  In  both  cases,  given  the  situation, 
the  preparations  that  had  been  made,  the  resolutions  formed  and  the 
agreements  entered  into,  it  seems  clear  that  after  a  certain  point 
had  been  reached  every  move  was  forced. 

This  is  the  most  fundamental  and  elementary  form  of  control. 
It  is  the  control  exercised  by  the  mere  play  of  elemental  forces.  These 
forces  may,  to  a  certain  extent,  be  manipulated,  as  is  true  of  other 
natural  forces;  but  within  certain  limits,  human  nature  being  what 
it  is,  the  issue  is  fatally  determined,  just  as,  given  the  circumstances 
and  the  nature  of  cattle,  a  stampede  is  inevitable.  Historical  crises 
are  invariably  created  by  processes  which,  looked  at  abstractly,  are  very 
much  like  milling  in  a  herd.  The  vicious  circle  is  the  so-called 
"psychological  factor"  in  financial  depressions  and  panics  and  is, 
indeed,  a  factor  in  all  collective  action. 

The  effect  of  this  circular  form  of  interaction  is  to  increase  the 
tensions  in  the  group  and,  by  creating  a  state  of  expectancy, 
to  mobilize  its  members  for  collective  action.  It  is  like  atten- 
tion in  the  individual:  it  is  the  way  in  which  the  group  prepares 
to  act. 

Back  of  every  other  form  of  control — ceremonial,  public  opinion, 
or  law — there  is  always  this  interaction  of  the  elementary  social 
forces.  What  we  ordinarily  mean  by  social  control,  however,  is  the 
arbitrary  intervention  of  some  individual — official,  functionary,  or 
leader — in  the  social  process.  A  policeman  arrests  a  criminal,  an 
attorney  sways  the  jury  with  his  eloquence,  the  judge  passes  sentence; 
these  are  the  familiar  formal  acts  in  which  social  control  manifests 
itself.  What  makes  the  control  exercised  in  this  way  social,  in  the 
strict  sense  of  that  term,  is  the  fact  that  these  acts  are  supported  by 
custom,  law,  and  public  opinion. 


790  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  distinction  between  control  in  the  crowd  and  in  other  forms 
of  society  is  that  the  crowd  has  no  tradition.  It  has  no  point  of 
reference  in  its  own  past  to  which  its  members  can  refer  for  guidance. 
It  has  therefore  neither  symbols,  ceremonies,  rites,  nor  ritual;  it 
imposes  no  obligations  and  creates  no  loyalties. 

Ceremonial  is  one  method  of  reviving  in  the  group  a  lively  sense 
of  the  past.  It  is  a  method  of  reinstating  the  excitements  and  the 
sentiments  which  inspired  an  earlier  collective  action.  The  savage 
war  dance  is  a  dramatic  representation  of  battle  and  as  such  serves 
to  rouse  and  reawaken  the  warlike  spirit.  This  is  one  way  in  which 
ceremonial  becomes  a  means  of  control.  By  reviving  the  memories 
of  an  earlier  war,  it  mobilizes  the  warriors  for  a  new  one. 

Ernst  Grosse,  in  The  Beginnings  of  Art,  has  stated  succinctly 
what  has  impressed  all  first-hand  observers,  namely,  the  important 
role  which  the  dance  plays  in  the  lives  of  primitive  peoples. 

The  dances  of  the  hunting  peoples  are,  as  a  rule,  mass  dances.  Gener- 
ally the  men  of  the  tribe,  not  rarely  the  members  of  several  tribes,  join  in 
the  exercises,  and  the  whole  assemblage  then  moves  according  to  one  law 
in  one  time.  All  who  have  described  the  dances  have  referred  again  and 
again  to  this  "  wonderful "  unison  of  the  movements.  In  the  heat  of  the  dance 
the  several  participants  are  fused  together  as  into  a  single  being,  which 
is  stirred  and  moved  as  by  one  feeling.  During  the  dance  they  are  in  a 
condition  of  complete  social  unification,  and  the  dancing  group  feels  and 
acts  like  a  single  organism.  The  social  significance  of  the  primitive  dance 
lies  precisely  in  this  effect  of  social  unification.  It  brings  and  accustoms 
a  number  of  men  who,  in  their  loose  and  precarious  conditions  of  life,  are 
driven  irregularly  hither  and  thither  by  different  individual  needs  and 
desires,  to  act  under  one  impulse  with  one  feeling  for  one  object.  It 
introduces  order  and  connection,  at  least  occasionally,  into  the  rambling, 
fluctuating  life  of  the  hunting  tribes.  It  is,  besides  wars,  perhaps  the  only  , 
factor  that  makes  their  solidarity  vitally  perceptible  to  the  adherents  of  a 
primitive  tribe,  and  it  is  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  best  preparations  for 
war,  for  the  gymnastic  dances  correspond  in  more  than  one  respect  to  our 
military  exercises.  It  would  be  hard  to  overestimate  the  importance  of 
the  primitive  dance  in  the  culture  development  of  mankind.  All  higher 
civilization  is  conditioned  upon  the  uniformly  ordered  co-operation  of 
individual  social  elements,  and  primitive  men  are  trained  to  this  co-operation 
by  the  dance.1 

'Ernst  Grosse,  The  Beginnings  of  Art,  pp.  228-29.     (New  York,  1897.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  791 

The  dance,  which  is  so  characteristic  and  so  universal  a  feature 
of  the  life  of  primitive  man — at  once  a  mode  of  collective  expression 
and  of  collective  representation — is  but  a  conventionalized  form  of 
the  circular  reaction,  which  in  its  most  primitive  form  is  represented 
by  the  milling  of  the  herd. 

b)  Public  opinion. — We  ordinarily  think  of  public  opinion  as  a 
sort  of  social  weather.  At  certain  times,  and  under  certain  circum- 
stances, we  observe  strong,  steady  currents  of  opinion,  moving 
apparently  in  a  definite  direction  and  toward  a  definite  goal.  At 
other  times,  however,  we  note  flurries  and  eddies  and  countercurrents 
in  this  movement.  Every  now  and  then  there  are  storms,  shifts, 
or  dead  calms.  These  sudden  shifts  in  public  opinion,  when  expressed 
in  terms  of  votes,  are  referred  to  by  the  politicians  as  "landslides." 

In  all  these  movements,  cross-currents  and  changes  in  direction 
which  a  closer  observation  of  public  opinion  reveals,  it  is  always 
possible  to  discern,  but  on  a  much  grander  scale,  to  be  sure,  that 
same  type  of  circular  reaction  which  we  have  found  elsewhere,  when- 
ever the  group  was  preparing  to  act.  Always  in  the  public,  as  in 
the  crowd,  there  will  be  a  circle,  sometimes  wider,  sometimes  narrower, 
within  which  individuals  are  mutually  responsive  to  motives  and 
interests  of  one  another,  so  that  out  of  this  interplay  of  social  forces 
there  may  emerge  at  any  time  a  common  motive  and  a  common 
purpose  that  will  dominate  the  whole. 

Within  the  circle  of  the  mutual  influence  described,  there  will  be 
no  such  complete  rapport  and  no  such  complete  domination  of  the 
individual  by  the  group  as  exists  in  a  herd  or  a  crowd  hi  a  state  of 
excitement,  but  there  will  be  sufficient  community  of  interest  to 
insure  a  common  understanding.  A  public  is,  in  fact,  organized  on 
the  basis  of  a  universe  of  discourse,  and  within  the  limits  of  this 
universe  of  discourse,  language,  statements  of  fact,  news  will  have, 
for  all  practical  purposes,  the  same  meanings.  It  is  this  circle  of 
mutual  influence  within  which  there  is  a  universe  of  discourse  that 
defines  the  limits  of  the  public. 

A  public  like  the  crowd  is  not  to  be  conceived  as  a  formal  organiza- 
tion like  a  parliament  or  even  a  public  meeting.  It  is  always  the 
widest  area  over  which  there  is  conscious  participation  and  consensus 
in  the  formation  of  public  opinion.  The  public  has  not  only  a  circum- 
ference, but  it  has  a  center.  Within  the  area  within  which  there  is 


792  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

participation  and  consensus  there  is  always  a  focus  of  attention  around 
which  the  opinions  of  the  individuals  which  compose  the  public  seem 
to  revolve.  This  focus  of  attention,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  is 
constantly  shifting.  The  shifts  of  attention  of  the  public  constitute 
what  is  meant  by  the  changes  in  public  opinion.  When  these  changes 
take  a  definite  direction  and  have  or  seem  to  have  a  definite  goal, 
we  call  the  phenomenon  a  social  movement.1  If  it  were  possible  to  plot 
this  movement  in  the  form  of  maps  and  graphs,  it  would  be  possible 
to  show  movement  in  two  dimensions.  There  would  be,  for  example, 
a  movement  in  space.  The  focus  of  public  opinion,  the  point  namely 
at  which  there  is  the  greatest  "intensity"  of  opinion,  tends  to  move 
from  one  part  of  the  country  to  another.1  In  America  these  move- 
ments, for  reasons  that  could  perhaps  be  explained  historically,  are 
likely  to  be  along  the  meridians,  east  and  west,  rather  than  north 
and  south.  In  the  course  of  this  geographical  movement  of  public 
opinion,  however,  we  are  likely  to  observe  changes  in  intensity  and 
changes  in  direction  (devagation). 

Changes  in  intensity  seem  to  be  in  direct  proportion  to  the  area  over 
which  opinion  on  a  given  issue  may  be  said  to  exist.  In  minorities  opinion 
is  uniformly  more  intense  than  it  is  in  majorities  and  this  is  what  gives 
minorities  so  much  greater  influence  in  proportion  to  their  numbers  than 
majorities.  While  changes  in  intensity  have  a  definite  relation  to  the  area 
over  which  public  opinion  on  an  issue  may  be  said  to  exist,  the  devagations 
of  public  opinion,  as  distinguished  from  the  trend,  will  probably  turn  out 
to  have  a  direct  relation  to  the  character  of  the  parties  that  participate. 
Area  as  applied  to  public  opinion  will  have  to  be  measured  eventually  in 
terms  of  social  rather  than  geographical  distance,  that  is  to  say,  in  terms  of 
isolation  and  contact.  The  factor  of  numbers  is  also  involved  in  any  such 
calculation.  Geographical  area,  communication,  and  the  number  of  persons 
involved  are  in  general  the  factors  that  would  determine  the  concept 
"area"  as  it  is  used  here.  If  party  spirit  is  strong  the  general  direction 
or  trend  of  public  opinion  will  probably  be  intersected  by  shifts  and 
sudden  transient  changes  in  direction,  and  these  shifts  will  be  in  proportion 
to  the  intensity  of  the  party  spirit.  Charles  E.  Merriam's  recent  study  of 
political  parties  indicates  that  the  minority  parties  formulate  most  of  the 
legislation  in  the  United  States.2  This  is  because  there  is  not  very  great 

1  See  A.  L.  Lowell,  Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Government,  pp.  12-13.  (New 
York,  1913.) 

3  The  American  Party  System,  chap.  viii.    (New  York,  1922.)    [In  press.] 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  793 

divergence  in  the  policies  of  the  two  great  parties  and  party  struggles  are 
fought  out  on  irrelevant  issues.  So  far  as  this  is  true  it  insures  against 
any  sudden  change  in  policy.  New  legislation  is  adopted  in  response  to 
the  trend  of  public  opinion,  rather  than  in  response  to  the  devagations  and 
sudden  shifts  brought  about  by  the  development  of  a  radical  party  spirit. 

All  these  phenomena  may  be  observed,  for  example,  in  the  Pro- 
hibition Movement.  Dicey's  study  of  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in 
England  showed  that  while  the  direction  of  opinion  in  regard  to 
specific  issues  had  been  very  irregular,  on  the  whole  the  movement 
had  been  in  one  general  direction.  The  trend  of  public  opinion  is 
the  name  we  give  to  this  general  movement.  In  defining  the  trend, 
shifts,  cross-currents,  and  flurries  are  .not  considered.  When  we 
speak  of  the  tendency  or  direction  of  public  opinion  we  usually 
mean  the  trend  over  a  definite  period  of  time. 

When  the  focus  of  public  attention  ceases  to  move  and  shift, 
when  it  is  fixed,  the  circle  which  defines  the  limits  of  the  public  is 
narrowed.  As  the  circle  narrows,  opinion  itself  becomes  more  intense 
and  concentrated.  This  is  the  phenomenon  of  crisis.  It  is  at  this 
point  that  the  herd  stampedes. 

The  effect  of  crisis  is  invariably  to  increase  the  dangers  of  precipi- 
tate action.  The  most  trivial  incident,  in  such  periods  of  tension,  may 
plunge  a  community  into  irretrievable  disaster.  It  is  under  condi- 
tions of  crisis  that  dictatorships  are  at  once  possible  and  necessary, 
not  merely  to  enable  the  community  to  act  energetically,  but  in  order 
to  protect  the  community  from  the  mere  play  of  external  forces. 
The  manner  in  which  Bismarck,  by  a  slight  modification  of  the  famous 
telegram  of  Ems,  provoked  a  crisis  in  France  and  compelled  Napoleon 
III,  against  his  judgment  and  that  of  his  advisers,  to  declare  war  on 
Germany,  is  an  illustration  of  this  danger.1 

'"On  the  afternoon  of  July  13,  Bismarck,  Roon,  and  Moltke  were  seated 
together  in  the  Chancellor's  Room  at  Berlin.  They  were  depressed  and  moody; 
for  Prince  Leopold's  renunciation  had  been  trumpeted  in  Paris  as  a  humiliation 
for  Prussia.  They  were  afraid,  too,  that  King  William's  conciliatory  temper 
might  lead  him  to  make  further  concessions,  and  that  the  careful  preparations  of 
Prussia  for  the  inevitable  war  with  France  might  be  wasted,  and  a  unique  oppor- 
tunity lost.  A  telegram  arrived.  It  was  from  the  king  at  Ems,  and  described 
his  interview  that  morning  with  the  French  ambassador.  The  king  had  met 
Benedetti's  request  for  the  guarantee  required  by  a  firm  but  courteous  refusal; 
and  when  the  ambassador  had  sought  to  renew  the  interview,  he  had  sent  a  polite 


794  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  this  narrowing  of  the  area  over  which  a  definite  public  opinion 
may  be  said  to  exist  that  at  once  creates  the  possibility  and  defines 
the  limits  of  arbitrary  control,  so  far  as  it  is  created  or  determined 
by  the  existence  of  public  opinion. 

Thus  far  the  public  has  been  described  almost  wholly  in  terms 
that  could  be  applied  to  a  crowd.  The  public  has  been  frequently 
described  as  if  it  were  simply  a  great  crowd,  a  crowd  scattered  as 
widely  as  news  will  circulate  and  still  be  news.1  But  there  is  this 
difference.  In  the  heat  and  excitement  of  the  crowd,  as  in  the  choral 
dances  of  primitive  people,  there  is  for  the  moment  what  may  be 
described  as  complete  fusion  of  the  social  forces.  Rapport  has,  for 
the  time  being,  made  the  crowd,  in  a  peculiarly  intimate  way,  a  social 
unit. 

No  such  unity  exists  in  the  public.  The  sentiment  and  tendencies 
which  we  call  public  opinion  are  never  unqualified  expressions  of 
emotion.  The  difference  is  that  public  opinion  is  determined  by  conflict 
and  discussion,  and  made  up  of  the  opinions  of  individuals  not  wholly 
at  one.  In  any  conflict  situation,  where  party  spirit  is  aroused,  the 
spectators,  who  constitute  the  public,  are  bound  to  take  sides.  The 

message  through  his  aide-de-camp  informing  him  that  the  subject  must  be 
considered  closed.  In  conclusion,  Bismarck  was  authorized  to  publish  the  message 
if  he  saw  fit.  The  Chancellor  at  once  saw  his  opportunity.  In  the  royal  despatch, 
though  the  main  incidents  were  clear  enough,  there  was  still  a  note  of  doubt,  of 
hesitancy,  which  suggested  a  possibility  of  further  negotiation.  The  excision  of  a 
few  lines  would  alter,  not  indeed  the  general  sense,  but  certainly  the  whole  tone  of 
the  message.  Bismarck,  turning  to  Moltke,  asked  him  if  he  were  ready  for  a  sudden 
risk  of  war;  and  on  his  answering  in  the  affirmative,  took  a  blue  pencil  and  drew 
it  quickly  through  several  parts  of  the  telegram.  Without  the  alteration  or 
addition  of  a  single  word,  the  message,  instead  of  appearing  a  mere  'fragment  of  a 
negotiation  still  pending,'  was  thus  made  to  appear  decisive.  In  the  actual  temper 
of  the  French  people  there  was  no  doubt  that  it  would  not  only  appear  decisive, 
but  insulting,  and  that  its  publication  would  mean  war. 

"On  July  14  the  publication  of  the  'Ems  telegram'  became  known  in  Paris, 
with  the  result  that  Bismarck  had  expected.  The  majority  of  the  Cabinet,  hitherto 
in  favour  of  peace,  were  swept  away  by  the  popular  tide;  and  Napoleon  himself 
reluctantly  yielded  to  the  importunity  of  his  ministers  and  of  the  Empress,  who 
saw  in  a  successful  war  the  best,  if  not  the  only,  chance  of  preserving  the  throne 
for  her  son.  On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  July  14,  the  declaration  of  war  was 
signed." — W.  Alison  Phillips,  Modern  Europe,  1815-1899,  pp.  465-66.  (Lon- 
don, 1903.) 

1  G.  Tarde,  L 'opinion  et  la  joule.     (Paris,  1901.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  795 

impulse  to  take  sides  is,  in  fact,  in  direct  proportion  to  the  excitement 
and  party  spirit  displayed.  The  result  is,  however,  that  both  sides 
of  an  issue  get  considered.  Certain  contentions  are  rejected  because 
they  will  not  stand  criticism.  Public  opinion  formed  in  this  way  has 
the  character  of  a  judgment,  rather  than  a  mere  unmeditated  expres- 
sion of  emotion,  as  in  the  crowd.  The  public  is  never  ecstatic.  It  is 
always  more  or  less  rational.  It  is  this  fact  of  conflict,  in  the  form 
of  discussion,  that  introduces  into  the  control  exercised  by  public 
opinion  the  elements  of  rationality  and  of  fact. 

In  the  final  judgment  of  the  public  upon  a  conflict  or  an  issue, 
we  expect,  to  be  sure,  some  sort  of  unanimity  of  judgment,  but  in 
the  general  consensus  there  will  be  some  individual  differences  of 
opinion  still  unmediated,  or  only  partially  so,  and  final  agreement  of 
the  public  will  be  more  or  less  qualified  by  all  the  different  opinions 
that  co-operated  to  form  its  judgment. 

In  the  materials  which  follow  a  distinction  is  made  between 
public  opinion  and  the  mores,  and  this  distinction  is  important. 
Custom  and  the  folkways,  like  habit  in  the  individual,  may  be  regarded 
as  a  mere  residuum  of  past  practices.  When  folkways  assume  the 
character  of  mores,  they  are  no  longer  merely  matters  of  fact  and 
common  sense,  they  are  judgments  upon  matters  which  were  prob- 
ably once  live  issues  and  as  such  they  may  be  regarded  as  the 
products  of  public  opinion. 

Ritual,  religious  or  social,  is  probably  the  crystallization  of  forms 
of  behavior  which,  like  the  choral  dance,  are  the  direct  expression 
of  the  emotions  and  the  instincts.  The  mores,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
so  far  as  they  contain  a  rational  element,  are  the  accumulation,  the 
residuum,  not  only  of  past  practices,  but  of  judgments  such  as  find 
expression  in  public  opinion.  The  mores,  as  thus  conceived,  are  the 
judgments  of  public  opinion  in  regard  to  issues  that  have  been  settled 
and  forgotten. 

L.  T.  Hobhouse,  in  his  volume,  Morals  in  Evolution,  has  described, 
in  a  convincing  way,  the  process  by  which,  as  he  conceives  it,  custom 
is  modified  and  grows  under  the  influence  of  the  personal  judgments 
of  individuals  and  of  the  public.  Public  opinion,  as  he  defines  it,  is 
simply  the  combined  and  sublimated  judgments  of  individuals. 

Most  of  these  judgments  are,  to  be  sure,  merely  the  repetition 
of  old  formulas.  But  occasionally,  when  the  subject  of  discussion 


796  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

touches  us  more  deeply,  when  it  touches  upon  some  matter  in  which 
we  have  had  a  deeper  and  more  intimate  experience,  the  ordinary 
patter  that  passes  as  public  opinion  is  dissipated  and  we  originate  a 
moral  judgment  that  not  only  differs  from,  but  is  in  conflict  with, 
the  prevailing  opinion.  In  that  case  "we  become,  as  it  were,  centers 
from  which  judgments  of  one  kind  or  another  radiate  and  from  which 
they  pass  forth  to  fill  the  atmosphere  of  opinion  and  take  their  place 
among  the  influences  that  mould  the  judgments  of  men." 

The  manner  in  which  public  opinion  issues  from  the  interaction 
of  individuals,  and  moral  judgments  are  formed  that  eventually 
become  the  basis  of  law,  may  be  gathered  from  the  way  in  which 
the  process  goes  on  in  the  daily  life  about  us. 

No  sooner  has  the  judgment  escaped  us — a  winged  word  from  our 
own  lips — than  it  impinges  on  the  judgment  similarly  flying  forth  to  do  its 
work  from  our  next-door  neighbor,  and  if  the  subject  is  an  exciting  one  the 
air  is  soon  full  of  the  winged  forces  clashing,  deflecting  or  reinforcing  one 
another  as  the  case  may  be,  and  generally  settling  down  toward  some 
preponderating  opinion  which  is  society's  judgment  on  the  case.  But  in 
the  course  of  the  conflict  many  of  the  original  judgments  are  modified. 
Discussion,  further  consideration,  above  all,  the  mere  influence  of  our 
neighbour's  opinion  reacts  on  each  of  us,  with  a  stress  that  is  proportioned 
to  various  mental  and  moral  characteristics  of  our  own,  our  clearness  of 
vision,  our  firmness,  or,  perhaps,  obstinacy  of  character,  our  self-confidence, 
and  so  forth.  Thus,  the  controversy  will  tend  to  leave  its  mark,  small 
or  great,  on  those  who  took  part  in  it.  It  will  tend  to  modify  their  modes 
of  judgment,  confirming  one,  perhaps,  in  his  former  ways,  shaping  the 
confidence  of  another,  opening  the  eyes  of  a  third.  Similarly,  it  will  tend 
to  set  a  precedent  for  future  judgments.  It  will  affect  what  men  say  and 
think  on  the  next  question  that  turns  up.  It  adds  its  weight,  of  one  grain 
it  may  be,  to  some  force  that  is  turning  the  scale  of  opinion  and  preparing 
society  for  some  new  departure.  In  any  case,  we  have  here  in  miniature 
at  work  every  day  before  our  eyes  the  essential  process  by  which  moral 
judgments  arise  and  grow.1 

c)  Institutions. — An  institution,  according  to  Sumner,  consists  of 
a  concept  and  a  structure.  The  concept  defines  the  purpose,  interest, 
or  function  of  the  institution.  The  structure  embodies  the  idea  of 
the  institution  and  furnishes  the  instrumentalities  through  which  the 

*L.  T.  Hobhouse,  Morals  in  Evolution,  A  Study  in  Comparative  Ethics, 
pp.  13-14-  (New  York,  1915.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  797 

idea  is  put  into  action.  The  process  by  which  purposes,  whether 
they  are  individual  or  collective,  are  embodied  in  structures  is  a 
continuous  one.  But  the  structures  thus  formed  are  not  physical, 
at  least  not  entirely  so.  Structure,  in  the  sense  that  Sumner  uses 
the  term,  belongs,  as  he  says,  to  a  category  of  its  own.  "It  is  a 
category  in  which  custom  produces  continuity,  coherence,  and 
consistency,  so  that  the  word  'structure'  may  properly  be  applied 
to  the  fabric  of  relations  and  prescribed  positions  with  which  func- 
tions are  permanently  connected."  Just  as  every  individual  member 
of  a  community  participates  in  the  process  by  which  custom  and 
public  opinion  are  made,  so  also  he  participates  in  the  creation  of  the 
structure,  that  "cake  of  custom"  which,  when  it  embodies  a  definite 
social  function,  we  call  an  institution. 

Institutions  may  be  created  just  as  laws  are  enacted,  but  only 
when  a  social  situation  exists  to  which  they  correspond  will  they 
become  operative  and  effective.  Institutions,  like  laws,  rest  upon  the 
mores  and  are  supported  by  public  opinion.  Otherwise  they  remain 
mere  paper  projects  or  artefacts  that  perform  no  real  function. 
History  records  the  efforts  of  conquering  peoples  to  impose  upon  the 
conquered  their  own  laws  and  institutions.  The  efforts  are  instruc- 
tive, but  not  encouraging.  The  most  striking  modern  instance  is  the 
effort  of  King  Leopold  of  Belgium  to  introduce  civilization  into  the 
Congo  Free  State.1 

Law,  like  public  opinion,  owes  its  rational  and  secular  character 
to  the  fact  that  it  arose  out  of  an  effort  to  compromise  conflict  and 
to  interpret  matters  which  were  in  dispute. 

To  seek  vengeance  for  a  wrong  committed  was  a  natural  impulse, 
and  the  recognition  of  this  fact  in  custom  established  it  not  merely 
as  a  right  but  as  a  duty.  War,  the  modern  form  of  trial  by  battle, 
the  vendetta,  and  the  duel  are  examples  that  have  survived  down  to 
modern  times  of  this  natural  and  primitive  method  of  settling  disputes. 

In  all  these  forms  of  conflict  custom  and  the  mores  have  tended 
to  limit  the  issues  and  define  the  conditions  under  which  disputes 
might  be  settled  by  force.  At  the  same  time  public  opinion,  hi 
passing  judgment  on  the  issues,  exercised  a  positive  influence  on  the 
outcome  of  the  struggle. 

1  E.  D.  Morel,  King  Leopold's  Ride  in  Africa.    (London,  1904.) 


7Q8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Gradually,  as  men  realized  the  losses  which  conflicts  incurred, 
the  community  has  intervened  to  prevent  them.  At  a  time  when  the 
blood  feud  was  still  sanctioned  by  the  mores,  cities  of  refuge  and 
sanctuaries  were  established  to  which  one  who  had  incurred  a  blood 
feud  might  flee  until  his  case  could  be  investigated.  If  it  then 
appeared  that  the  wrong  committed  had  been  unintentional  or  if 
there  were  other  mitigating  circumstances,  he  might  find  in  the 
sanctuary  protection.  Otherwise,  if  a  crime  had  been  committed  in 
cold  blood,  "lying  in  wait,"  or  "in  enmity,"  as  the  ancient  Jewish 
law  books  called  it,  he  might  be  put  to  death  by  the  avenger  of  blood, 
"when  he  meeteth  him."1 

Thus,  gradually,  the  principle  became  established  that  the  com- 
munity might  intervene,  not  merely  to  insure  that  vengeance  was 
executed  in  due  form,  but  to  determine  the  facts,  and  thus  courts 
which  determined  by  legal  process  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  accused 
were  established. 

It  does  not  appear  that  courts  of  justice  were  ever  set  up  within 
the  kinship  group  for  the  trial  of  offenses,  although  efforts  were  made 
there  first  of  all,  by  the  elders  and  the  headmen,  to  compromise 
quarrels  and  compose  differences. 

Courts  first  came  into  existence,  the  evidence  indicates,  when 
society  was  organized  over  wider  areas  and  after  some  authority 
had  been  established  outside  of  the  local  community.  As  society 
was  organized  over  a  wider  territory,  control  was  extended  to  ever 
wider  areas  of  human  life  until  we  have  at  present  a  program  for 
international  courts  with  power  to  intervene  between  nations  to 
prevent  wars.2 

Society,  like  the  individual  man,  moves  and  acts  under  the 
influence  of  a  multitude  of  minor  impulses  and  tendencies  which 
mutually  interact  to  produce  a  more  general  tendency  which  then 
dominates  all  the  individuals  of  the  group.  This  explains  the  fact 
that  a  group,  even  a  mere  casual  collection  of  individuals  like  a  crowd, 
is  enabled  to  act  more  or  less  as  a  unit.  The  crowd  acts  under  the 
influence  of  such  a  dominant  tendency,  unreflectively,  without 

1 L.  T.  Hobhouse,  op.  tit.,  p.  85. 

2  The  whole  process  of  evolution  by  which  a  moral  order  has  been  established 
over  ever  wider  areas  of  social  life  has  been  sketched  in  a  masterly  manner  by 
Hobhouse  in  his  chapter,  "Law  and  Justice,"  op.  tit.,  pp.  72-131. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  799 

definite  reference  to  a  past  or  a  future.  The  crowd  has  no  past 
and  no  future.  The  public  introduces  into  this  vortex  of  impulses 
the  factor  of  reflection.  The  public  presupposes  the  existence  of  a 
common  impulse  such  as  manifests  itself  in  the  crowd,  but  it  pre- 
supposes, also,  the  existence  of  individuals  and  groups  of  individuals 
representing  divergent  tendencies.  These  individuals  interact  upon 
one  another  critically.  The  public  is,  what  the  crowd  is  not,  a  dis- 
cussion group.  The  very  existence  of  discussion  presupposes  object- 
ive standards  of  truth  and  of  fact.  The  action  of  the  public  is 
based  on  a  universe  of  discourse  in  which  things,  although  they  may 
and  do  have  for  every  individual  somewhat  different  value,  are 
describable  at  any  rate  in  terms  that  mean  the  same  to  all  indi- 
viduals. The  public,  in  other  words,  moves  hi  an  objective  and 
intelligible  world. 

Law  is  based  on  custom.  Custom  is  group  habit.  As  the  group 
acts  it  creates  custom.  There  is  implicit  in  custom  a  conception  and 
a  rule  of  action,  which  is  regarded  as  right  and  proper  in  the  cir- 
cumstances. Law  makes  this  rule  of  action  explicit.  Law  grows  up, 
however,  out  of  a  distinction  between  this  rule  of  action  and  the  facts. 
Custom  is  bound  up  with  the  facts  under  which  the  custom  grew  up. 
Law  is  the  result  of  an  effort  to  frame  the  rule  of  action  implicit  hi 
custom  in  such  general  terms  that  it  can  be  made  to  apply  to  new 
situations,  involving  new  sets  of  facts.  This  distinction  between 
the  law  and  the  facts  did  not  exist  in  primitive  society.  The  evolution 
of  law  and  jurisprudence  has  been  in  the  direction  of  an  increasingly 
clearer  recognition  of  this  distinction  between  law  and  the  facts. 
This  has  meant  in  practice  an  increasing  recognition  by  the  courts  of 
the  facts,  and  a  disposition  to  act  hi  accordance  with  them.  The 
present  disposition  of  courts,  as,  for  example,  the  juvenile  courts, 
to  call  to  their  assistance  experts  to  examine  the  mental  condition  of 
children  who  are  brought  before  them  and  to  secure  the  assistance  of 
juvenile-court  officers  to  advise  and  assist  them  in  the  enforcement 
of  the  law,  is  an  illustration  of  an  increasing  disposition  to  take  account 
of  the  facts. 

The  increasing  interest  in  the  natural  history  of  the  law  and  of 
legal  institutions,  and  the  increasing  disposition  to  interpret  it  hi 
sociological  terms,  from  the  point  of  view  of  its  function,  is  another 
evidence  of  the  same  tendency. 


8oo  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      ELEMENTARY  FORMS   OF   SOCIAL  CONTROL 
i.    Control  in  the  Crowd  and  the  Public1 

In  August,  1914,  I  was  a  cowboy  on  a  ranch  in  the  interior  of 
British  Columbia.  How  good  a  cowboy  I  would  not  undertake  to 
say,  because  if  there  were  any  errands  off  the  ranch  the  foreman 
seemed  better  able  to  spare  me  for  them  than  anyone  else  in  the  outfit. 

One  ambition,  and  one  only,  possessed  me  in  those  days.  And 
it  was  not  to  own  the  ranch !  All  in  the  world  I  wanted  was  to  accu- 
mulate money  enough  to  carry  me  to  San  Francisco  when  the  Panama 
exposition  opened  in  the  autumn.  After  that  I  didn't  care.  It 
would  be  tune  enough  to  worry  about  another  job  when  I  had  seen 
the  fair. 

Ordinarily  I  was  riding  the  range  five  days  in  the  week.  Satur- 
days I  was  sent  on  a  35-mile  round  trip  for  the  mail.  It  was  the 
most  delightful  day  of  them  all  for  me.  The  trail  lay  down  the  valley 
of  the  Fraser  and  although  I  had  been  riding  it  for  months  it  still 
wove  a  spell  over  me  that  never  could  be  broken.  Slipping  rapidly 
by  as  though  escaping  to  the  sea  from  the  grasp  of  the  hills  that 
hemmed  it  in  on  all  sides,  the  river  always  fascinated  me.  It  was 
new  every  time  I  reached  its  edge. 

An  early  Saturday  morning  in  August  found  me  jogging  slowly 
along  the  trail  to  Dog  Creek.  Dog  Creek  was  our  post-office  and 
trading-center.  This  morning,  however,  my  mind  wag  less  on  the 
beauties  of  the  Fraser  than  on  the  Dog  Creek  hotel.  Every  week  I 
had  my  dinner  there  before  starting  in  mid-afternoon  on  my  return 
to  the  ranch,  and  this  day  had  succeeded  one  of  misunderstanding 
with  "  Cookie"  wherein  all  the  boys  of  our  outfit  had  come  off  second- 
best.  I  was  hungry  and  that  dinner  at  the  hotel  was  going  to  taste 
mighty  good.  Out  there  on  the  range  we  had  heard  rumors  of  a  war 
in  Europe.  We  all  talked  it  over  in  the  evening  and  decided  it  was 
another  one  of  those  fights  that  were  always  starting  in  the  Balkans. 
One  had  just  been  finished  a  few  months  before  and  we  thought  it  was 
about  time  another  was  under  way,^o  we  gave  the  matter  no  particular 
thought.  But  when  I  got  within  sight  of  Dog  Creek  I  knew  some- 

1  From  Lieutenant  Joseph  S.  Smith,  Over  There  and  Back,  pp.  9-22.  (E.  P. 
Button  &  Co.,  1917.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  801 

thing  was  up.  The  first  thing  I  heard  was  that  somebody  had 
retreated  from  Mons  and  that  the  Germans  were  chasing  them.  So, 
the  Germans  were  fighting  anyway.  Then  a  big  Indian  came  up  to 
me  as  I  was  getting  off  my  pony  and  told  me  England's  big  white 
chief  was  going  to  war,  or  had  gone,  he  wasn't  certain  which,  but  he 
was  going  too.  Would  I? 

I  laughed  at  him.     "  What  do  you  mean,  go  to  war  ?"  I  asked  him. 

I  wasn't  English;  I  wasn't  Canadian.  I  was  from  the  good  old 
U.S.A.  and  from  all  we  could  understand  the  States  were  neutral. 
So,  I  reasoned,  I  ought  to  be  neutral  too,  and  I  went  in  to  see  what 
there  might  be  to  eat. 

There  was  plenty  of  excitement  in  the  dining-room.  Under  its 
influence  I  began  to  look  at  the  thing  in  a  different  light.  While  I 
was  an  alien,  I  had  lived  in  Canada.  I  had  enjoyed  her  hospitality. 
Much  of  my  education  was  acquired  in  a  Canadian  school.  Cana- 
dians were  among  my  dearest  friends.  Some  of  these  very  fellows, 
there  in  Dog  Creek,  were  "going  down"  to  enlist. 

All  the  afternoon  we  argued  about  it.  Politics,  economics, 
diplomacy;  none  of  them  entered  into  the  question.  In  fact  we 
hadn't  the  faintest  idea  what  the  war  was  all  about.  Our  discussion 
hinged  solely  on  what  we,  personally,  ought  to  do.  England  was  at 
war.  She  had  sent  out  a  call  to  all  the  Empire  for  men;  for  help. 
Dog  Creek  heard  and  was  going  to  answer  that  call.  Even  if  I  were 
an  alien  I  had  been  in  that  district  for  more  than  a  year  and  I  owed 
it  to  Dog  Creek  and  the  district  to  join  up  with  the  rest.  By  that 
time  I  wanted  to  go.  I  was  crazy  to  go!  It  would  be  great  to  see 
London  and  maybe  Paris  and  some  of  the  other  famous  old  towns — 
if  the  war  lasted  long  enough  for  us  to  get  over  there.  I  began  to 
bubble  over  with  enthusiasm,  just  thinking  about  it.  So  I  made  an 
appointment  with  some  of  the  boys  for  the  next  evening,  rode  back 
to  the  ranch  and  threw  the  mail  and  my  job  at  the  foreman. 

A  week  later  we  were  in  Vancouver.  Then  things  began  to  get 
plainer — to  some  of  the  fellows.  We  heard  of  broken  treaties, 
"scraps  of  paper,"  "Kultur,"  the  rights  of  nations,  big  and  small, 
"freedom  of  the  seas,"  and  other  phrases  that  meant  less  than  nothing 
to  most  of  us.  It  was  enough  for  me,  then,  that  the  country  which 
had  given  me  the  protection  of  its  laws  wanted  to  help  England.  I 
trusted  the  government  to  know  what  it  was  doing.  Before  we  were 


802  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

in  town  an  hour  we  found  ourselves  at  a  recruiting  office.  By  the 
simple  expedient  of  moving  my  birthplace  a  few  hundred  miles  north 
I  became  a  Canadian  and  a  member  of  the  expeditionary  force — a 
big  word  with  a  big  meaning.  Christmas  came  and  I  was  in  a  well- 
trained  battalion  of  troops  with  no  more  knowledge  of  the  war  than 
the  retreat  from  Mons,  the  battles  of  the  Marne  and  the  Aisne,  and 
an  occasional  newspaper  report  of  the  capture  of  a  hundred  thousand 
troops  here  and  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  casualties  somewhere 
else.  We  knew,  at  that  rate,  it  couldn't  possibly  last  until  we  got 
to  the  other  side,  but  we  prayed  loudly  that  it  would.  In  April  we 
heard  of  the  gassing  of  the  first  Canadians  at  Ypres.  Then  the 
casualty  lists  from  that  field  arrived  and  hit  Vancouver  with  a  thud. 
Instantly  a  change  came  over  the  city.  Before  that  day,  war  had 
been  a  romance,  a  thing  far  away  about  which  to  read  and  over  which 
to  wave  flags.  It  was  intangible,  impersonal.  It  was  the  same 
attitude  the  States  exhibited  in  the  autumn  of  '17.  Then  suddenly 
it  became  real.  This  chap  and  that  chap;  a  neighbor  boy,  a  fellow 
from  the  next  block  or  the  next  desk.  Dead!  Gassed!  This  was 
war;  direct,  personal,  where  you  could  count  the  toll  among  your 
friends.  Personally,  I  thought  that  what  the  Germans  had  done  was 
a  terrible  thing  and  I  wondered  what  kind  of  people  they  might  be 
that  they  could,  without  warning,  deliver  such  a  foul  blow.  In  a 
prize  ring  the  Kaiser  would  have  lost  the  decision  then  and  there. 
We  wondered  about  gas  and  discussed  it  by  the  hour  in  our  barracks. 
Some  of  us,  bigger  fools  than  the  rest,  insisted  that  the  German  nation 
would  repudiate  its  army.  But  days  went  by  and  nothing  of  the  kind 
occurred.  It  was  then  I  began  to  take  my  soldiering  a  little  more 
seriously.  If  a  nation  wanted  to  win  a  war  so  badly  that  it  would 
damn  its  good  name  forever  by  using  means  ruled  by  all  humanity  as 
beyond  the  bounds  of  civilized  warfare,  it  must  have  a  very  big 
object  in  view.  And  I  started — late  it  is  true — to  obtain  some  clue 
to  those  objects. 

May  found  us  at  our  port  of  embarkation  for  the  voyage  to 
England.  The  news  of  the  "Lusitania"  came  over  the  wires  and 
that  evening  our  convoy  steamed.  For  the  first  time,  I  believe,  I 
fully  realized  I  was  a  soldier  in  the  greatest  war  of  all  the  ages. 

Between  poker,  "blackjack,"  and  "crown  and  anchor"  with  the 
crew,  we  talked  over  the  two  big  things  that  had  happened  in  our 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  803 

soldier  lives — gas  and  the  "Lusitania."  And  to  these  we  later  added 
liquid  fire. 

Our  arguments,  our  logic,  may  have  been  elemental,  but  I  insist 
they  struck  at  the  root.  I  may  sum  them  up  thus:  Germany  was 
not  using  the  methods  of  fighting  that  could  be  countenanced  by  a 
civilized  nation.  As  the  nation  stood  behind  its  army  in  all  this 
barbarism,  there  must  be  something  inherently  lacking  in  it  despite 
its  wonderful  music,  its  divine  poetry,  its  record  in  the  sciences.  It, 
too,  must  be  barbarian  at  heart.  We  agreed  that  if  it  should  win 
this  war  it  would  be  very  uncomfortable  to  belong  to  one  of  the  allied 
nations,  or  even  to  live  in  the  world  at  all,  since  it  was  certain  German 
manners  and  German  methods  would  not  improve  with  victory.  And 
we,  as  a  battalion,  were  ready  to  take  our  places  in  France  to  back  up 
our' words  with  deeds. 

A  week  or  so  later  we  landed  in  England.  A  marked  change  had 
come  over  the  men  since  the  day  we  left  Halifax.  Then  most  of  us 
regarded  the  whole  war,  or  our  part  in  it,  as  more  or  less  of  a  lark. 
On  landing  we  were  still  for  a  lark,  but  something  else  had  come  into 
our  consciousness.  We  were  soldiers  fighting  for  a  cause — a  cause 
clear  cut  and  well  defined — the  saving  of  the  world  from  a  militarily 
mad  country  without  a  conscience.  At  our  camp  in  England  we  saw 
those  boys  of  the  first  division  who  had  stood  in  their  trenches  in 
front  of  Ypres  one  bright  April  morning  and  watched  with  great 
curiosity  a  peculiar  looking  bank  of  fog  roll  toward  them  from  the 
enemy's  line.  It  rolled  into  their  trenches,  and  in  a  second  those 
men  were  choking  and  gasping  for  breath.  Their  lungs  filled  with 
the  rotten  stuff,  and  they  were  dying  by  dozens  in  the  most  terrible 
agony,  beating  off  even  as  they  died  a  part  of  the  "brave"  Prussian 
army  as  it  came  up  behind  those  gas  clouds ;  came  up  with  gas  masks 
on  and  bayonets  dripping  with  the  blood  of  men  lying  on  the  ground 
fighting,  true,  but  for  breath.  A  great  army,  that  Prussian  army! 
And  what  a  "glorious"  victory!  Truly  should  the  Hun  be  proud! 
So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  Germany  did  not  lose  the  war  at  the  battle 
of  the  Marne,  at  the  Aisne,  or  at  the  Yser.  She  lost  it  there  at  Ypres, 
on  April  22,  1915.  It  is  no  exaggeration  when  I  say  our  eagerness  to 
work,  to  complete  our  training,  to  learn  how  to  kill,  so  we  could  take 
our  places  in  the  line,  and  help  fight  off  those  mad  people,  grew  by 
the  hour.  They  stiffened  pur  backs  and  made  us  fighting  mad.  We 


804  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

saw  what  they  had  done  to  our  boys  from  Canada;  they  and  their 
gas.  The  effect  on  our  battalion  was  the  effect  on  the  whole  army, 
and,  I  am  quite  sure,  on  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  put  themselves 
beyond  the  pale.  They  compelled  the  world  to  look  on  them  as  mad 
dogs,  and  to  treat  them  as  mad  dogs.  We  trained  in  England  until 
August,  when  we  went  to  France.  To  all  outward  appearances  we 
were  still  happy,  carefree  soldiers,  all  out  for  a  good  time.  We  were 
happy!  We  were  happy  we  were  there,  and  down  deep  there  was 
solid  satisfaction,  not  on  account  of  the  different-colored  books  that 
were  issuing  from  every  chancellory  in  Europe,  but  from  a  feeling 
rooted  in  white  men's  hearts,  backed  by  the  knowledge  of  Germany's 
conduct,  that  we  were  there  in  a  righteous  cause.  Our  second  stop 
in  our  march  toward  the  line  was  a  little  village  which  had  been 
occupied  by  the  Boches  in  their  mad  dash  toward  Paris.  Our  billet 
was  a  farm  just  on  the  edge  of  the  village.  The  housewife  permitted 
us  in  her  kitchen  to  do  our  cooking,  at  the  same  time  selling  us  coffee. 
We  stayed  there  two  or  three  days  and  became  quite  friendly  with 
her,  even  if  she  did  scold  us  for  our  muddy  boots.  Two  pretty  little 
kiddies  played  around  the  house,  got  in  the  way,  were  scolded  and 
spanked  and  in  the  next  instant  loved  to  death  by  Madame.  Then 
she  would  parade  them  before  a  picture  of  a  clean-cut  looking  French- 
man in  the  uniform  of  the  army,  and  say  something  about  "apres  la 
guerre."  In  a  little  crib  to  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  tiny  baby, 
neglected  by  Madame,  except  that  she  bathed  and  fed  it.  The 
neglect  was  so  pronounced  that  our  curiosity  was  aroused.  The  ex- 
planation came  through  the  estaminet  gossip,  and  later  from  Madame 
herself.  A  Hun  captain  of  cavalry  had  stayed  there  a  few  days  in 
August,  '14,  and  not  only  had  he  allowed  his  detachment  full  license 
in  the  village,  but  had  abused  his  position  in  the  house  in  the  accus- 
tomed manner  of  his  bestial  class.  As  Madame  told  us  her  story; 
how  her  husband  had  rushed  off  to  his  unit  with  the  first  call  for 
reserves,  leaving  her  alone  with  two  children,  and  how  the  blond 
beast  had  come,  our  fists  clenched  and  we  boiled  with  rage.  That  is 
German  war!  but  it  is  not  all.  What  will  be  the  stories  that  come 
out  of  what  is  now  occupied  France?  This  Frenchwoman's  story 
was  new  to  us  then,  but,  like  other  things  in  the  war,  as  we  moved 
through  the  country  it  became  common  enough,  with  here  and  there 
a  revolting  detail  more  horrible  than  anything  we  had  heard  before. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  805 

Now  and  then  Germany  expresses  astonishment  at  the  persistence 
of  the  British  and  the  French.  They  are  a  funny  people,  the  Ger- 
mans. There  are  so  many  things  they  do  not,  perhaps  cannot, 
understand.  They  never  could  understand  why  Americans,  such  as 
myself,  who  enlisted  in  a  spirit  of  adventure,  and  with  not  a  single 
thought  on  the  justice  of  the  cause,  could  experience  such  a  marked 
change  of  feeling  as  to  regard  this  conflict  as  the  most  holy  crusade 
in  which  a  man  could  engage.  It  is  a  holy  crusade!  Never  in  the 
history  of  the  world  was  the  cause  of  right  more  certainly  on  the  side 
of  an  army  than  it  is  today  on  the  side  of  the  allies:  We  who  have 
been  through  the  furnace  of  France  know  this.  I  only  say  what 
every  other  American  who  has  been  fighting  under  an  alien  flag  said 
when  our  country  came  in:  "Thank  God  we  have  done  it.  Some 
boy,  Wilson,  believe  me!" 

2.     Ceremonial  Control1 

If,  disregarding  conduct  that  is  entirely  private,  we  consider  only 
that  species  of  conduct  which  involves  direct  relations  with  other 
persons;  and  if  under  the  name  government  we  include  all  control  of 
conduct,  however  arising;  then  we  must  say  that  the  earliest  kind  of 
government,  the  most  general  kind  of  government,  and  the  govern- 
ment which  is  ever  spontaneously  recommencing,  is  the  govern- 
ment of  ceremonial  observance.  This  kind  of  government,  besides 
preceding  other  kinds,  and  besides  having  hi  all  places  and  times 
approached  nearer  to  universality  of  influence,  has  ever  had,  and  con- 
tinues to  have,  the  largest  share  in  regulating  men's  lives. 

Proof  that  the  modifications  of  conduct  called  "manners"  and 
"behavior"  arise  before  those  which  political  and  religious  restraints 
cause  is  yielded  by  the  fact  that,  besides  preceding  social  evolution, 
they  precede  human  evolution:  they  are  traceable  among  the  higher 
animals.  The  dog  afraid  of  being  beaten  comes  crawling  up  to  his 
master  clearly  manifesting  the  desire  to  show  submission.  Nor  is 
it  solely  to  human  beings  that  dogs  use  such  propitiatory  actions. 
They  do  the  like  one  to  another.  All  have  occasionally  seen  how, 
on  the  approach  of  some  formidable  Newfoundland  or  mastiff,  a  small 
spaniel,  in  the  extremity  of  its  terror,  throws  itself  on  its  back  with 

1  From  Herbert  Spencer,  The  Principles  of  Sociology,  II,  3-6.  (Williams  & 
Norgate,  1893.) 


806  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

legs  in  the  air.  Clearly  then,  besides  certain  modes  of  behavior 
expressing  affection,  which  are  established  still  earlier  in  creatures 
lower  than  man,  there  are  established  certain  modes  of  behavior 
expressing  subjection. 

After  recognizing  this  fact,  we  shall  be  prepared  to  recognize  the 
fact  that  daily  intercourse  among  the  lowest  savages,  whose  small 
loose  groups,  scarcely  to  be  called  social,  are  without  political  or 
religious  regulation,  is  under  a  considerable  amount  of  ceremonial 
regulation.  No  ruling  agency  beyond  that  arising  from  personal 
superiority  characterizes  a  horde  of  Australians;  but  every  such 
horde  has  imperative  observances.  Strangers  meeting  must  remain 
some  time  silent;  a  mile  from  an  encampment  approach  has  to  be 
heralded  by  loud  cooeys;  a  green  bough  is  used  as  an  emblem  of  peace; 
and  brotherly  feeling  is  indicated  by  exchange  of  names.  Ceremonial 
control  is  highly  developed  in  many  places  where  other  forms  of 
control  are  but  rudimentary.  The  wild  Comanche  "exacts  the  ob- 
servance of  his  rules  of  etiquette  from  strangers,"  and  "is  greatly 
offended  "  by  any  breach  of  them.  When  Araucanians  meet,  the  in- 
quiries, felicitations,  and  condolences  which  custom  demands  are  so 
elaborate  that  "  the  formality  occupies  ten  or  fifteen  minutes." 

That  ceremonial  restraint,  preceding  other  forms  of  restraint, 
continues  ever  to  be  the  most  widely  diffused  form  of  restraint  we 
are  shown  by  such  facts  as  that  in  all  intercourse  between  members 
of  each  society,  the  decisively  governmental  actions  are  usually 
prefaced  by  this  government  of  observances.  The  embassy  may 
fail,  negotiation  may  be  brought  to  a  close  by  war,  coercion  of  one 
society  by  another  may  set  up  wider  political  rule  with  its  peremptory 
commands;  but  there  is  habitually  this  more  general  and  vague 
regulation  of  conduct  preceding  the  more  special  and  definite.  So 
within  a  community  acts  of  relatively  stringent  control  coming  from 
ruling  agencies,  civil  and  religious,  begin  with  and  are  qualified  by  this 
ceremonial  control  which  not  only  initiates  but  in  a  sense  envelops 
all  other.  Functionaries,  ecclesiastical  and  political,  coercive  as  their 
proceedings  may  be,  conform  them  in  large  measure  to  the  require- 
ments of  courtesy.  The  priest,  however  arrogant  his  assumption, 
makes  a  civil  salute;  and  the  officer  of  the  law  performs  his  duty 
subject  to  certain  propitiatory  words  and  movements. 

Yet  another  indication  of  primordialism  may  be  named.  This 
species  of  control  establishes  itself  anew  with  every  fresh  relation 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  807 

among  individuals.  Even  between  intimates  greetings  signifying 
continuance  of  respect  begin  each  renewal  of  intercourse.  And  in  the 
presence  of  a  stranger,  say  in  a  railway  carriage,  a  certain  self-restraint, 
joined  with  some  small  act  like  the  offer  of  a  newspaper,  shows  the 
spontaneous  rise  of  a  propitiatory  behavior  such  as  even  the  rudest  of 
mankind  are  not  without.  So  that  the  modified  forms  of  action  caused 
in  men  by  the  presence  of  their  fellows  constitute  that  comparatively 
vague  control  out  of  which  other  more  definite  controls  are  evolved — 
the  primitive  undifferentiated  kind  of  government  from  which  the 
political  and  religious  governments  are  differentiated,  and  in  which 
they  ever  continue  immersed. 

3.    Prestige1 

Originally  prestige — here,  too,  etymology  proves  to  be  an  enfant 
terrible — means  delusion.  It  is  derived  from  the  Latin  praestigiae 
(-arum) — though  it  is  found  in  the  forms  praestigia  (-ae)  and  praestigium 
(-ii)  too:  the  juggler  himself  (dice-player,  rope-walker,  "strong 
man,"  etc.)  was  called  praestigiator  (-oris).  Latin  authors  and 
mediaeval  writers  of  glossaries  took  the  word  to  mean  "deceptive 
juggling  tricks,"  and,  as  far  as  we  know,  did  not  use  it  in  its  present 
signification.  The  praestigiator  threw  dice  or  put  coins  on  a  table, 
then  passed  them  into  a  small  vessel  or  box,  moved  the  latter  about 
quickly  and  adroitly,  till  finally,  when  you  thought  they  were  in  a 
certain  place,  the  coins  turned  up  somewhere  else:  "The  looker-on  is 
deceived  by  such  innocent  tricks,  being  often  inclined  to  presume  the 
sleight  of  hand  to  be  nothing  more  or  less  than  magic  art." 

The  practice  of  French  writers  in  the  oldest  times  was,  so  far  as 
we  have  been  able  to  discover,  to  use  the  word  prestige  at  first  in 
the  signification  above  assigned  to  the  Latin  "praestigiae"  (prestige, 
prestigiateur,  -trice,  prestigieux) .  The  use  of  the  word  was  not 
restricted  to  the  prestige  of  prophets,  conjurers,  demons,  but  was 
transferred  by  analogy  to  delusions  the  cause  of  which  is  not  regarded 
any  longer  as  supernatural.  Diderot  actually  makes  mention  of  the 
prestige  of  harmony.  The  word  "prestige"  became  transfigured, 
ennobled,  and  writers  and  orators  refined  it  so  as  to  make  it  applicable 
to  analogies  of  the  remotest  character.  Rousseau  refers  to  the  pres- 
tige of  our  passions,  which  dazzles  the  intellect  and  deceives  wisdom. 

1  Adapted  from  Lewis  Leopold,  Prestige,  pp.  16-62.     (T.  Fisher  Unwin,  1913.) 


8o8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Prestige  is  the  name  continually  given  to  every  kind  of  spell,  the 
effect  of  which  reminds  us  of  "prestige"  ("cet  homme  exerce  une 
influence  que  rassemble  a  une  prestige" — Littre),  and  to  all  magic 
charms  and  attractive  power  which  is  capable  of  dulling  the  intellect 
while  it  enhances  sensation.  We  may  read  of  the  prestige  of  fame,  of 
the  power  which,  in  default  of  prestige,  is  brute  force;  in  1869  number- 
less placards  proclaimed  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  Paris  that 
Bourbeau,  Minister  of  Public  Instruction,  though  reputed  to  be  a 
splendid  lawyer,  "  lacked  prestige  " — "  Bourbeau  manque  de  prestige." 
The  English  and  German  languages  make  use  of  the  word  in  the  latter 
meaning  as  opposed  to  the  imaginary  virtue  of  the  conjurer;  the  same 
signification  is  applied,  generally  speaking,  to  the  Italian  and  Spanish 
prestigio,  only  that  the  Italian  prestigido  and  the  Spanish  prestigiador, 
just  like  the  French  prestigiateur,  have,  as  opposed  to  the  more  recent 
meaning,  kept  the  older  significance;  neither  of  them  means  anything 
more  or  less  than  conjurer  or  juggler. 

The  market  clown,  the  rope-walker,  the  sword-swallower,  the 
reciter  of  long  poems,  the  clever  manipulator  who  defies  imitation — 
all  possess  prestige :  but  on  the  other  hand,  prestige  surrounds  demonia- 
cal spells,  wizardry,  and  all  effectiveness  not  comprehensible  by  logic. 

We  state  something  of  someone  when  we  say  that  he  possesses 
prestige;  but  our  statement  is  not  clear,  and  the  predicate  cannot  be 
distinguished  from  the  subject.  Of  what  is  analysable,  well-known, 
commonplace,  or  what  we  succeed  in  understanding  thoroughly,  in 
attaining  or  imitating,  we  do  not  say  that  it  possesses  prestige. 

What  is  the  relation  between  prestige  and  prejudice  ?  When  what 
is  unintelligible,  or  mysterious,  is  at  one  time  received  with  enthu- 
siasm, at  another  with  indignation,  what  renders  necessary  these  two 
extreme  sentiments  of  appreciation  which,  though  appearing  under 
apparently  identical  circumstances,  are  diametrically  opposed  to 
one  another? 

The  most  general  form  of  social  prejudice  is  that  of  race.  A 
foreigner  is  received  with  prejudice,  conception,  or  prestige.  If  we 
put  "conception"  aside,  we  find  prejudice  and  prestige  facing  one 
another.  We  see  this  split  most  clearly  demonstrated  if  we  observe 
the  differences  of  conduct  in  the  reception  of  strangers  by  primitive 
peoples.  In  Yrjo  Hirn's  Origins  of  Art  we  are  told  that  those  travel- 
lers who  have  learned  the  tongues  of  savages  have  often  observed  that 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  809 

their  persons  were  made  the  subjects  of  extemporized  poems  by  the 
respective  savages.  Sometimes  these  verses  are  of  a  derisive  char- 
acter; at  other  times  they  glorify  the  white  man.  When  do  they 
deride,  when  glorify  ? 

Where  strong  prejudice  values  are  present,  as  in  the  case  of 
Negroes,  every  conception  of  equality  and  nationalism  incorporated 
in  the  statute-book  is  perverted.  All  that  appears  permanently 
divergent  is  made  the  subject  of  damnatory  prejudice;  and  the  more 
apparent  and  seeming,  the  more  primitive  the  impression  that  res  trams, 
the  more  general  the  prejudice;  smell  affects  more  keenly  than  form, 
and  form  more  than  mode  of  thought.  If  a  member  of  a  nation  is 
not  typical,  but  exercises  an  exclusive,  personal  impression  on  us,  he 
possesses  prestige;  if  he  is  typical,  he  is  indifferent  to  us,  or  we  look 
down  upon  him  and  consider  him  comical.  To  sum  up :  the  stranger 
whom  we  feel  to  be  divergent  as  compared  with  ourselves  is  indifferent 
or  the  object  of  prejudice;  the  stranger  whom  we  feel  ourselves  unable 
to  measure  by  our  own  standard,  whose*  measure — not  his  qualities — 
we  feel  to  be  different,  we  receive  with  prestige.  We  look  with 
prejudice  on  the  stranger  whom  we  dissociate,  and  receive  with 
prestige  the  stranger  who  is  dissociated. 

Even  in  the  animal  world  we  come  across  individuals  consistently 
treated  with  deference,  of  which,  in  his  work  on  the  psychical  world  of 
animals,  Perty  has  plenty  to  tell  us:  "Even  in  the  animal  world,"  he 
says,  "  there  are  certain  eminent  individuals,  which  in  comparison  with 
the  other  members  of  their  species  show  a  superiority  of  capability, 
brain  power,  and  force  of  will,  and  obtain  a  predominance  over  the 
other  animals."  Cuvier  observed  the  same  in  the  case  of  a  buck  which 
had  only  one  horn;  Grant  tells  us  of  a  certain  ourang-outang  which 
got  the  upper  hand  of  the  rest  of  the  monkeys  and  often  threatened 
them  with  the  stick;  from  Naumann  we  hear  of  a  clever  crane  which 
ruled  over  all  the  domestic  animals  and  quickly  settled  any  quarrels 
that  arose  among  them.  Far  more  important  than  these  somewhat 
obscure  observations  is  the  peculiar  social  mechanism  of  the  animal 
world  to  be  found  in  the  mechanical  following  of  the  leaders  of  flocks 
and  herds.  But  this  obedience  is  so  conspicuously  instinctive,  so 
genuine,  and  so  little  varying  in  substance  and  intensity,  that  it  can 
hardly  be  identified  with  prestige.  Bees  are  strong  royalists;  but  the 
extent  to  which  their  selection  of  a  queen  is  instinctive  and  strictly 


8  to          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

exclusive  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  the  smell  of  a  strange  queen 
forced  on  them  makes  them  hate  her;  they  kill  her  or  torture  her — 
though  the  same  working  bees  prefer  to  die  of  hunger  rather  than 
allow  their  own  queen  to  starve. 

Things  are  radically  changed  when  animals  are  brought  face  to 
face  with  man.  Some  animals  sympathize  with  men,  and  like  to 
take  part  in  their  hunting  and  fighting,  as  the  dog  and  the  horse; 
others  subject  themselves  as  a  result  of  force.  Consequently  men 
have  succeeded  in  domesticating  a  number  of  species  of  animals.  It 
is  here  that  we  find  the  first  traces,  in  the  animal  world,  of  phenomena, 
reactions  of  conduct  in  the  course  of  development,  which,  to  a  certain 
extent,  remind  us  of  the  reception  of  prestige.  The  behaviour  of  a 
dog,  says  Darwin,  which  returns  to  its  master  after  being  absent — 
or  the  conduct  of  a  monkey,  when  it  returns  to  its  beloved  keeper — is 
far  different  from  what  these  animals  display  towards  beings  of  the  same 
order  as  themselves.  In  the  latter  case  the  expressions  of  joy  seem  to 
be  somewhat  less  demonstrative,  and  all  their  actions  evince  a  feeling 
of  equality.  Even  Professor  Braubach  declares  that  a  dog  looks  upon 
its  master  as  a  divine  person.  Brehm  gives  us  a  description  of  the 
tender  respect  shown  towards  his  children  by  a  chimpanzee  that  had 
been  brought  to  his  home  and  domesticated.  "When  we  first  intro- 
duced my  little  six-weeks-old  daughter  to  him,"  he  says,  "at  first  he 
regarded  the  child  with  evident  astonishment,  as  if  desirous  to  con- 
vince himself  of  its  human  character,  then  touched  its  face  with  one 
finger  with  remarkable  gentleness,  and  amiably  offered  to  shake  hands. 
This  trifling  characteristic,  which  I  observed  in  the  case  of  all  chim- 
panzees reared  in  my  house,  is  worthy  of  particular  emphasis,  because 
it  seems  to  prove  that  our  man-monkey  descries  and  pays  homage  to 
that  higher  being,  man,  even  in  the  tiniest  child.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
by  no  means  shows  any  such  friendly  feelings  towards  creatures  like 
himself — not  even  towards  little  ones." 

In  every  stage  of  the  development  of  savage  peoples  we  come 
across  classical  examples  of  mock  kings — of  the  "primus  inter  pares," 
"duces  ex  virtute,"  not  "ex  nobilitate  reges" — of  rational  and  valued 
leaders.  The  savages  of  Chile  elect  as  their  chief  the  man  who  is 
able  to  carry  the  trunk  of  a  tree  farthest.  In  other  places,  military 
prowess,  command  of  words,  crafts,  a  knowledge  of  spells  are  the 
causal  sources  of  the  usually  extremely  trifling  homage  due  to  the 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  811 

chieftain.  "Savage  hordes  in  the  lowest  stage  of  civilization  are 
organized,  like  troops  of  monkeys,  on  the  basis  of  authority.  The 
strongest  old  male  by  virtue  of  his  strength  acquires  a  certain  ascend- 
ancy, which  lasts  as  long  as  his  physical  strength  is  superior  to  that  of 
every  other  male " 

Beyond  that  given  by  nature,  primitive  society  recognizes  no 
other  prestige,  for  the  society  of  savages  lacks  the  subjective  condi- 
tions of  prestige — settlement  in  large  numbers  and  permanency.  The 
lack  of  distance  compels  the  savage  to  respect  only  persons  who  hold 
their  own  in  his  presence :  this  conspicuous  clearness  of  the  estimation 
of  primitive  peoples  is  the  cause  that  has  prevailed  on  us  to  dwell  so 
long  on  this  point.  That  the  cause  of  this  want -of  prestige  among 
savages  is  the  lack  of  concentration  in  masses,  not  any  esoteric  peculi- 
arity, is  proved  by  the  profound  psychological  appreciation  of  the 
distances  created  by  nature,  and  still  more  by  the  expansion  of  tribal 
life  into  a  barbarian  one.  The  tenfold  increase  of  the  number  of  a 
tribe  renders  difficult  a  logical,  ethical,  or  aesthetic  selection  of  a 
leader,  as  well  as  an  intuitive  control  of  spells  and  superstitions. 

The  dramatic  mise  en  scene  of  human  prestige  coincides  with  the 
first  appearance  of  this  concentration  in  masses,  and  triumphs  with 
its  triumph. 

4.    Prestige  and  Status  in  South  East  Africa1 

In  no  other  land  under  the  British  flag,  except,  perhaps,  in  the 
Far  East,  certainly  in  none  of  the  great  self-governing  colonies  with 
which  we  rank  ourselves,  is  the  position  of  white  man  qua  white  man 
so  high,  his  status  so  impugnable,  as  in  South  East  Africa.  Differing 
in  much  else,  the  race  instinct  binds  the  whites  together  to  demand 
recognition  as  a  member  of  the  ruling  and  inviolable  caste,  even  for 
the  poorest,  the  degraded  of  their  race.  And  this  position  connotes 
freedom  from  all  manual  and  menial  toil;  without  hesitation  the 
white  man  demands  this  freedom,  without  question  the  black  man 
accedes  and  takes  up  the  burden,  obeying  the  race  command  of  one 
who  may  be  his  personal  inferior.  It  is  difficult  to  convey  to  one  who 
has  never  known  this  distinction  the  way  in  which  the  very  atmosphere 
is  charged  with  it  in  South  East  Africa.  A  white  oligarchy,  every 

1  Adapted  from  Maurice  S.  Evans,  Black  and  White  in  South  East  Africa, 
pp.  15-35.  (Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  1911.) 


8l2  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

member  of  the  race  an  aristocrat;  a  black  proletariat,  every  member 
of  the  race  a  server;  the  line  of  cleavage  as  clear  and  deep  as  the 
colours.  The  less  able  and  vigorous  of  our  race,  thus  protected,  find 
here  an  ease,  a  comfort,  a  recognition  to  which  their  personal  worth 
would  never  entitle  them  in  a  homogeneous  white  population. 

When  uncontaminated  by  contact  with  the  lower  forms  of  our 
civilization,  the  native  is  courteous  and  polite.  Even  to-day,  changed 
for  the  worse  as  he  is  declared  to  be  by  most  authorities,  a  European 
could  ride  or  walk  alone,  unarmed  even  with  a  switch,  all  through  the 
locations  of  Natal  and  Zululand,  scores  of  miles  away  from  the  house 
of  any  white  man,  and  receive  nothing  but  courteous  deference  from 
the  natives.  If  he  met,  as  he  certainly  would,  troops  of  young  men, 
dressed  in  all  their  barbaric  finery,  going  to  wedding  or  dance,  armed 
with  sticks  and  shields,  full  of  hot  young  blood,  they  would  still 
stand  out  of  the  narrow  path,  giving  to  the  white  man  the  right  of 
way  and  saluting  as  he  passed.  I  have  thus  travelled  alone  all  over 
South  East  Africa,  among  thousands  of  blacks  and  never  a  white  man 
near,  and  I  cannot  remember  the  natives,  even  if  met  in  scores  or 
hundreds,  ever  disputing  the  way  for  a  moment.  All  over  Africa, 
winding  and  zigzagging  over  hill  and  dale,  over  grassland  and  through 
forest,  from  kraal  to  kraal,  and  tribe  to  tribe,  go  the  paths  of  the 
natives.  In  these  narrow  paths  worn  in  the  grass  by  the  feet  of  the 
passers,  you  could  travel  from  Natal  to  Benguela  and  back  again  to 
Mombasa.  Only  wide  enough  for  one  to  travel  thereon,  if  opposite 
parties  meet  one  must  give  way;  cheerfully,  courteously,  without 
cringing,  often  with  respectful  salute,  does  the  native  stand  on  one 
side  allowing  the  white  man  to  pass.  One  accepts  it  without  thought; 
it  is  the  expected,  but  if  pondered  upon  it  is  suggestive  of  much. 

5.    Taboo1 

Rules  of  holiness  in  the  sense  just  explained,  i.e.,  a  system  of 
restrictions  on  man's  arbitrary  use  of  natural  things,  enforced  by  the 
dread  of  supernatural  penalties,  are  found  among  all  primitive  peoples. 
It  is  convenient  to  have  a  distinct  name  for  this  primitive  institution, 
to  mark  it  off  from  the  later  developments  of  the  idea  of  holiness  in 
advanced  religions,  and  for  this  purpose  the  Polynesian  term  "  taboo" 

1  From  W.  Robertson  Smith,  The  Religion  of  the  Semites,  pp.  152-447.  (Adam 
and  Charles  Black,  1907.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  813 

has  been  selected.  The  field  covered  by  taboos  among  savage  and 
half -savage  races  is  very  wide,  for  there  is  no  part  of  life  in  which  the 
savage  does  not  feel  himself  to  be  surrounded  by  mysterious  agencies 
and  recognise  the  need  of  walking  warily.  Moreover  all  taboos  do 
not  belong  to  religion  proper,  that  is,  they  are  not  always  rules  of 
conduct  for  the  regulation  of  man's  contact  with  deities  that,  when 
taken  in  the  right  way,  may  be  counted  on  as  friendly,  but  rather 
appear  in  many  cases  to  be  precautions  against  the  approach  of 
malignant  enemies — against  contact  with  evil  spirits  and  the  like. 
Thus  alongside  of  taboos  that  exactly  correspond  to  rules  of  holiness, 
protecting  the  inviolability  of  idols  and  sanctuaries,  priest  and  chiefs, 
and  generally  of  all  persons  and  things  pertaining  to  the  gods  and 
their  worship,  we  find  another  kind  of  taboo  which  in  the  Semitic 
field  has  its  parallel  in  rules  of  uncleanness.  Women  after  child- 
birth, men  who  have  touched  a  dead  body,  and  so  forth,  are  tempo- 
rarily taboo  and  separated  from  human  society,  just  as  the  same 
persons  are  unclean  in  Semitic  religion.  In  these  cases  the  person 
under  taboo  is  not  regarded  as  holy,  for  he  is  separated  from  approach 
to  the  sanctuary  as  well  as  from  contact  with  men;  but  his  act  or 
condition  is  somehow  associated  with  supernatural  dangers,  arising, 
according  to  the  common  savage  explanation,  from  the  presence  of 
formidable  spirits  which  are  shunned  like  an  infectious  disease.  In 
most  savage  societies  no  sharp  line  seems  to  be  drawn  between  the 
two  kinds  of  taboo  just  indicated,  and  even  in  more  advanced  nations 
the  notions  of  holiness  and  uncleanness  often  touch.  Among  the 
Syrians,  for  example,  swine's  flesh  was  taboo,  but  it  was  an  open 
question  whether  this  was  because  the  animal  was  holy  or  because 
it  was  unclean.  But  though  not  precise,  the  distinction  between 
what  is  holy  and  what  is  unclean  is  real;  in  rules  of  holiness  the  motive 
is  respect  for  the  gods,  in  rules  of  uncleanliness  it  is  primarily  fear  of 
an  unknown  or  hostile  power,  though  ultimately,  as  we  see  hi  the 
Levitical  legislation,  the  law  of  clean  and  unclean  may  be  brought 
within  the  sphere  of  divine  ordinances,  on  the  view  that  unclean- 
ness  is  hateful  to  God  and  must  be  avoided  by  all  that  have  to  do 
with  Him. 

The  fact  that  all  the  Semites  have  rules  of  uncleanness  as  well  as 
rules  of  holiness,  that  the  boundary  between  the  two  is  often  vague, 
and  that  the  former  as  well  as  the  latter  present  the  most  startling 


8 14  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

agreement  in  point  of  detail  with  savage  taboos,  leaves  no  reasonable 
doubt  as  to  the  origin  and  ultimate  relations  of  the  idea  of  holiness. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  the  Semites — or  at  least  the  northern 
Semites — distinguish  between  the  holy  and  the  unclean,  marks  a  real 
advance  above  savagery.  All  taboos  are  inspired  by  awe  of  the 
supernatural,  but  there  is  a  great  moral  difference  between  precautions 
against  the  invasion  of  mysterious  hostile  powers  and  precautions 
founded  on  respect  for  the  prerogative  of  a  friendly  god.  The  former 
belong  to  magical  superstition — the  barrenest  of  all  aberrations  of 
the  savage  imagination — which,  being  founded  only  on  fear,  acts 
merely  as  a  bar  to  progress  and  an  impediment  to  the  free  use  of 
nature  by  human  energy  and  industry.  But  the  restrictions  on 
individual  licence  which  are  due  to  respect  for  a  known  and  friendly 
power  allied  to  man,  however  trivial  and  absurd  they  may  appear  to 
us  in  their  details,  contain  within  them  germinant  principles  of  social 
progress  and  moral  order.  To  know  that  one  has  the  mysterious 
powers  of  nature  on  one's  side  so  long  as  one  acts  in  conformity  with 
certain  rules,  gives  a  man  strength  and  courage  to  pursue  the  task  of 
the  subjugation  of  nature  to  his  service.  To  restrain  one's  individual 
licence,  not  out  of  slavish  fear,  but  from  respect  for  a  higher  and 
beneficent  power,  is  a  moral  discipline  of  which  the  value  does  not 
altogether  depend  on  the  reasonableness  of  sacred  restrictions;  an 
English  schoolboy  is  subject  to  many  unreasonable  taboos,  which  are 
not  without  value  in  the  formation  of  character.  But  finally,  and 
above  all,  the  very  association  of  the  idea  of  holiness  with  a  beneficent 
deity,  whose  own  interests  are  bound  up  with  the  interests  of  a  com- 
munity, makes  it  inevitable  that  the  laws  of  social  and  moral  order, 
as  well  as  mere  external  precepts  of  physical  observance,  shall  be 
placed  under  the  sanction  of  the  god  of  the  community.  Breaches  of 
social  order  are  recognised  as  offences  against  the  holiness  of  the 
deity,  and  the  development  of  law  and  morals  is  made  possible,  at  a 
stage  when  human  sanctions  are  still  wanting,  or  too  imperfectly 
administered  to  have  much  power,  by  the  belief  that  the  restrictions 
on  human  licence  which  are  necessary  to  social  well-being  are  condi- 
tions imposed  by  the  god  for  the  maintenance  of  a  good  understanding 
between  himself  and  his  worshippers. 

Various  parallels  between  savage  taboos  and  Semitic  rules  of 
holiness  and  uncleanness  will  come  before  us  from  time  to  tune;  but 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  815 

it  may  be  useful  to  bring  together  at  this  point  some  detailed  evidences 
that  the  two  are  in  their  origin  indistinguishable. 

Holy  and  unclean  things  have  this  in  common,  that  in  both  cases 
certain  restrictions  lie  on  men's  use  of  and  contact  with  them,  and 
that  the  breach  of  these  restrictions  involves  supernatural  dangers. 
The  difference  between  the  two  appears,  not  in  their  relation  to  man's 
ordinary  life,  but  in  their  relation  to  the  gods.  Holy  things  are  not 
free  to  man,  because  they  pertain  to  the  gods;  uncleanness  is  shunned, 
according  to  the  view  taken  in  the  higher  Semitic  religions,  because  it 
is  hateful  to  the  god,  and  therefore  not  to  be  tolerated  in  his  sanctuary, 
his  worshippers,  or  his  land.  But  that  this  explanation  is  not  primitive 
can  hardly  be  doubted  when  we  consider  that  the  acts  that  cause 
uncleanness  are  exactly  the  same  which  among  savage  nations  place 
a  man  under  taboo,  and  that  these  acts  are  often  involuntary,  and 
often  innocent,  or  even  necessary  to  society.  The  savage,  accord- 
ingly, imposes  a  taboo  on  a  woman  in  childbed,  or  during  her  courses, 
and  on  the  man  who  touches  a  corpse,  not  out  of  any  regard  for  the 
gods,  but  simply  because  birth  and  everything  connected  with  the 
propagation  of  the  species  on  the  one  hand,  and  disease  and  death  on 
the  other,  seem  to  him  to  involve  the  action  of  superhuman  agencies 
of  a  dangerous  kind.  If  he  attempts  to  explain,  he  does  so  by  suppos- 
ing that  on  these  occasions  spirits  of  deadly  power  are  present;  at  all 
events  the  persons  involved  seem  to  him  to  be  sources  of  mysterious 
danger,  which  has  all  the  characters  of  an  infection  and  may  extend 
to  other  people  unless  due  precautions  are  observed.  This  is  not 
scientific,  but  it  is  perfectly  intelligible,  and  forms  the  basis  of  a 
consistent  system  of  practice;  whereas,  when  the  rules  of  uncleanness 
are  made  to  rest  on  the  will  of  the  gods,  they  appear  altogether 
arbitrary  and  meaningless.  The  affinity  of  such  taboos  with  laws  of 
uncleanness  comes  out  most  clearly  when  we  observe  that  uncleanness 
is  treated  like  a  contagion,  which  has  to  be  washed  away  or  otherwise 
eliminated  by  physical  means.  Take  the  rules  about  the  uncleanness 
produced  by  the  carcases  of  vermin  in  Lev.  11:32  ff.;  whatever  they 
touch  must  be  washed;  the  water  itself  is  then  unclean,  and  can 
propagate  the  contagion;  nay,  if  the  defilement  affect  an  (unglazed) 
earthen  pot,  it  is  supposed  to  sink  into  the  pores,  and  cannot  be 
washed  out,  so  that  the  pot  must  be  broken.  Rules  like  this  have 
nothing  in  common  with  the  spirit  of  Hebrew  religion;  they  can 


816  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

only  be  remains  of  a  primitive  superstition,  like  that  of  the  savage 
who  shuns  the  blood  of  uncleanness,  and  such  like  things,  as  a  super- 
natural and  deadly  virus.  The  antiquity  of  the  Hebrew  taboos,  for 
such  they  are,  is  shown  by  the  way  in  which  many  of  them  reappear 
in  Arabia;  cf.  for  example  Deut.  21:12,  13,  with  the  Arabian  cere- 
monies for  removing  the  impurity  of  widowhood.  In  the  Arabian 
form  the  ritual  is  of  purely  savage  type;  the  danger  to  life  that  made 
it  unsafe  for  a  man  to  marry  the  woman  was  transferred  in  the  most 
materialistic  way  to  an  animal,  which  it  was  believed  generally  died 
in  consequence,  or  to  a  bird. 

B.      PUBLIC   OPINION 

i.    The  Myth1 

There  is  no  process  by  which  the  future  can  be  predicted  scien- 
tifically, nor  even  one  which  enables  us  to  discuss  whether  one  hypothe- 
sis about  it  is  better  than  another;  it  has  been  proved  by  too  many 
memorable  examples  that  the  greatest  men  have  committed  prodigious 
errors  in  thus  desiring  to  make  predictions  about  even  the  least 
distant  future. 

And  yet,  without  leaving  the  present,  without  reasoning  about 
this  future,  which  seems  forever  condemned  to  escape  our  reason,  we 
should  be  unable  to  act  at  all.  Experience  shows  that  {he  framing  of 
a  future,  in  some  indeterminate  time,  may,  when  it  is  done  in  a  cer- 
tain way,  be  very  effective,  and  have  very  few  inconveniences;  this 
happens  when  the  anticipations  of  the  future  take  the  form  of  those 
myths,  which  enclose  with  them  all  the  strongest  inclinations  of  a 
people,  of  a  party,  or  of  a  class,  inclinations  which  recur  to  the  mind 
with  the  insistence  of  instincts  in  all  the  circumstances  of  life;  and 
which  give  an  aspect  of  complete  reality  to  the  hopes  of  immediate 
action  by  which,  more  easily  than  by  any  other  method,  men  can 
reform  their  desires,  passions,  and  mental  activity.  We  know,  more- 
over, that  these  social  myths  in  no  way  prevent  a  man  profiting  by 
the  observations  which  he  makes  in  the  course  of  his  life,  and  form  no 
obstacle  to  the  pursuit  of  his  normal  occupations. 

The  truth  of  this  may  be  shown  by  numerous  examples. 

1  From  Georges  Sorel,  Reflections  on  Violence,  pp.  133-37.  (B.  W.  Huebsch, 
1912.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  817 

The  first  Christians  expected  the  return  of  Christ  and  the  total 
ruin  of  the  pagan  world,  with  the  inauguration  of  the  kingdom  of  the 
saints,  at  the  end  of  the  first  generation.  The  catastrophe  did  not 
come  to  pass,  but  Christian  thought  profited  so  greatly  from  the 
apocalyptic  myth  that  certain  contemporary  scholars  maintain  that 
the  whole  preaching  of  Christ  referred  solely  to  this  one  point.  The 
hopes  which  Luther  and  Calvin  had  formed  of  the  religious  exaltation 
of  Europe  were  by  no  means  realised;  these  fathers  of  the  Reformation 
very  soon  seemed  men  of  a  past  era;  for  present-day  Protestants  they 
belong  rather  to  the  Middle  Ages  than  to  modern  tunes,  and  the 
problems  which  troubled  them  most  occupy  very  little  place  hi 
contemporary  Protestantism.  Must  we  for  that  reason  deny  the 
immense  result  which  came  from  their  dreams  of  Christian  renova- 
tion ?  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  real  developments  of  the  Revo- 
lution did  not  in  any  way  resemble  the  enchanting  pictures  which 
created  the  enthusiasm  of  its  first  adepts;  but  without  those  pictures, 
would  the  Revolution  have  been  victorious?  Many  Utopias  were 
mixed  up  with  the  Revolutionary  myth,  because  it  had  been  formed 
by  a  society  passionately  fond  of  imaginative  literature,  full  of  confi- 
dence in  the  "science,"  and  very  little  acquainted  with  the  economic 
history  of  the  past.  These  Utopias  came  to  nothing;  but  it  may  be 
asked  whether  the  Revolution  was  not  a  much  more  profound  trans- 
formation than  those  dreamed  of  by  the  people  who  in  the  eighteenth 
century  had  invented  social  Utopias.  In  our  own  times  Mazzini 
pursued  what  the  wiseacres  of  his  time  called  a  mad  chimera;  but  it 
can  no  longer  be  denied  that,  without  Mazzini,  Italy  would  never 
have  become  a  great  power,  and  that  he  did  more  for  Italian  unity 
than  Cavour  and  all  the  politicians  of  his  school. 

A  knowledge  of  what  the  myths  contain  in  the  way  of  details 
which  will  actually  form  part  of  the  history  of  the  future  is  then  of 
small  importance;  they  are  not  astrological  almanacs;  it  is  even 
possible  that  nothing  which  they  contain  will  ever  come  to  pass — as 
was  the  case  with  the  catastrophe  expected  by  the  first  Christians. 
In  our  own  daily  life,  are  we  not  familiar  with  the  fact  that  what 
actually  happens  is  very  different  from  our  preconceived  notion  of  it  ? 
And  that  does  not  prevent  us  from  continuing  to  make  resolutions. 
Psychologists  say  that  there  is  heterogeneity  between  the  ends  hi 
view  and  the  ends  actually  realised:  the  slightest  experience  of  life 


8i8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

reveals  this  law  to  us,  which  Spencer  transferred  into  nature,  to 
extract  therefrom  his  theory  of  the  multiplication  of  effects. 

The  myth  must  be  judged  as  a  means  of  acting  on  the  present; 
any  attempt  to  discuss  how  far  it  can  be  taken  literally  as  future 
history  is  devoid  of  sense.  //  is  the  myth  in  its  entirety  which  is  alone 
important:  its  parts  are  only  of  interest  in  so  far  as  they  bring  out 
the  main  idea.  No  useful  purpose  is  served,  therefore,  in  arguing 
about  the  incidents  which  may  occur  in  the  course  of  a  social  war, 
and  about  the  decisive  conflicts  which  may  give  victory  to  the  prole- 
tariat; even  supposing  the  revolutionaries  to  have  been  wholly  and 
entirely  deluded  in  setting  up  this  imaginary  picture  of  the  general 
strike,  this  picture  may  yet  have  been,  in  the  course  of  the  preparation 
for  the  revolution,  a  great  element  of  strength,  if  it  has  embraced  all 
the  aspirations  of  socialism,  and  if  it  has  given  to  the  whole  body 
of  revolutionary  thought  a  precision  and  a  rigidity  which  no  other 
method  of  thought  could  have  given. 

To  estimate,  then,  the  significance  of  the  idea  of  the  general 
strike,  all  the  methods  of  discussion  which  are  current  among  poli- 
ticians, sociologists,  or  people  with  pretensions  to  political  science, 
must  be  abandoned.  Everything  which  its  opponents  endeavour  to 
establish  may  be  conceded  to  them,  without  reducing  in  any  way 
the  value  of  the  theory  which  they  think  they  have  refuted.  The 
question  whether  the  general  strike  is  a  partial  reality,  or  only  a 
product  of  popular  imagination,  is  of  little  importance.  All  that  it 
is  necessary  to  know  is,  whether  the  general  strike  contains  everything 
that  the  socialist  doctrine  expects  of  the  revolutionary  proletariat. 

To  solve  this  question,  we  are  no  longer  compelled  to  argue 
learnedly  about  the  future;  we  are  not  obliged  to  indulge  in  lofty 
reflections  about  philosophy,  history,  or  economics;  we  are  not  on 
the  plane  of  theories,  and  we  can  remain  on  the  level  of  observable 
facts.  We  have  to  question  men  who  take  a  very  active  part  in  the 
real  revolutionary  movement  amidst  the  proletariat,  men  who  do  not 
aspire  to  climb  into  the  middle  class  and  whose  mind  is  not  dominated 
by  corporative  prejudices.  These  men  may  be  deceived  about  an 
infinite  number  of  political,  economical,  or  moral  questions;  but  their 
testimony  is  decisive,  sovereign,  and  irrefutable  when  it  is  a  question 
of  knowing  what  are  the  ideas  which  most  powerfully  move  them  and 
their  comrades,  which  most  appeal  to  them  as  being  identical  with 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  819 

their  socialistic  conceptions,  and  thanks  to  which  their  reason,  their 
hopes,  and  their  way  of  looking  at  particular  facts  seem  to  make  but 
one  indivisible  unity. 

Thanks  to  these  men,  we  know  that  the  general  strike  is  indeed 
what  I  have  said:  the  myth  in  which  socialism  is  wholly  comprised, 
i.e.,  a  body  of  images  capable  of  evoking  instinctively  all  the  senti- 
ments which  correspond  to  the  different  manifestations  of  the  war 
undertaken  by  socialism  against  modern  society.  Strikes  have 
engendered  in  the  proletariat  the  noblest,  deepest,  and  most  moving 
sentiments  that  they  possess;  the  general  strike  groups  them  all  in  a 
co-ordinated  picture,  and,  by  bringing  them  together,  gives  to  each 
one  of  them  its  maximum  of  intensity;  appealing  to  their  painful 
memories  of  particular  conflicts,  it  colours  with  an  intense  life  all  the 
details  of  the  composition  presented  to  consciousness.  We  thus 
obtain  that  intuition  of  socialism  which  language  cannot  give  us 
with  perfect  clearness — and  we  obtain  it  as  a  whole,  perceived 
instantaneously. 

2.     The  Growth  of  a  Legend1 

Hardly  had  the  German  armies  entered  Belgium  when  strange 
rumors  began  to  circulate.  They  spread  from  place  to  place,  they 
were  reproduced  by  the  press,  and  they  soon  permeated  the  whole 
of  Germany.  It  was  said  that  the  Belgian  people,  instigated  by  the 
clergy,  had  intervened  perfidiously  in  the  hostilities;  had  attacked 
by  surprise  isolated  detachments;  had  indicated  to  the  enemy  the 
positions  occupied  by  the  troops;  that  women,  old  men,  and  even 
children  had  been  guilty  of  horrible  atrocities  upon  wounded  and 
defenseless  German  soldiers,  tearing  out  their  eyes  and  cutting  off 
fingers,  nose,  or  ears;  that  the  priests  from  their  pulpits  had  exhorted 
the  people  to  commit  these  crimes,  promising  them  as  a  reward  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven,  and  had  even  taken  the  lead  in  this  barbarity. 

Public  credulity  accepted  these  stories.  The  highest  powers  in 
the  state  welcomed  them  without  hesitation  and  indorsed  them  with 
their  authority.  Even  the  Emperor  echoed  them,  and,  taking  them 
for  a  text,  advanced,  in  the  famous  telegram  of  September  8,  1914, 
addressed  to  the  President  of  the  United  States,  the  most  terrible 
accusations  against  the  Belgian  people  and  clergy. 

1  Adapted  from  Fernand  van  Langenhove,  The  Growth  of  a  Legend,  pp.  5-275. 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  1916.) 


820  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

At  the  time  of  the  invasion  of  Belgium,  it  was  the  German  army 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  constituted  the  chief  breeding  ground  for 
legendary  stories.  These  were  disseminated  with  great  rapidity 
among  the  troops;  the  liaison  officers,  the  dispatch  riders,  the  food 
convoys,  the  victualling  posts  assured  the  diffusion  of  them. 

These  stories  were  not  delayed  in  reaching  Germany.  As  in 
most  wars,  it  was  the  returning  soldiery  who  were  responsible  for 
the  transmission  of  them. 

From  the  first  day  of  hostilities  in  enemy  territory  the  fighting 
troops  were  in  constant  touch  with  those  behind  them.  Through  the 
frontier  towns  there  was  a  continual  passage  of  convoys,  returning 
empty  or  loaded  with  prisoners  and  wounded.  These  last,  together 
with  the  escorting  soldiers,  were  immediately  surrounded  and  pressed 
for  news  by  an  eager  crowd.  It  is  they  who  brought  the  first  stories. 

As  a  silent  listener,  seated  on  the  boulevards,  I  have  noticed  how 
curious  people,  men  and  women,  question  the  wounded  who  are  resting 
there,  suggesting  to  them  answers  to  inquiries  on  the  subject  of  the  battles, 
the  losses,  and  the  atrocities  of  war;  how  they  interpret  silence  as  an 
affirmative  answer  and  how  they  wish  to  have  confirmed  things  always 
more  terrible.  I  am  convinced  that  shortly  afterward  they  will  repeat  the 
conversation,  adding  that  they  have  heard  it  as  the  personal  experience  of 
somebody  present  at  the  affair. 

In  their  oral  form  stories  of  this  kind  are  not  definite,  their  sub- 
stance is  malleable;  they  can  be  modified  according  to  the  taste  of 
the  narrator;  they  transform  themselves;  they  evolve.  To  sum  up, 
not  only  do  the  soldiers,  returned  from  the  field  of  battle,  insure  the 
transmission  of  the  stories,  they  also  elaborate  them. 

The  military  post  links  the  campaigning  army  directly  with 
Germany.  The  soldiers  write  home,  and  in  their  letters  they  tell  of 
their  adventures,  which  people  are  eager  to  hear,  and  naturally  they 
include  the  rumors  current  among  the  troops.  Thus  a  soldier  of  the 
Landsturm  writes  to  his  wife  that  he  has  seen  at  Liege  a  dozen  priests 
condemned  to  death  because  they  put  a  price  on  the  heads  of  German 
soldiers;  he  had  also  seen  there  civilians  who  had  cut  off  the  breasts 
of  a  Red  Cross  nurse.  Again,  a  Hessian  schoolmaster  tells  in  a 

letter  how  his  detachment  had  been  treacherously  attacked  at  Ch 

by  the  inhabitants,  with  the  cure  at  their  head. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  821 

Submitted  to  the  test  of  the  German  military  inquiry  these  stories 
are  shown  to  be  without  foundation.  Received  from  the  front  and 
narrated  by  a  soldier  who  professes  to  have  been  an  eyewitness,  they 
are  nevertheless  clothed  in  the  public  view  with  special  authority. 

Welcomed  without  control  by  the  press,  the  stories  recounted  in 
letters  from  the  front  appear,  however,  in  the  eyes  of  the  readers  of 
a  paper  clothed  with  a  new  authority — that  which  attaches  to  printed 
matter.  They  lose  in  the  columns  of  a  paper  their  individual  and 
particular  character.  Those  who  send  them  have,  as  the  Kolnische 
Volkszeitung  notes,  usually  effaced  all  personal  allusions.  The  state- 
ments thus  obtain  a  substance  and  an  objectivity  of  which  they  would 
otherwise  be  devoid.  Mixed  with  authentic  news,  they  are  accepted 
by  the  public  without  mistrust.  Is  not  their  appearance  in  the  paper 
a  guaranty  of  accuracy? 

Besides  imposing  itself  on  public  credulity,  the  printed  story 
fixes  itself  in  the  mind.  It  takes  a  lasting  form.  It  has  entered 
permanently  into  consciousness,  and  more,  it  has  become  a  source  of 
reference. 

All  these  pseudo-historical  publications  are,  however,  only  one 
aspect  of  the  abundant  literary  production  of  the  Great  War.  All 
the  varieties  of  popular  literature,  the  romances  of  cloak  and  sword, 
the  stories  of  adventure,  the  collections  of  news  and  anecdotes,  the 
theater  itself,  are  in  turn  devoted  to  military  events.  The  great 
public  loves  lively  activity,  extraordinary  situations,  and  sensational 
circumstances  calculated  to  strike  the  imagination  and  cause  a  shiver 
of  horror. 

So  one  finds  hi  this  literature  of  the  lower  classes  the  principal 
legendary  episodes  of  which  we  have  studied  the  origin  and  followed 
the  development;  accommodated  to  a  fiction,  woven  into  a  web  of 
intrigue,  they  have  undergone  new  transformations;  they  have  lost 
every  indication  of  their  source;  they  are  transposed  in  the  new 
circumstances  imagined  for  them;  they  have  usually  been  dissociated 
from  the  circumstances  which  individualize  them  and  fix  their  time 
and  place.  The  thematic  motives  from  which  they  spring  neverthe- 
less remain  clearly  recognizable. 

The  legendary  stories  have  thus  attained  the  last  stage  of  their 
elaboration  and  completed  their  diffusion.  They  have  penetrated 
not  only  into  the  purlieus  of  the  cities  but  into  distant  countries; 


822  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

into  centers  of  education  as  among  the  popular  classes.  Wounded 
convalescents  and  soldiers  on  leave  at  home  for  a  time  have  told 
them  to  the  city  man  and  to  the  peasant.  Both  have  found  them  in 
letters  from  the  front;  both  have  read  them  in  journals  and  books, 
both  have  listened  to  the  warnings  of  the  government  and  to  the 
imperial  word.  The  schoolteacher  has  mixed  these  episodes  with 
his  teaching;  he  has  nourished  with  them  infantile  imaginations. 
Scholars  have  read  the  text  of  them  in  their  classbooks  and  have 
enacted  them  hi  the  games  inspired  by  the  war;  they  have  told  them 
at  home  in  the  family  circle,  giving  them  the  authority  attached  to 
the  master's  word. 

Everywhere  these  accounts  have  been  the  subject  of  ardent 
commentaries;  in  the  village,  in  the  councils  held  upon  doorsteps, 
and  in  the  barrooms  of  bins;  in  the  big  cafes,  the  trams,  and  the 
public  promenades  of  towns.  Everywhere  they  have  become  an 
ordinary  topic  of  conversation,  everywhere  they  have  met  with  ready 
credence.  The  term  franc  tireur  has  become  familiar.  Its  use  is 
general  and  its  acceptance  widespread. 

A  collection  of  prayers  for  the  use  of  the  Catholic  German  soldiers 
includes  this  incredible  text:  "Shame  and  malediction  on  him  who 
wishes  to  act  like  the  Belgian  and  French,  perfidious  and  cruel,  who 
have  even  attacked  defenseless  wounded." 

3.    Ritual,  Myth,  and  Dogma1 

The  antique  religions  had  for  the  most  part  no  creed;  they  con- 
sisted entirely  of  institutions  and  practices.  No  doubt,  men  will  not 
habitually  follow  certain  practices  without  attaching  a  meaning  to 
them ;  but  as  a  rule  we  find  that  while  the  practice  was  rigorously  fixed, 
the  meaning  attached  to  it  was  extremely  vague,  and  the  same  rite 
was  explained  by  different  people  in  different  ways,  without  any 
question  of  orthodoxy  or  heterodoxy  arising  in  consequence.  In 
ancient  Greece,  for  example,  certain  things  were  done  at  a  temple, 
and  people  were  agreed  that  it  would  be  impious  not  to  do  them. 
But  if  you  had  asked  why  they  were  done,  you  would  probably  have 
had  several  mutually  contradictory  explanations  from  different  per- 
sons, and  no  one  would  have  thought  it  a  matter  of  the  least  reli- 

1  From  W.  Robertson  Smith,  The  Religion  of  the  Semites,  pp.  16-24.  (Adam 
and  Charles  Black,  1907.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  823 

gious  importance  which  of  these  you  chose  to  adopt.  Indeed,  the 
explanations  offered  would  not  have  been  of  a  kind  to  stir  any  strong 
feeling;  for  in  most  cases  they  would  have  been  merely  different 
stories  as  to  the  circumstances  under  which  the  rite  first  came  to 
be  established,  by  the  command  or  by  the  direct  example  of  the 
god.  The  rite,  in  short,  was  connected  not  with  a  dogma  but  with 
a  myth. 

In  all  the  antique  religions,  mythology  takes  the  place  of  dogma; 
that  is,  the  sacred  lore  of  priests  and  people,  so  far  as  it  does  not 
consist  of  mere  rules  for  the  performance  of  religious  acts,  assumes 
the  form  of  stories  about  the  gods;  and  these  stories  afford  the  only 
explanation  that  is  offered  of  the  precepts  of  religion  and  the  pre- 
scribed rules  of  ritual.  But,  strictly  speaking,  this  mythology  was 
no  essential  part  of  ancient  religion,  for  it  had  no  sacred  sanction  and 
no  binding  force  on  the  worshippers.  The  myths  connected  with 
individual  sanctuaries  and  ceremonies  were  merely  part  of  the  appa- 
ratus of  the  worship;  they  served  to  excite  the  fancy  and  sustain  the 
interest  of  the  worshipper;  but  he  was  often  offered  a  choice  of  several 
accounts  of  the  same  thing,  and,  provided  that  he  fulfilled  the  ritual 
with  accuracy,  no  one  cared  what  he  believed  about  its  origin.  Belief 
in  a  certain  series  of  myths  was  neither  obligatory  as  a  part  of  true 
religion,  nor  was  it  supposed  that,  by  believing,  a  man  acquired 
religious  merit  and  conciliated  the  favour  of  the  gods.  What  was 
obligatory  or  meritorious  was  the  exact  performance  of  certain  sacred 
acts  prescribed  .by  religious  tradition.  This  being  so,  it  follows  that 
mythology  ought  not  to  take  the  prominent  place  that  is  too  often 
assigned  to  it  in  the  scientific  study  of  ancient  faiths.  So  far  as 
myths  consist  of  explanations  of  ritual,  their  value  is  al together 
secondary,  and  it  may  be  affirmed  with  confidence  that  in  almost 
every  case  the  myth  was  derived  from  the  ritual,  and  not  the  ritual 
from  the  myth;  for  the  ritual  was  fixed  and  the  myth  was  variable, 
the  ritual  was  obligatory  and  faith  in  the  myth  was  at  the  discretion 
of  the  worshipper.  The  conclusion  is,  that  in  the  study  of  ancient 
religions  we  must  begin,  not  with  myth,  but  with  ritual  and  tradi- 
tional usage. 

Nor  can  it  be  fairly  set  against  this  conclusion,  that  there  are 
certain  myths  which  are  not  mere  explanations  of  traditional  practices, 
but  exhibit  the  beginnings  of  larger  religious  speculation,  or  of  an 


824  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

attempt  to  systematise  and  reduce  to  order  the  motley  variety  of 
local  worships  and  beliefs.  For  in  this  case  the  secondary  character 
of  the  myths  is  still  more  clearly  marked.  They  are  either  products  of 
early  philosophy,  reflecting  on  the  nature  of  the  universe;  or  they  are 
political  in  scope,  being  designed  to  supply  a  thread  of  union  between 
the  various  worships  of  groups,  originally  distinct,  which  have  been 
united  into  one  social  or  political  organism;  or,  finally,  they  are  due 
to  the  free  play  of  epic  imagination.  But  philosophy,  politics,  and 
poetry  are  something  more,  or  something  less,  than  religion  pure 
and  simple. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in  the  later  stages  of  ancient  religions, 
mythology  acquired  an  increased  importance.  In  the  struggle  of 
heathenism  with  scepticism  on  the  one  hand  and  Christianity  on  the 
other,  the  supporters  of  the  old  traditional  religions  were  driven  to 
search  for  ideas  of  a  modern  cast,  which  they  could  represent  as  the 
true  inner  meaning  of  the  traditional  rites.  To  this  end  they  laid 
hold  of  the  old  myths,  and  applied  to  them  an  allegorical  system  of 
interpretation.  Myth  interpreted  by  the  aid  of  allegory  became  the 
favourite  means  of  infusing  a  new  significance  into  ancient  forms. 
But  the  theories  thus  developed  are  the  falsest  of  false  guides  as  to 
the  original  meaning  of  the  old  religions. 

Religion  in  primitive  times  was  not  a  system  of  belief  with  prac- 
tical applications;  it  was  a  body  of  fixed  traditional  practices,  to 
which  every  member  of  society  conformed  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Men  would  not  be  men  if  they  agreed  to  do  certain  things  without 
having  a  reason  for  their  action;  but  in  ancient  religion  the  reason 
was  not  first  formulated  as  a  doctrine  and  then  expressed  in  prac- 
tice, but  conversely,  practice  preceded  doctrinal  theory.  Men  form 
general  rules  of  conduct  before  they  begin  to  express  general  principles 
in  words;  political  institutions  are  older  than  political  theories,  and 
in  like  manner  religious  institutions  are  older  than  religious  theories. 
This  analogy  is  not  arbitrarily  chosen,  for  in  fact  the  parallelism  in 
ancient  society  between  religious  and  political  institutions  is  complete. 
In  each  sphere  great  importance  was  attached  to  form  and  precedent, 
but  the  explanation  why  the  precedent  was  followed  consisted  merely 
of  a  legend  as  to  its  first  establishment.  That  the  precedent,  once 
established,  was  authoritative  did  not  appear  to  require  any  proof. 
The  rules  of  society  were  based  on  precedent,  and  the  continued 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  825 

existence  of  the  society  was  sufficient  reason  why  a  precedent  once 
set  should  continue  to  be  followed. 

I  say  that  the  oldest  religious  and  political  institutions  present  a 
close  analogy.  It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  they  were  parts 
of  one  whole  of  social  custom.  Religion  was  a  part  of  the  organised 
social  life  into  which  a  man  was  born,  and  to  which  he  conformed 
through  life  in  the  same  unconscious  way  in  which  men  fall  into  any 
habitual  practice  of  the  society  in  which  they  live.  Men  took  the 
gods  and  their  worship  for  granted,  just  as  they  took  the  other  usages 
of  the  state  for  granted,  and  if  they  reasoned  or  speculated  about 
them,  they  did  so  on  the  presupposition  that  the  traditional  usages 
were  fixed  things,  behind  which  their  reasonings  must  not  go,  and 
which  no  reasoning  could  be  allowed  to  overturn.  To  us  moderns 
religion  is  above  all  a  matter  of  individual  conviction  and  reasoned 
belief,  but  to  the  ancients  it  was  a  part  of  the  citizen's  public  life, 
reduced  to  fixed  forms,  which  he  was  not  bound  to  understand  and 
was  not  at  liberty  to  criticise  or  to  neglect.  Religious  nonconformity 
was  an  offence  against  the  state;  for  if  sacred  tradition  was  tampered 
with  the  bases  of  society  were  undermined,  and  the  favour  of  the 
gods  was  forfeited.  But  so  long  as  the  prescribed  forms  were  duly 
observed,  a  man  was  recognised  as  truly  pious,  and  no  one  asked  how 
his  religion  was  rooted  in  his  heart  or  affected  his  reason.  Like  politi- 
cal duty,  of  which  indeed  it  was  a  part,  religion  was  entirely  compre- 
hended in  the  observance  of  certain  fixed  rules  of  outward  conduct. 

From  the  antique  point  of  view,  indeed,  the  question  what  the 
gods  are  in  themselves  is  not  a  religious  but  a  speculative  one;  what 
is  requisite  to  religion  is  a  practical  acquaintance  with  the  rules  on 
which  the  deity  acts  and  on  which  he  expects  his  worshippers  to 
frame  their  conduct — what  in  II  Kings  17:26  is  called  the  "manner" 
or  rather  the  "customary  law"  (mishpat]  of  the  god  of  the  land. 
This  is  true  even  of  the  religion  of  Israel.  When  the  prophets  speak 
of  the  knowledge  of  God,  they  always  mean  a  practical  knowledge  of 
the  laws  and  principles  of  His  government  in  Israel,  and  a  summary 
expression  for  religion  as  a  whole  is  "the  knowledge  and  fear  of 
Jehovah,"  i.e.,  the  knowledge  of  what  Jehovah  prescribes,  combined 
with  a  reverent  obedience. 

The  traditional  usages  of  religion  had  grown  up  gradually  in  the 
course  of  many  centuries,  and  reflected  habits  of  thought  characteristic 


826  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  very  diverse  stages  of  man's  intellectual  and  moral  development. 
No  one  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  gods  could  possibly  afford  the 
clue  to  all  parts  of  that  motley  complex  of  rites  and  ceremonies  which 
the  later  paganism  had  received  by  inheritance,  from  a  series  of 
ancestors  in  every  state  of  culture  from  pure  savagery  upwards.  The 
record  of  the  religious  thought  of  mankind,  as  it  is  embodied  in 
religious  institutions,  resembles  the  geological  record  of  the  history 
of  the  earth's  crust;  the  new  and  the  old  are  preserved  side  by  side 
or  rather  layer  upon  layer.  The  classification  of  ritual  formations 
in  their  proper  sequence  is  the  first  step  towards  their  explanation, 
and  that  explanation  itself  must  take  the  form,  not  of  a  speculative 
theory,  but  of  a  rational  life-history. 

4.     The  Nature  of  Public  Opinion1 

"  Vox  populi  may  be  vox  Dei,  but  very  little  attention  shows  that 
there  has  never  been  any  agreement  as  to  what  vox  means  or  as  to  what 
popidus  means."  In  spite  of  endless  discussions  about  democracy, 
this  remark  of  Sir  Henry  Maine  is  still  so  far  true  that  no  other  excuse 
is  needed  for  studying  the  conceptions  which  lie  at  the  very  base  of 
popular  government.  In  doing  so  one  must  distinguish  the  form  from 
he  substance;  for  the  world  of  politics  is  full  of  forms  in  which  the 
spirit  is  dead — mere  shams,  but  sometimes  not  recognized  as  such 
even  by  the  chief  actors,  sometimes  deceiving  the  outside  multitude, 
sometimes  no  longer  misleading  anyone.  Shams,  are,  indeed,  not 
without  value.  Political  shams  have  done  for  English  government 
what  fictions  have  done  for  English  law.  They  have  promoted 
growth  without  revolutionary  change.  But  while  shams  play  an 
important  part  in  political  evolution,  they  are  snares  for  the  political 
philosopher  who  fails  to  see  through  them,  who  ascribes  to  the  forms 
a  meaning  that  they  do  not  really  possess.  Popular  government  may 
in  substance  exist  under  the  form  of  a  monarch}'',  and  an  autocratic 
despotism  can  be  set  up  without  destroying  the  forms  of  democracy. 
If  we  look  through  the  forms  to  observe  the  vital  forces  behind  them; 
if  we  fix  our  attention,  not  on  the  procedure,  the  extent  of  the  fran- 
chise, the  machinery  of  elections,  and  such  outward  things,  but  on 
the  essence  of  the  matter,  popular  government,  in  one  important 

1  Adapted  from  A.  Lawrence  Lowell,  Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Government, 
pp.  3-14.  (Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  1913.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  827 

aspect  at  least,  may  be  said  to  consist  of  the  control  of  political 
affairs  by  public  opinion. 

If  two  highwaymen  meet  a  belated  traveler  on  a  dark  road  and 
propose  to  relieve  him  of  his  watch  and  wallet,  it  would  clearly  be 
an  abuse  of  terms  to  say  that  in  the  assemblage  on  that  lonely  spot 
there  was  a  public  opinion  in  favor  of  a  redistribution  of  property. 
Nor  would  it  make  any  difference,  for  this  purpose,  whether  there 
were  two  highwaymen  and  one  traveler,  or  one  robber  and  two 
victims.  The  absurdity  in  such  a  case  of  speaking  about  the  duty 
of  the  minority  to  submit  to  the  verdict  of  public  opinion  is  self- 
evident;  and  it  is  not  due  to  the  fact  that  the  three  men  on  the  road 
form  part  of  a  larger  community,  or  that  they  are  subject  to  the 
jurisdiction  of  a  common  government.  The  expression  would  be 
quite  as  inappropriate  if  no  organized  state  existed;  on  a  savage 
island,  for  example,  where  two  cannibals  were  greedy  to  devour  one 
shipwrecked  mariner.  In  short,  the  three  men  in  each  of  the  cases 
supposed  do  not  form  a  community  that  is  capable  of  a  public  opinion 
on  the  question  involved.  May  this  not  be  equally  true  under  an 
organized  government,  among  people  that  are  for  certain  purposes  a 
community  ? 

To  take  an  illustration  nearer  home.  At  the  time  of  the  Re- 
construction that  followed  the  American  Civil  War  the  question 
whether  public  opinion  in  a  southern  state  was  or  was  not  in  favor  of 
extending  the  suffrage  to  the  Negroes  could  not  in  any  true  sense  be 
said  to  depend  on  which  of  the  two  races  had  a  slight  numerical 
majority.  One  opinion  may  have  been  public  or  general  in  regard 
to  the  whites,  the  other  public  or  general  in  regard  to  the  Negroes,  but 
neither  opinion  was  public  or  general  in  regard  to  the  whole  popula- 
tion. Examples  of  this  kind  could  be  multiplied  indefinitely.  They 
can  be  found  in  Ireland,  in  Austria-Hungary,  in  Turkey,  in  India,  in 
any  country  where  the  cleavage  of  race,  religion,  or  politics  is  sharp 
and  deep  enough  to  cut  the  community  into  fragments  too  far  apart 
for  an  accord  on  fundamental  matters. 

In  all  these  instances  an  opinion  cannot  be  public  or  general  with 
respect  to  both  elements  hi  the  state.  For  that  purpose  they  are  as 
distinct  as  if  they  belonged  to  different  commonwealths.  You  may 
count  heads,  you  may  break  heads,  you  may  impose  uniformity  by 
force;  but  on  the  matters  at  stake  the  two  elements  do  not  form  a 


828  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

community  capable  of  an  opinion  that  is  in  any  rational  sense  public 
or  general.  If  we  are  to  employ  the  term  in  a  sense  that  is  significant 
for  government,  that  imports  any  obligation  moral  or  political  on  the 
part  of  the  minority,  surely  enough  has  been  said  to  show  that  the 
opinion  of  a  mere  majority  does  not  by  itself  always  suffice.  Some- 
thing more  is  clearly  needed. 

But  if  the  opinion  of  a  majority  does  not  of  itself  constitute  a 
public  opinion,  it  is  equally  certain  that  unanimity  is  not  required. 
Unanimous  opinion  is  of  no  importance  for  our  purpose,  because  it  is 
perfectly  sure  to  be  effective  in  any  form  of  government,  however 
despotic,  and  it  is,  therefore,  of  no  particular  interest  in  the  study  of 
democracy.  Legislation  by  unanimity  was  actually  tried  in  the 
kingdom  of  Poland,  where  each  member  of  the  assembly  had  the 
right  of  liberum  veto  on  any  measure,  and  it  prevented  progress, 
fostered  violence,  and  spelled  failure.  The  Polish  system  has  been 
lauded  as  the  acme  of  liberty,  but  in  fact  it  was  directly  opposed  to 
the  fundamental  principle  of  modern  popular  government;  that  is, 
the  conduct  of  public  affairs  in  accord  with  a  public  opinion  which  is 
general,  although  not  universal,  and  which  implies  under  certain 
conditions  a  duty  on  the  part  of  the  minority  to  submit. 

A  body  of  men  are  politically  capable  of  a  public  opinion  only  so 
far  as  they  are  agreed  upon  the  ends  and  aims  of  government  and  upon 
the  principles  by  which  those  ends  shall  be  attained.  They  must  be 
united,  also,  about  the  means  whereby  the  action  of  the  government 
is  to  be  determined,  in  a  conviction,  for  example,  that  the  views  of  a 
majority — or  it  may  be  some  other  portion  of  their  numbers — ought 
to  prevail,  and  a  political  community  as  a  whole  is  capable  of  public 
opinion  only  when  this  is  true  of  the  great  bulk  of  the  citizens.  Such 
an  assumption  was  implied,  though  usually  not  expressed  in  all 
theories  of  the  social  compact;  and,  indeed,  it  is  involved  in  all 
theories  that  base  rightful  government  upon  the  consent  of  the 
governed,  for  the  consent  required  is  not  a  universal  approval  by  all 
the  people  of  every  measure  enacted,  but  a  consensus  in  regard  to  the 
legitimate  character  of  the  ruling  authority  and  its  right  tc  decide  the 
questions  that  arise. 

One  more  remark  must  be  made  before  quitting  the  subject  of  the 
relation  of  public  opinion  to  the  opinion  of  the  majority.  The  late 
Gabriel  Tarde,  with  his  habitual  keen  insight,  insisted  on  the  im- 
portance of  the  intensity  of  belief  as  a  factor  in  the  spread  of  opinions. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  829 

There  is  a  common  impression  that  public  opinion  depends  upon 
and  is  measured  by  the  mere  number  of  persons  to  be  found  on  each 
side  of  a  question;  but  this  is  far  from  accurate.  If  49  per  cent  of 
a  community  feel  very  strongly  on  one  side,  and  51  per  cent  are  luke- 
warmly on  the  other,  the  former  opinion  has  the  greater  public  force 
behind  it  and  is  certain  to  prevail  ultimately,  if  it  does  not  at  once. 

One  man  who  holds  his  belief  tenaciously  counts  for  as  much  as 
several  men  who  hold  theirs  weakly,  because  he  is  more  aggressive 
and  thereby  compels  and  overawes  others  into  apparent  agreement 
with  him,  or  at  least  into  silence  and  inaction.  This  is,  perhaps, 
especially  true  of  moral  questions.  It  is  not  improbable  that  a  large 
part  of  the  accepted  moral  code  is  maintained  by  the  earnestness  of 
a  minority,  while  more  than  hah0  of  the  community  is  indifferent  or 
unconvinced.  In  short,  public  opinion  is  not  strictly  the  opinion  of 
the  numerical  majority,  and  no  form  of  its  expression  measures  the 
mere  majority,  for  individual  views  are  always  to  some  extent  weighed 
as  well  as  counted. 

Without  attempting  to  consider  how  the  weight  attaching  to  in- 
tensity and  intelligence  can  be  accurately  gauged,  it  is  enough  for 
our  purpose  to  point  out  that  when  we  speak  of  the  opinion  of  a 
majority  we  mean,  not  the  numerical,  but  the  effective,  majority. 

5.    Public  Opinion  and  the  Mores1 

We  are  interested  hi  public  opinion,  I  suppose,  because  public 
opinion  is,  in  the  long  run,  the  sovereign  power  in  the  state.  There  is 
not  now,  and  probably  there  never  has  been,  a  government  that  did 
not  rest  on  public  opinion.  The  best  evidence  of  this  is  the  fact  that 
all  governments  have  invariably  sought  either  to  control  or,  at  least, 
to  inspire  and  direct  it. 

The  Kaiser  had  his  "official"  and  his  "semiofficial"  organs.  The 
communists  in  Russia  have  taken  possession  of  the  schools.  It  is  in 
the  schoolroom  that  the  bolshevists  propose  to  complete  the  revolu- 
tion. Hume,  the  English  historian,  who  was  also  the  greatest  of 
English  philosophers,  said: 

As  force  is  always  on  the  side  of  the  governed,  the  governors  have 
nothing  to  support  them  but  opinion.  It  is  therefore  on  opinion  only  that 
government  is  founded;  and  this  maxim  extends  to  the  most  despotic 
and  the  most  military  governments  as  well  as  to  the  most  free  and  popular. 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  The  Crowd  and  the  Public.  (Unpublished  manu- 
script.) 


830 

The  soldan  of  Egypt,  or  the  emperor  of  Rome,  might  drive  their  helpless 
subjects,  like  brute  beasts,  against  their  sentiments  and  inclinations,  but 
he  must  ai  least  have  led  his  mameluks,  or  praetorian  bands,  like  men,  by 
their  opinions. 

Hume's  statement  is  too  epigrammatic  to  be  true.  Governments 
can  and  do  maintain  themselves  by  force  rather  than  consent.  Public 
opinion  to  be  effective  must  be  organized.  The  policy  of  divide  and 
conquer  succeeds  not  merely  when  directed  against  the  enemy's 
battalions,  but  especially  when  directed  against  his  morale.  Cortez 
in  Mexico,  the  Belgians  in  the  Congo,  the  English  in  India,  have 
shown  how  the  thing  can  be  done.  More  highly  organized  peoples  are 
governed  "against  their  sentiments  and  inclinations"  in  subtler  ways. 

Caspar  Schmidt,  "Max  Stirner,"  the  most  consistent  of  anar- 
chists, said  the  last  tyranny  is  the  tyranny  of  the  idea.  The  last 
tyrant,  in  other  words,  is  the  propagandist,  the  individual  who  gives 
a  "slant"  to  the  facts  in  order  to  promote  his  own  conception  of  the 
welfare  of  the  community. 

We  use  the  word  public  opinion  in  a  wider  and  in  a  narrower  sense. 
The  public,  the  popular  mind,  is  controlled  by  something  more  than 
opinion,  or  public  opinion,  in  the  narrower  sense.  It  is  controlled,  for 
example,  by  fashion  and  by  advertising. 

We  are  living  today  under  the  subtle  tyranny  of  the  advertising 
man.  He  tells  us  what  to  wear,  and  makes  us  wear  it.  He  tells  us 
what  to  eat,  and  makes  us  eat  it.  We  do  not  resent  this  tyranny. 
We  do  not  feel  it.  We  do  what  we  are  told;  but  we  do  it  with  the 
feeling  that  we  are  following  our  own  wild  impulses.  This  does  not 
mean  that,  under  the  inspiration  of  advertisements,  we  act  irration- 
ally. We  have  reasons;  but  they  are  sometimes  after- thoughts.  Or 
they  are  supplied  by  the  advertiser. 

Advertising,  like  propaganda,  is  a  form  of  social  control.  The 
difference  is  that  propaganda  aims  to  form  opinion.  Advertising,  on 
the  other  hand,  does  not,  ordinarily,  form  opinions.  It  does  not,  at 
any  rate,  get  its  results  by  provoking  discussion.  Public  opinion,  on 
the  contrary,  is  the  product  of  discussion.  Where  there  are  no  issues 
and  no  discussion  there  is  no  opinion,  certainly  no  public  opinion. 

Fashion  is  one  of  the  subtler  forms  of  control  to  which  we  all  bow. 
We  all  follow  the  fashions  at  a  greater  or  less  distance.  Some  of 
us  fall  behind  the  fashions,  but  no  one  ever  gets  ahead  of  them.  No 
one  ever  can  get  ahead  of  the  fashions  because  we  never  know  what 
they  are,  until  they  arrive. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  831 

Fashion,  in  the  broad  sense,  comes  under  the  head  of  what  Herbert 
Spencer  called  ceremonial  government.  Ceremony,  he  said,  is  the 
most  primitive  and  the  most  effective  of  all  forms  of  government. 
There  is  no  rebellion  against  fashion;  no  rebellion  against  social 
ritual.  At  least  these  rebellions  never  make  martyrs  or  heroes. 
Dr.  Mary  Walker,  who  defied  custom  and  the  police,  and  for  years 
valiantly  paraded  the  streets  of  Washington  in  men's  clothes,  was  a 
heroine  no  doubt,  but  she  never  achieved  martyrdom. 

So  far  as  ceremonial  government  finds  expression  hi  a  code  it  is 
etiquette,  social  ritual,  form.  We  do  not  realize  how  powerful  an 
influence  social  form  is.  There  are  breaches  of  etiquette  that  any 
ordinary  human  being  would  rather  die  than  be  guilty  of. 

We  often  speak  of  social  usages  and  the  dictates  of  fashion  as 
if  they  were  imposed  by  public  opinion.  This  is  not  true,  if  we  are 
to  use  public  opinion  in  the  narrower  sense.  Social  usages  are  not 
matters  of  opinion;  they  are  matters  of  custom.  They  are  fixed  in 
habits.  They  are  not  matters  of  reflection,  but  of  impulse.  They 
are  parts  of  ourselves. 

There  is  an  intimate  relation  between  public  opinion  and  social 
customs  or  the  mores,  as  Sumner  calls  them.  But  there  is  this 
difference:  Public  opinion  fluctuates.  It  wobbles.  Social  customs, 
the  mores,  change  slowly.  Prohibition  was  long  in  coming;  but  the 
custom  of  drinking  has  not  disappeared.  The  mores  change  slowly; 
but  they  change  in  one  direction  and  they  change  steadily.  Mores 
change  as  fashion  does;  as  language  does;  by  a  law  of  their  own. 

Fashions  must  change.  It  is  in  their  nature  to  do  so.  •  As  the 
existing  thing  loses  its  novelty  it  is  no  longer  stimulating;  no  longer 
interesting.  It  is  no  longer  the  fashion. 

What  fashion  demands  is  not  something  new;  but  something 
different.  It  demands  the  old  in  a  new  and  stimulating  form.  Every 
woman  who  is  up  with  the  fashion  wants  to  be  in  the  fashion;  but 
she  desires  to  be  something  different  from  everyone  else,  especially 
from  her  best  friend. 

Language  changes  in  response  to  the  same  motives  and  according 
to  the  same  law.  We  are  constantly  seeking  new  metaphors  for  old 
ideas;  constantly  using  old  metaphors  to  express  new  ideas.  Con- 
sider the  way  that  slang  grows! 

There  is  a  fashion  or  a  trend  hi  public  opinion.  A.  V.  Dicey,  in 
his  volume  on  Law  and  Opinion  in  England,  points  out  that  there  has 
been  a  constant  tendency,  for  a  hundred  years,  in  English  legislation, 


832  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

from  individualism  to  collectivism.  This  does  not  mean  that  public 
opinion  has  changed  constantly  in  one  direction.  There  have  been, 
as  he  says,  "cross  currents."  public  opinion  has  veered,  but  the 
changes  in  the  mores  have  been  steadily  in  one  direction. 

There  has  been  a  change  in  the  fundamental  attitudes.  This, 
change  has  taken  place  in  response  to  changed  conditions.  Change  in 
mores  is  something  like  change  in  the  nest-building  habits  of  certain 
birds,  the  swallows,  for  example.  This  change,  like  the  change  in 
bird  habits,  takes  place  without  discussion — without  clear  conscious- 
ness— in  response  to  changed  conditions.  Furthermore,  changes  in 
the  mores,  like  changes  in  fashion,  are  only  slightly  under  our  control. 
They  are  not  the  result  of  agitation;  rather  they  are  responsible  for 
the  agitation. 

There  are  profound  changes  going  on  in  our  social  organization 
today.  Industrial  democracy,  or  something  corresponding  to  it,  is  com- 
ing. It  is  coming  not  entirely  because  of  social  agitation.  It  is 
coming,  perhaps,  in  spite  of  agitation.  It  is  a  social  change,  but  it 
is  part  of  the  whole  cosmic  process. 

There  is  an  intimate  relation  between  the  mores  and  opinion. 
The  mores  represent  the  attitudes  in  which  we  agree.  Opinion  repre- 
sents these  attitudes  in  so  far  as  we  do  not  agree.  We  do  not  have 
opinions  except  over  matters  which  are  in  dispute. 

So  far  as  we  are  controlled  by  habit  and  custom,  by  the  mores, 
we  do  not  have  opinions.  I  find  out  what  my  opinion  is  only  after  I 
discover  that  I  disagree  with  my  fellow.  What  I  call  my  opinions 
are  for  the  most  part  invented  to  justify  my  agreements  or  disagree- 
ments with  prevailing  public  opinion.  The  mores  do  not  need 
justification.  As  soon  as  I  seek  justification  for  them  they  have 
become  matters  of  opinion. 

Public  opinion  is  just  the  opinion  of  individuals  plus  their  differ- 
ences. There  is  no  public  opinion  where  there  is  no  substantial 
agreement.  But  there  is  no  public  opinion  where  there  is  not  dis- 
agreement. Public  opinion  presupposes  public  discussion.  When  a 
matter  has  reached  the  stage  of  public  discussion  it  becomes  a  matter 
of  public  opinion. 

Before  war  was  declared  in  France  there  was  anxiety,  specu- 
lation. After  mobilization  began,  discussion  ceased.  The  national 
ideal  was  exalted.  The  individual  ceased  to  exist.  Men  ceased  even 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  833 

to  think.  They  simply  obeyed.  This  is  what  happened  in  all  the 
belligerent  countries  except  America.  It  did  not  quite  happen  here. 
Under  such  circumstances  public  opinion  ceases  to  exist.  This  is 
quite  as  true  in  a  democracy  as  it  is  in  an  autocracy. 

The  difference  between  an  autocracy  and  a  democracy  is  not  that 
in  one  the  will  of  the  people  finds  expression  and  in  the  other  it  does 
not.  It  is  simply  that  in  a  democracy  a  larger  number  of  the  citizens 
participate  hi  the  discussions  which  give  rise  to  public  opinion.  At 
least  they  are  supposed  to  do  so.  In  a  democracy  everyone  belongs, 
or  is  supposed  to  belong,  to  one  great  public.  In  an  autocracy  there 
are  perhaps  many  little  publics. 

What  role  do  the  schools  and  colleges  play  hi  the  formation  of 
public  opinion  ?  The  schools  transmit  the  tradition.  They  stand- 
ardize our  national  prejudices  and  transmit  them.  They  do  this 
necessarily. 

A  liberal  or  college  education  tends  to  modify  and  qualify  all 
our  inherited  political,  religious,  and  social  prejudices.  It  does  so  by 
bringing  into  the  field  of  discussion  matters  that  would  not  otherwise 
get  into  the  public  consciousness.  In  this  way  a  college  education 
puts  us  in  a  way  to  control  our  prejudices  instead  of  being  controlled 
by  them.  This  is  the  purpose  of  a  liberal  education. 

The  emancipation  which  history,  literature,  and  a  wider  expe- 
rience with  life  give  us  permits  us  to  enter  sympathetically  into  the 
lives  and  interests  of  others;  it  widens  that  area  over  which  public 
opinion  rather  than  force  exercises  control. 

It  makes  it  possible  to  extend  the  area  of  political  control.  It 
means  the  extension  of  democratic  participation  in  the  common  life. 
The  universities,  by  their  special  studies  in  the  field  of  social  science, 
are  seeking  to  accumulate  and  bring  into  the  view  of  public  opinion 
a  larger  body  of  attested  fact  upon  which  the  public  may  base  its 
opinion. 

It  is  probably  not  the  business  of  the  universities  to  agitate 
reforms  nor  to  attempt  directly  to  influence  public  opinion  in  regard 
to  current  issues.  To  do  this  is  to  relax  its  critical  attitude,  lessen 
its  authority  in  matters  of  fact,  and  jeopardize  its  hard-won  aca- 
demic freedom.  When  a  university  takes  over  the  function  of  a 
political  party  or  a  church  it  ceases  to  perform  its  function  as  a 
university. 


834  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

6.     News  and  Social  Control1 

Everywhere  today  men  are  conscious  that  somehow  they  must 
deal  with  questions  more  intricate  than  any  that  church  or  school 
had  prepared  them  to  understand.  Increasingly  they  know  that 
they  cannot  understand  them  if  the  facts  are  not  quickly  and  steadily 
available.  Increasingly  they  are  baffled  because  the  facts  are  not 
available;  and  they  are  wondering  whether  government  by  consent 
can  survive  in  a  time  when  the  manufacture  of  consent  is  an  un- 
regulated private  enterprise.  For  in  an  exact  sense  the  present 
crisis  of  western  democracy  is  a  crisis  in  journalism. 

I  do  not  agree  with  those  who  think  that  the  sole  cause  is  corrup- 
tion. There  is  plenty  of  corruption,  to  be  sure,  moneyed  control, 
caste  pressure,  financial  and  social  bribery,  ribbons,  dinner  parties, 
clubs,  petty  politics.  The  speculators  in  Russian  rubles  who  lied  on 
the  Paris  Bourse  about  the  capture  of  Petrograd  are  not  the  only 
example  of  their  species.  And  yet  corruption  does  not  explain  the 
condition  of  modern  journalism. 

Mr.  Franklin  P.  Adams  wrote  recently: 

Now  there  is  much  pettiness — and  almost  incredible  stupidity  and 
ignorance — in  the  so-called  free  press;  but  it  is  the  pettiness,  etc.,  common 
to  the  so-called  human  race — a  pettiness  found  in  musicians,  steamfitters, 
landlords,  poets,  and  waiters.  And  when  Miss  Lowell  [who  had  made  the 
usual  aristocratic  complaint]  speaks  of  the  incurable  desire  in  all  American 
newspapers  to  make  fun  of  everything  in  season  and  out,  we  quarrel  again. 
There  is  an  incurable  desire  in  American  newspapers  to  take  things  much 
more  seriously  than  they  deserve.  Does  Miss  Lowell  read  the  ponderous 
news  from  Washington?  Does  she  read  the  society  news?  Does  she, 
we  wonder,  read  the  newspapers  ? 

Mr.  Adams  does  read  them,  and  when  he  writes  that  the  news- 
papers take  things  much  more  seriously  than  they  deserve,  he  has, 
as  the  mayor's  wife  remarked  to  the  queen,  said  a  mouthful.  Since 
the  war,  especially,  editors  have  come  to  believe  that  their  highest 
duty  is  not  to  report  but  to  instruct,  not  to  print  news  but  to  save 
civilization,  not  to  publish  what  Benjamin  Harris  calls  "  the  Circum- 
stances of  Publique  Affairs,  both  abroad  and  at  home,"  but  to  keep 

'Adapted  from  Walter  Lippmann,  Liberty  and  the  News,  pp.  4-15.  (Har- 
court,  Brace  &  Howe,  1920.) 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  835 

the  nation  on  the  straight  and  narrow  path.  Like  the  kings  of  Eng- 
land, they  have  elected  themselves  Defenders  ol  the  Faith.  "For 
five  years,"  says  Mr.  Cobb  of  the  New  York  World,  "  there  has  been 
no  free  play  of  public  opinion  in  the  world.  Confronted  by  the  in- 
exorable necessities  of  war,  governments  conscripted  public  opinion. 
They  goose-stepped  it.  They  taught  it  to  stand  at  attention  and 
salute.  It  sometimes  seems  that,  after  the  armistice  was  signed, 
millions  of  Americans  must  have  taken  a  vow  that  they  would  never 
again  do  any  thinking  for  themselves.  They  were  willing  to  die  for 
their  country  but  not  willing  to  think  for  it."  That  minority,  which 
is  proudly  prepared  to  think  for  it,  and  not  only  prepared  but  cock- 
sure that  it  alone  knows  how  to  think  for  it,  has  adopted  the  theory 
that  the  public  should  know  what  is  good  for  it. 

The  work  of  reporters  has  thus  become  confused  with  the  work 
of  preachers,  revivalists,  prophets,  and  agitators.  The  current 
theory  of  American  newspaperdom  is  that  an  abstraction  like  the  truth 
and  a  grace-like  fairness  must  be  sacrificed  whenever  anyone  thinks 
the  necessities  of  civilization  require  the  sacrifice.  To  Archbishop 
Whately's  dictum  that  it  matters  greatly  whether  you  put  truth  in 
the  first  place  or  the  second,  the  candid  expounder  of  modern 
journalism  would  reply  that  he  put  truth  second  to  what  he  conceived 
to  be  the  national  interest.  Judged  simply  by  their  product,  men  like 
Mr.  Ochs  or  Viscount  Northcliffe  believe  that  their  respective  nations 
will  perish  and  civilization  decay  unless  their  idea  of  what  is  patriotic 
is  permitted  to  temper  the  curiosity  of  their  readers. 

They  believe  that  edification  is  more  important  than  veracity. 
They  believe  it  profoundly,  violently,  relentlessly.  They  preen  them- 
selves upon  it.  To  patriotism,  as  they  define  it  from  day  to  day,  all 
other  considerations  must  yield.  That  is  their  pride.  And  yet  what  is 
this  but  one  more  among  myriad  examples  of  the  doctrine  that  the  end 
justifies  the  means  ?  A  more  insidiously  misleading  rule  of  conduct 
was,  I  believe,  never  devised  among  men.  It  was  a  plausible  rule  as 
long  as  men  believed  that  an  omniscient  and  benevolent  Providence 
taught  them  what  end  to  seek.  But  now  that  men  are  critically 
aware  of  how  their  purposes  are  special  to  their  age,  their  locality, 
their  interests,  and  their  limited  knowledge,  it  is  blazing  arrogance 
to  sacrifice  hard-won  standards  of  credibility  to  some  special  purpose. 
It  is  nothing  but  the  doctrine  that  I  want  what  I  want  when  I  want  it. 


836  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Its  monuments  are  the  Inquisition  and  the  invasion  of  Belgium.  It 
is  the  reason  given  for  every  act  of  unreason,  the  law  invoked  when- 
ever lawlessness  justifies  itself.  At  bottom  it  is  nothing  but  the 
anarchical  nature  of  man  imperiously  hacking  its  way  through. 

Just  as  the  most  poisonous  form  of  disorder  is  the  mob  incited 
from  high  places,  the  most  immoral  act  the  immorality  of  a  govern- 
ment, so  the  most  destructive  form  of  untruth  is  sophistry  and 
propaganda  by  those  whose  profession  it  is  to  report  the  news.  The 
news  columns  are  common  carriers.  When  those  who  control  them 
arrogate  to  themselves  the  right  to  determine  by  their  own  consciences 
what  shall  be  reported  and  for  what  purpose,  democracy  is  unwork- 
able. Public  opinion  is  blockaded.  For  when  a  people  can  no  longer 
confidently  repair  "to  the  best  fountains  for  their  information,"  then 
anyone's  guess  and  anyone's  rumor,  each  man's  hope  and  each  man's 
whim,  become  the  basis  of  government.  All  that  the  sharpest 
critics  of  democracy  have  alleged  is  true  if  there  is  no  steady  supply 
of  trustworthy  and  relevant  news.  Incompetence  and  aimlessness, 
corruption  and  disloyalty,  panic  and  ultimate  disaster,  must  come  to 
any  people  which  is  denied  an  assured  access  to  the  facts.  No  one 
can  manage  anything  on  pap.  Neither  can  a  people. 

Few  episodes  in  recent  history  are  more  poignant  than  that  of 
the  British  prime  minister,  sitting  at  the  breakfast  table  with  that 
morning's  paper  before  him,  protesting  that  he  cannot  do  the  sensible 
thing  in  regard  to  Russia  because  a  powerful  newspaper  proprietor 
has  drugged  the  public.  That  incident  is  a  photograph  of  the  supreme 
danger  which  confronts  popular  government.  All  other  dangers  are 
contingent  upon  it,  for  the  news  is  the  chief  source  of  the  opinion  by 
which  government  now  proceeds.  So  long  as  there  is  interposed 
between  the  ordinary  citizen  and  the  facts  a  news  organization  deter- 
mining by  entirely  private  and  unexamined  standards,  no  matter 
how  lofty,  what  he  shall  know,  and  hence  what  he  shall  believe,  no 
one  will  be  able  to  say  that  the  substance  of  democratic  government 
is  secure.  The  theory  of  our  constitution,  says  Mr.  Justice  Holmes, 
is  that  truth  is  the  only  ground  upon  which  men's  wishes  safely  can 
be  carried  out.  In  so  far  as  those  who  purvey  the  news  make  of  their 
own  beliefs  a  higher  law  than  truth,  they  are  attacking  the  foundations 
of  our  constitutional  system.  There  can  be  no  higher  law  in 
journalism  than  to  tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  837 

In  a  few  generations  it  will  seem  ludicrous  to  historians  that  a 
people  professing  government  by  the  will  of  the  people  should  have 
made  no  serious  effort  to  guarantee  the  news  without  which  a  govern- 
ing opinion  cannot  exist.  "  Is  it  possible,"  they  will  ask,  "  that  at  the 
beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  nations  calling  themselves  democ- 
racies were  content  to  act  on  what  happened  to  drift  across  their 
doorsteps;  that  apart  from  a  few  sporadic  exposures  and  outcries  they 
made  no  plans  to  bring  these  common  carriers  under  social  control, 
that  they  provided  no  genuine  training  schools  for  the  men  upon 
whose  sagacity  they  were  dependent;  above  all,  that  their  political 
scientists  went  on  year  after  year  writing  and  lecturing  about  govern- 
ment without  producing  one  single,  significant  study  of  the  process 
of  public  opinion  ?"  And  then  they  will  recall  the  centuries  in  which 
the  church  enjoyed  immunity  from  criticism,  and  perhaps  they  will 
insist  that  the  news  structure  of  secular  society  was  not  seriously 
examined  for  analogous  reasons. 

7.    The  Psychology  of  Propaganda1 

Paper  bullets,  according  to  Mr.  Creel,  won  the  war.  But  they 
have  forever  disturbed  our  peace  of  mind.  The  war  is  long  since  over, 
all  but  saying  so;  but  our  consciousness  of  the  immanence  of  propa- 
ganda bids  fair  to  be  permanent.  It  has  been  discovered  by  indi- 
viduals, by  associations,  and  by  governments  that  a  certain  kind  of 
advertising  can  be  used  to  mold  public  opinion  and  control  demo- 
cratic majorities.  As  long  as  public  opinion  rules  the  destinies  of 
human  affairs,  there  will  be  no  end  to  an  instrument  that  controls  it. 

The  tremendous  forces  of  propaganda  are  now  common  property. 
They  are  available  for  the  unscrupulous  and  the  destructive  as  well 
as  for  the  constructive  and  the  moral.  This  gives  us  a  new  interest 
in  its  technique,  namely,  to  inquire  if  anywhere  there  is  an  opportunity 
for  regulative  and  protective  interference  with  its  indiscriminate 
exploitation. 

Until  recently  the  most  famous  historical  use  of  the  term  propa- 
ganda made  it  synonymous  with  foreign  missions.  It  was  Pope 
Gregory  XV  who  almost  exactly  three  centuries  ago,  after  many 
years  of  preparation,  finally  founded  the  great  Propaganda  College 

1  From  Raymond  Dodge,  "The  Psychology  of  Propaganda,"  Religious  Edu- 
cation, XV  (1920),  241-52. 


838  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  care  for  the  interests  of  the  church  in  non-Catholic  countries. 
With  its  centuries  of  experience  this  is  probably  the  most  efficient 
organization  for  propaganda  in  the  world.  Probably  most  apologetics 
is  propaganda.  No  religion  and  no  age  has  been  entirely  free  from  it. 

One  of  the  classical  psychoanalytic  case  histories  is  that  of  Breuer's 
water  glass  and  the  puppy  dog.  A  young  lady  patient  was  utterly 
unable  to  drink  water  from  a  glass.  It  was  a  deep  embarrassment. 
Even  under  the  stress  of  great  thirst  in  warm  weather  and  the  earnest 
effort  to  break  up  a  foolish  phobia,  the  glass  might  be  taken  and  raised, 
but  it  couldn't  be  drunk  from.  Psychoanalysis  disclosed  the  following 
facts.  Underlying  this  particular  phobia  was  an  intense  antipathy 
to  dogs.  The  young  lady's  roommate  had  been  discovered  giving  a 
dog  a  drink  from  the  common  drinking-glass.  The  antipathy  to  the 
dog  was  simply  transferred  to  the  glass. 

The  case  is  a  commonplace  in  the  annals  of  hysteria.  But  let  us 
examine  the  mechanism.  Suppose  that  I  had  wanted  to  keep  that 
drinking-glass  for  my  own  personal  use.  A  perfectly  simple  and 
effective  expedient  it  would  have  been  in  the  absence  of  other  good 
motives  to  capitalize  that  antipathy  by  allowing  her  to  see  the  dog 
drink  out  of  the  glass.  The  case  would  then  have  been  a  perfect  case 
of  propaganda.  All  propaganda  is  capitalized  prejudice.  It  rests 
on  some  emotional  premise  which  is  the  motive  force  of  the  process. 
The  emotional  transfer  is  worked  by  some  associative  process  like 
similarity,  use,  or  the  causal  relationship.  The  derived  sympathetic 
antipathy  represents  the  goal. 

The  great  self-preservative,  social,  and  racial  instincts  will  always 
furnish  the  main  reservoir  of  motive  forces  at  the  service  of  propa- 
ganda. They  will  have  the  widest  and  the  most  insistent  appeal. 
Only  second  to  these  in  importance  are  the  peculiar  racial  tendencies 
and  historical  traditions  that  represent  the  genius  of  a  civilization. 
The  racial-superiority  consciousness  of  the  Germans  operated  as  a 
never-ending  motive  for  their  "  Aushalten"  propaganda.  We  Ameri- 
cans have  a  notable  cultural  premise  in  our  consideration  for  the 
underdog.  Few  things  outside  our  consciousness  of  family  will 
arouse  us  as  surely  and  as  universally  as  this  modification  of  the 
protective  instinct. 

In  addition  to  the  group  tendencies  that  arise  from  a  community 
of  experience,  individual  propaganda  may  use  every  phase  of  indi- 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  839 

vidual  experience,  individual  bias  and  prejudice.  I  am  told  that 
first-class  salesmen  not  infrequently  keep  family  histories  of  their 
customers,  producing  a  favorable  attitude  toward  their  merchandise 
by  way  of  an  apparent  personal  interest  in  the  children.  Apparently 
any  group  of  ideas  with  an  emotional  valence  may  become  the  basis 
for  propaganda. 

There  are  three  limitations  to  the  processes  of  propaganda.  The 
first  is  emotional  recoil,  the  second  is  the  exhaustion  of  available 
motive  force,  the  third  is  the  development  of  internal  resistance  or 
negativism. 

The  most  familiar  of  the  three  is  emotional  recoil.  We  know 
only  too  well  what  will  happen  if  we  tell  a  boy  all  the  things  that  he 
likes  to  do  are  "bad,"  while  all  the  things  that  he  dislikes  are  "good." 
Up  to  a  certain  point  the  emotional  value  of  bad  and  good  respectively 
will  be  transferred  to  the  acts  as  we  intend.  But  each  transfer  has 
an  emotional  recoil  on  the  concepts  good  and  bad.  At  the  end  a  most 
surprising  thing  may  happen.  The  moral  values  may  get  reversed 
in  the  boy's  mind.  Bad  may  come  to  represent  the  sum  total  of  the 
satisfactory  and  desirable,  while  good  may  represent  the  sum  total 
of  the  unsatisfactory  and  the  undesirable.  To  the  pained  adult  such 
a  consequence  is  utterly  inexplicable,  only  because  he  fails  to  realize 
that  all  mental  products  are  developments.  There  is  always  a  kind 
of  reciprocity  in  emotional  transfer.  The  value  of  the  modified  factor 
recoils  to  the  modifying  factor. 

The  whole  mechanism  of  the  transfer  and  of  the  recoil  may  best 
be  expressed  in  terms  of  the  conditioned  reflex  of  Pavlov.  The  flow 
of  saliva  in  a  dog  is  a  natural  consequence  to  the  sight  and  smell  of 
food.  If  concurrently  with  the  smelling  of  food  the  dog  is  pinched, 
the  pinch  ceases  to  be  a  matter  for  resentment.  By  a  process  of 
emotional  transfer,  on  being  pinched  the  dog  may  show  the  lively 
delight  that  belongs  to  the  sight  and  smell  of  food.  Even  the  salivary 
secretions  may  be  started  by  the  transfigured  pinch.  It  was  the 
great  operating  physiologist  Sherrington  who  exclaimed  after  a  visit 
to  Pavlov  that  at  last  he  understood  the  psychology  of  the  martyrs. 
But  it  is  possible  so  to  load  the  smell  of  food  with  pain  and  damage 
that  its  positive  value  breaks  down.  Eating-values  may  succumb 
to  the  pain  values  instead  of  the  pain  to  the  eating-values.  This  is 
the  prototype  of  the  concept  bad  when  it  gets  overloaded  with  the 


840  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

emotional  value  of  the  intrinsically  desirable.  The  law  of  recoil  seems 
to  be  a  mental  analogue  of  the  physical  law  that  action  and  reaction 
are  equal  and  in  opposite  directions. 

The  second  limitation  to  propaganda  occurs  when  the  reciprocal 
effects  of  transfer  exhaust  the  available  motive  forces  of  a  mind. 
Propaganda  certainly  weakens  the  forces  that  are  appealed  to  too 
often.  We  are  living  just  now  in  a  world  of  weakened  appeals. 
Many  of  the  great  human  motives  were  exploited  to  the  limit  during 
the  war.  It  is  harder  to  raise  money  now  than  it  was,  harder  to  find 
motives  for  giving  that  are  still  effective.  One  of  my  former  col- 
leagues once  surprised  and  shocked  me  by  replying  to  some  perfectly 
good  propaganda  in  which  I  tried  to  tell  him  that  certain  action  was 
in  the  line  of  duty,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  tired  of  being  told  that 
something  was  his  duty,  and  that  he  was  resolved  not  to  do  another 
thing  because  it  was  his  duty.  There  seems  to  be  evidence  that  in 
some  quarters,  at  least,  patriotism,  philanthropy,  and  civic  duty 
have  been  exploited  as  far  as  the  present  systems  will  carry.  It  is 
possible  to  exhaust  our  floating  capital  of  social-motive  forces.  When 
that  occurs  we  face  a  kind  of  moral  bankruptcy. 

A  final  stage  of  resistance  is  reached  when  propaganda  develops 
a  negativistic  defensive  reaction.  To  develop  such  negativisms  is 
always  the  aim  of  counterpropaganda.  It  calls  the  opposed  propa- 
ganda, prejudiced,  half-truth,  or,  as  the  Germans  did,  "Lies,  All 
Lies."  There  is  evidence  that  the  moral  collapse  of  Germany  under 
the  fire  of  our  paper  bullets  came  with  the  conviction  that  they  had 
been  systematically  deceived  by  their  own  propagandists. 

There  are  two  great  social  dangers  in  propaganda.  Great  power 
hi  irresponsible  hands  is  always  a  social  menace.  We  have  some 
legal  safeguards  against  careless  use  of  high-powered  physical  explo- 
sives. Against  the  greater  danger  of  destructive  propaganda  there 
seems  to  be  little  protection  without  imperiling  the  sacred  principles 
of  free  speech. 

The  second  social  danger  is  the  tendency  to  overload  and  level 
down  every  great  human  incentive  in  the  pursuit  of  relatively  trivial 
ends.  To  become  Uasi  is  the  inevitable  penalty  of  emotional  exploita- 
tion. I  believe  there  may  well  be  grave  penalties  in  store  for  the 
reckless  commercialized  exploitation  of  human  emotions  in  the  cheap 
sentimentalism  of  our  moving  pictures.  But  there  are  even  graver 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  841 

penalties  in  store  for  the  generation  that  permits  itself  to  grow  morally 
Uasi.  One  of  our  social  desiderata,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  protection 
of  the  great  springs  of  human  action  from  destructive  exploitation  for 
selfish,  commercial,  or  other  trivial  ends. 

The  slow  constructive  process  of  building  moral  credits  by  sys- 
tematic education  lacks  the  picturesqueness  of  propaganda.  It  also 
lacks  its  quick  results.  But  just  as  the  short  cut  of  hypnotism  proved 
a  dangerous  substitute  for  moral  training,  so  I  believe  we  shall  find 
that  not  only  is  moral  education  a  necessary  precondition  for  effective 
propaganda,  but  that  in  the  end  it  is  a  safer  and  incomparably  more 
reliable  social  instrument. 

C.      INSTITUTIONS 
I.     Institutions  and  the  Mores1 

Institutions  and  laws  are  produced  out  of  mores.  An  institution 
consists  of  a  concept  (idea,  notion,  doctrine,  interest)  and  a  structure. 
The  structure  is  a  framework,  or  apparatus,  or  perhaps  only  a  number 
of  functionaries  set  to  co-operate  in  prescribed  ways  at  a  certain 
conjuncture.  The  structure  holds  the  concept  and  furnishes  instru- 
mentalities for  bringing  it  into  the  world  of  facts  and  action  in  a  way 
to  serve  the  interests  of  men  in  society.  Institutions  are  either 
crescive  or  enacted.  They  are  crescive  when  they  take  shape  in  the 
mores,  growing  by  the  instinctive  efforts  by  which  the  mores  are 
produced.  Then  the  efforts,  through  long  use,  become  definite  and 
specific. 

Property,  marriage,  and  religion  are  the  most  primary  insti- 
tutions. They  began  in  folkways.  They  became  customs.  They 
developed  into  mores  by  the  addition  of  some  philosophy  of  wel- 
fare, however  crude.  Then  they  were  made  more  definite  and 
specific  as  regards  the  rules,  the  prescribed  acts,  and  the  apparatus 
to  be  employed.  This  produced  a  structure  and  the  institution  was 
complete.  Enacted  institutions  are  products  of  rational  invention 
and  intention.  They  belong  to  high  civilization.  Banks  are  institu- 
tions of  credit  founded  on  usages  which  can  be  traced  back  to  bar- 
barism. There  came  a  time  when,  guided  by  rational  reflection  on 
experience,  men  systematized  and  regulated  the  usages  which  had 

1  From  William  G.  Sumner,  Folkways,  pp.  53-56.     (Ginn  &  Co.,  1906.) 


842  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

become  current,  and  thus  created  positive  institutions  of  credit, 
denned  by  law  and  sanctioned  by  the  force  of  the  state.  Pure  enacted 
institutions  which  are  strong  and  prosperous  are  hard  to  find.  It  is 
too  difficult  to  invent  and  create  an  institution,  for  a  purpose,  out  of 
nothing.  The  electoral  college  in  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  is  an  example.  In  that  case  the  democratic  mores  of  the  people 
have  seized  upon  the  device  and  made  of  it  something  quite  different 
from  what  the  inventors  planned.  All  institutions  have  come  out  of 
mores,  although  the  rational  element  in  themes  sometimes  so  large 
that  their  origin  in  the  mores  is  not  to  be  ascertained  except  by  a 
historical  investigation  (legislatures,  courts,  juries,  joint-stock  com- 
panies, the  stock  exchange).  Property,  marriage,  and  religion  are 
still  almost  entirely  in  the  mores.  Amongst  nature  men  any  man 
might  capture  and  hold  a  woman  at  any  time,  if  he  could.  He  did  it 
by  superior  force  which  was  its  own  supreme  justification.  But  his 
act  brought  his  group  and  her  group  into  war,  and  produced  harm  to 
his  comrades.  They  forbade  capture,  or  set  conditions  for  it.  Beyond 
the  limits,  the  individual  might  still  use  force,  but  his  comrades  were 
no  longer  responsible.  The  glory  to  him,  if  he  succeeded,  might  be 
all  the  greater.  His  control  over  his  captive  was  absolute.  Within 
the  prescribed  conditions,  "capture"  became  technical  and  institu- 
tional, and  rights  grew  out  of  it.  The  woman  had  a  status  which  was 
defined  by  custom,  and  was  very  different  from  the  status  of  a  real 
captive.  Marriage  was  the  institutional  relation,  in  the  society  and 
under  its  sanction,  of  a  woman  to  a  man,  where  the  woman  had  been 
obtained  in  the  prescribed  way.  She  was  then  a  "wife."  What  her 
rights  and  duties  were  was  defined  by  the  mores,  as  they  are  today  in 
all  civilized  society. 

Acts  of  legislation  come  out  of  the  mores.  In  low  civilization  all 
societal  regulations  are  customs  and  taboos,  the  origin  of  which  is 
unknown.  Positive  laws  are  impossible  until  the  stage  of  verification, 
reflection,  and  criticism  is  reached.  Until  that  point  is  reached  there 
is  only  customary  law,  or  common  law.  The  customary  law  may  be 
codified  and  systematized  with  respect  to  some  philosophical  prin- 
ciples, and  yet  remain  customary.  The  codes  of  Manu  and  Justinian 
are  examples.  Enactment  is  not  possible  until  reverence  for  ancestors 
has  been  so  much  weakened  that  it  is  no  longer  thought  wrong  to 
interfere  with  traditional  customs  by  positive  enactment.  Even  then 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  843 

there  is  reluctance  to  make  enactments,  and  there  is  a  stage  of  tran- 
sition during  which  traditional  customs  are  extended  by  interpretation 
to  cover  new  cases  and  to  prevent  evils.  Legislation,  however,  has 
to  seek  standing  ground  on  the  existing  mores,  and  it  soon  becomes 
apparent  that  legislation,  to  be  strong,  must  be  consistent  with  the 
mores.  Things  which  have  been  in  the  mores  are  put  under  police 
regulation  and  later  under  positive  law.  It  is  sometimes  said  that 
"public  opinion"  must  ratify  and  approve  police  regulations,  but  this 
statement  rests  on  an  imperfect  analysis.  The  regulations  must 
conform  to  the  mores,  so  that  the  public  will  not  think  them  too  lax 
or  too  strict.  The  mores  of  our  urban  and  rural  populations  are  not 
the  same;  consequently  legislation  about  intoxicants  which  is  made 
by  one  of  these  sections  of  the  population  does  not  succeed  when 
applied  to  the  other.  The  regulation  of  drinking-places,  gambling- 
places,  and  disorderly  houses  has  passed  through  the  above-mentioned 
stages.  It  is  always  a  question  of  expediency  whether  to  leave  a 
subject  under  the  mores,  or  to  make  a  police  regulation  for  it,  or  to 
put  it  into  the  criminal  law.  Betting,  horse  racing,  dangerous  sports, 
electric  cars,  and  vehicles  are  cases  now  of  things  which  seem  to  be 
passing  under  positive  enactment  and  out  of  the  unformulated  control 
of  the  mores.  When  an  enactment  is  made  there  is  a  sacrifice  of  the 
elasticity  and  automatic  self -adaptation  of  custom,  but  an  enactment 
is  specific  and  is  provided  with  sanctions.  Enactments  come  into 
use  when  conscious  purposes  are  formed,  and  it  is  believed  that 
specific  devices  can  be  framed  by  which  to  realize  such  purposes  in 
the  society.  Then  also  prohibitions  take  the  place  of  taboos,  and 
punishments  are  planned  to  be  deterrent  rather  than  revengeful. 
The  mores  of  different  societies,  or  of  different  ages,  are  characterized 
by  greater  or  less  readiness  and  confidence  in  regard  to  the  use  of 
positive  enactments  for  the  realization  of  societal  purposes. 

2.     Common  Law  and  Statute  Law1 

It  probably  would  have  surprised  the  early  Englishman  if  he 
had  been  told  that  either  he  or  anybody  else  did  not  know  the 
law — still  more  that  there  was  ever  any  need  for  any  parliament  or 
assembly  to  tell  him  what  it  was.  They  all  knew  the  law,  and  they  all 

1  Adapted  from  Frederic  J.  Stimson,  Popular  Law-Making,  pp.  2-16.  (Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  1912.) 


844  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

knew  that  they  knew  the  law,  and  the  law  was  a  thing  that  they  knew 
as  naturally  as  they  knew  fishing  and  hunting.  They  had  grown  up 
into  it.  It  never  occurred  to  them  as  an  outside  thing. 

So  it  has  been  found  that  where  you  take  children,  modern  chil- 
dren, at  least  boys  who  are  sons  of  educated  parents,  and  put  them 
in  large  masses  by  themselves,  they  will,  without  apparently  any 
reading,  rapidly  invent  a  notion  of  law;  that  is,  they  will  invent  a 
certain  set  of  customs  which  are  the  same  thing  to  them  as  law,  and 
which  indeed  are  the  same  as  law.  They  have  tried  in  Johns  Hopkins 
University  experiments  among  children,  to  leave  them  entirely  alone, 
without  any  instruction,  and  it  is  quite  singular  how  soon  customs 
will  grow  up,  and  it  is  also  quite  singular,  and  a  thing  that  always 
surprises  the  socialist  and  communist,  that  about  the  earliest  concept 
at  which  they  will  arrive  is  that  of  private  property!  They  will  soon 
get  a  notion  that  one  child  owns  a  stick,  or  toy,  or  seat,  and  the  others 
must  respect  that  property.  This  I  merely  use  as  an  illustration  to 
show  how  simple  the  notion  of  law  was  among  our  ancestors  in 
England  fifteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  how  it  had  grown  up  with 
them,  of  course,  from  many  centuries,  but  in  much  the  same  way 
that  the  notion  of  custom  or  law  grows  up  among  children. 

The  "law"  of  the  free  Anglo-Saxon  people  was  regarded  as  a  thing 
existing  by  itself,  like  the  sunlight,  or  at  least  as  existing  like  a  uni- 
versally accepted  custom  observed  by  everyone.  It  was  five  hundred 
years  before  the  notion  crept  into  the  minds,  even  of  the  members  of 
the  British  Parliaments,  that  they  could  make  a  new  law.  What 
they  supposed  they  did,  and  what  they  were  understood  by  the 
people  to  do,  was  merely  to  declare  the  law,  as  it  was  then  and  as  it 
had  been  from  time  immemorial;  the  notion  always  being — and  the 
farther  back  you  go  and  the  more  simple  the  people  are,  the  more 
they  have  that  notion — that  their  free  laws  and  customs  were  some- 
thing which  came  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  which  they  always 
held,  which  were  immutable,  no  more  to  be  changed  than  the  forces 
of  nature;  and  that  no  Parliament,  under  the  free  Anglo-Saxon 
government  or  later  under  the  Norman  kings  who  tried  to  make  them 
unfree,  no  king  could  ever  make  a  law  but  could  only  declare  what 
the  law  was.  The  Latin  phrase  for  that  distinction  is  jus  dare,  and 
jus  dicere.  In  early  England,  in  Anglo-Saxon  times,  the  Parliament 
never  did  anything  but  tell  what  the  law  was;  and,  as  I  have  said, 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  845 

not  only  what  it  was  then  but  what  it  had  been,  as  they  supposed, 
for  thousands  of  years  before.  The  notion  of  a  legislature  to  make 
new  laws  is  an  entirely  modern  conception  of  Parliament. 

The  notion  of  law  as  a  statute,  a  thing  passed  by  a  legislature,  a 
thing  enacted,  made  new  by  representative  assembly,  is  perfectly 
modern,  and  yet  it  has  so  thoroughly  taken  possession  of  our  minds, 
and  particularly  of  the  American  mind  (owing  to  the  forty-eight 
legislatures  that  we  have  at  work,  besides  the  national  Congress, 
every  year,  and  to  the  fact  that  they  try  to  do  a  great  deal  to  deserve 
their  pay  in  the  way  of  enacting  laws),  that  statutes  have  assumed  in 
our  minds  the  main  bulk  of  the  concept  of  law  as  we  formulate  it  to 
ourselves. 

Statutes  with  us  are  recent,  legislatures  making  statutes  are 
recent  everywhere;  legislatures  themselves  are  fairly  recent;  that  is, 
they  date  only  from  the  end  of  the  Dark  Ages,  at  least  in  Anglo-Saxon 
countries.  Representative  government  itself  is  supposed,  by  most 
scholars,  to  be  the  one  invention  that  is  peculiar  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
people. 

I  am  quite  sure  that  all  the  American  people  when  they  think  of 
law  in  the  sense  I  am  now  speaking  of,  even  when  they  are  not  think- 
ing necessarily  of  statute  law,  do  mean,  nevertheless,  a  law  which  is 
enforced  by  somebody  with  power,  somebody  with  a  big  stick.  They 
mean  a  law,  an  ordinance,  an  order  or  dictate  addressed  to  them  by 
a  sovereign,  or  at  least  by  a  power  of  some  sort,  and  they  mean  an 
ordinance  which  if  they  break  they  are  going  to  suffer  for,  either  in 
person  or  in  property.  In  other  words,  they  have  a  notion  of  law 
as  a  written  command  addressed  by  the  sovereign  to  the  subject, 
or  at  least  by  one  of  the  departments  of  government  to  the  citizen. 
Now  that,  I  must  caution  you,  is  in  the  first  place  rather  a  modern 
notion  of  law,  quite  modern  in  England;  it  is  really  Roman,  and  was 
not  law  as  it  was  understood  by  our  Anglo-Saxon  ancestor.  He 
did  not  think  of  law  as  a  thing  written,  addressed  to  him  by  the 
king.  Neither  did  he  necessarily  think  of  it  as  a  thing  which  had 
any  definite  punishment  attached  or  any  code  attached,  any  "sanc- 
tion," as  we  call  it,  or  thing  which  enforces  the  law;  a  penalty  or 
fine  or  imprisonment.  There  are  just  as  good  "sanctions"  for  law 
outside  of  the  sanctions  that  our  people  usually  think  of  as  there  are 
inside  of  them,  and  often  very  much  better;  for  example,  the  sanction 


846  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

of  a  strong  custom.  Take  any  example  you  like;  there  are  many 
states  where  marriage  between  blacks  and  whites  is  not  made  un- 
lawful but  where  practically  it  is  made  tremendously  unlawful  by  the 
force  of  public  opinion  [mores].  Take  the  case  of  debts  of  honor, 
so  called,  debts  of  gambling;  they  are  paid  far  more  universally  than 
ordinary  commercial  debts,  even  by  the  same  people;  but  there  is 
no  law  enforcing  them — there  is  no  sanction  for  the  collection  of 
gambling  debts.  And  take  any  custom  that  grows  up.  We  know 
how  strong  our  customs  in  college  are.  Take  the  mere  custom  of  a 
club  table;  no  one  dares  or  ventures  to  supplant  the  members  at 
that  table.  That  kind  of  sanction  is  just  as  good  a  law  as  a  law  made 
by  statute  and  imposing  five  or  ten  dollars'  penalty  or  a  week's  im- 
prisonment. And  judges  or  juries  recognize  those  things  as  laws, 
just  as  much  as  they  do  statute  laws;  when  all  other  laws  are  lacking, 
our  courts  will  ask  what  is  the  "custom  of  the  trade."  These  be 
laws,  and  are  often  better  enforced  than  the  statute  law;  the  rules 
of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange  are  better  enforced  than  the  laws 
of  the  state  legislature.  Now  all  our  early  Anglo-Saxon  law  was  law 
of  that  kind.  For  the  law  was  but  universal  custom,  and  that 
custom  had  no  sanction;  but  for  breach  of  the  custom  anybody 
could  make  personal  attack,  or  combine  with  his  friends  to  make 
attack,  on  the  person  who  committed  the  breach,  and  then,  when 
the  matter  was  taken  up  by  the  members  of  both  tribes,  and  finally 
by  the  witenagemot  as  a  judicial  court,  the  question  was,  what  the 
law  was.  That  was  the  working  of  the  old  Anglo-Saxon  law,  and  it 
was  a  great  many  centuries  before  the  notion  of  law  changed  from 
that  in  their  minds.  And  this  "unwritten  law"  perdures  in  the 
minds  of  many  of  the  people  today. 

3.    Religion  and  Social  Control1 

As  a  social  fact  religion  is,  indeed,  not  something  apart  from 
mores  or  social  standards;  it  is  these  as  regarded  as  "sacred." 
Strictly  speaking  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an  unethical  religion.  We 
judge  some  religions  as  unethical  because  the  mores  of  which  they 
approve  are  not  our  mores,  that  is,  the  standards  of  higher  civilization. 
All  religions  are  ethical,  however,  in  the  sense  that  without  exception 

1  From  Charles  A.  Ellwood,  "Religion  and  Social  Control,"  in  the  Scientific 
Monthly,  VII  (1918),  339-41. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  847 

they  support  customary  morality,  and  they  do  this  necessarily 
because  the  values  which  the  religious  attitude  of  mind  universalizes 
and  makes  absolute  are  social  values.  Social  obligations  thus  early 
become  religious  obligations.  In  this  way  religion  becomes  the  chief 
means  of  conserving  customs  and  habits  which  have  been  found 
to  be  safe  by  society  or  which  are  believed  to  conduce  to  social 
welfare. 

As  the  guardian  of  the  mores,  religion  develops  prohibitions  and 
"taboos"  of  actions  of  which  the  group,  or  its  dominant  class,  dis- 
approves. It  may  lend  itself,  therefore,  to  maintaining  a  given  social 
order  longer  than  that  order  is  necessary,  or  even  after  it  has  become 
a  stumbling-block  to  social  progress.  For  the  same  reason  it  may 
be  exploited  by  a  dominant  class  in  their  own  interest.  It  is  in  this 
way  that  religion  has  often  become  an  impediment  to  progress  and  an 
instrument  of  class  oppression.  This  socially  conservative  side  of 
religion  is  so  well  known  and  so  much  emphasized  by  certain  writers 
that  it  scarcely  needs  even  to  be  mentioned.  It  is  the  chief  source 
of  the  abuses  of  religion,  and  in  the  modern  world  is  probably  the  chief 
cause  of  the  deep  enmity  which  religion  has  raised  up  for  itself  in  a 
certain  class  of  thinkers  who  see  nothing  but  its  negative  and  con- 
servative side. 

There  is  no  necessity,  however,  for  the  social  control  which  religion 
exerts  being  of  a  non-progressive  kind.  The  values  which  religion 
universalizes  and  makes  absolute  may  as  easily  be  values  which  are 
progressive  as  those  which  are  static.  In  a  static  society  which  em- 
phasizes prohibitions  and  the  conservation  of  mere  habit  or  custom, 
religion  will  also,  of  course,  emphasize  the  same  things;  but  in  a 
progressive  society  religion  can  as  easily  attach  its  sanctions  to 
social  ideals  and  standards  beyond  the  existing  order  as  to  those 
actually  realized.  Such  an  idealistic  religion  will,  however,  have  the 
disadvantages  of  appealing  mainly  to  the  progressive  and  idealizing 
tendencies  of  human  nature  rather  than  to  its  conservative  and 
reactionary  tendencies.  Necessarily,  also,  it  will  appeal  more 
strongly  to  those  enlightened  classes  in  society  who  are  leading  in 
social  progress  rather  than  to  those  who  are  content  with  things  as 
they  are.  This  is  doubtless  the  main  reason  why  progressive  religions 
are  exceedingly  rare  in  human  history,  taking  it  as  a  whole,  and 
have  appeared  only  in  the  later  stages  of  cultural  evolution. 


848  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Nevertheless,  there  are  good  reasons  for  believing  that  the 
inevitable  evolution  of  religion  has  been  in  a  humanitarian  direction, 
and  that  there  is  an  intimate  connection  between  social  idealism  and 
the  higher  religions.  There  are  two  reasons  for  this  generalization. 
The  social  life  becomes  more  complex  with  each  succeeding  stage  of 
upward  development,  and  groups  have  therefore  more  need  of  com- 
manding the  unfailing  devotion  of  their  members  if  they  are  to  main- 
tain their  unity  and  efficiency  as  groups.  More  and  more,  accord- 
ingly, religion  in  its  evolution  has  come  to  emphasize  the  self-effacing 
devotion  of  the  individual  to  the  group  in  times  of  crisis.  And  as 
the  complexity  of  social  life  increases,  the  crises  increase  in  which  the 
group  must  ask  the  unfailing  service  and  devotion  of  its  members. 
Thus  religion  in  its  upward  evolution  becomes  increasingly  social, 
until  it  finally  comes  to  throw  supreme  emphasis  upon  the  life  of 
service  and  of  self-sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  the  group;  and  as  the  group 
expands  from  the  clan  and  the  tribe  to  humanity,  religion  necessarily 
becomes  less  tribal  and  more  humanitarian  until  the  supreme  object 
of  the  devotion  which  it  inculcates  must  ultimately  be  the  whole  of 
humanity. 

m.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.     Social  Control  and  Human  Nature 

Society,  so  far  as  it  can  be  distinguished  from  the  individuals 
that  compose  it,  performs  for  those  individuals  the  function  of  a 
mind.  Like  mind  in  the  individual  man,  society  is  a  control  organi- 
zation. Evidence  of  mind  in  the  animal  is  the  fact  that  it  can  make 
adjustments  to  new  conditions.  The  evidence  that  any  group  of 
persons  constitutes  a  society  is  the  fact  that  the  group  is  able  to  act 
with  some  consistency,  and  as  a  unit.  It  follows  that  the  literature 
on  social  control,  in  the  widest  extension  of  that  term,  embraces 
most  that  has  been  written  and  all  that  is  fundamental  on  the  subject 
of  society.  In  chapter  ii,  "Human  Nature,"  and  the  later  chapters 
on  "Interaction"  and  its  various  forms,  "Conflict,"  "Accommoda- 
tion," and  "Assimilation,"  points  of  view  and  literature  which  might 
properly  be  included  in  an  adequate  study  of  social  control  have 
already  been  discussed.  The  present  chapter  is  concerned  mainly 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  849 

with  ceremonial,  public  opinion,  and  law,  three  of  the  specific  forms 
in  which  social  control  has  universally  found  expression. 

Sociology  is  indebted  to  Edward  Alsworth  Ross  for  a  general 
term  broad  enough  to  include  all  the  special  forms  in  which  the 
solidarity  of  the  group  manifests  itself.  It  was  his  brilliant  essay  on 
the  subject  published  in  1901  that  popularized  the  term  social  control. 
Sumner  published  in  1907  his  Folkways.  This  volume,  in  spite  of  its 
unsystematic  character,  must  still  be  regarded  as  the  most  subtle 
analysis  and  suggestive  statement  about  human  nature  and  social 
relations  that  has  yet  been  written  in  English. 

A  more  systematic  and  thoroughgoing  review  of  the  facts  and 
literature,  however,  is  Hobhouse's  Morals  in  Evolution.  After 
Hobhouse  the  next  most  important  writer  is  Westermarck,  whose 
work,  The  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas,  published  in 
1906,  was  a  pioneer  in  this  field. 

2.     Elementary  Forms  of  Social  Control 

Literature  upon  elementary  forms  of  social  control  includes 
materials  upon  ceremonies,  taboo,  myth,  prestige,  and  leadership. 
These  are  characterized  as  elementary  because  they  have  arisen 
spontaneously  everywhere  out  of  original  nature.  The  conventional- 
ized form  hi  which  we  now  find  them  has  arisen  in  the  course  of  their 
repetition  and  transmission  from  one  generation  to  another  and 
from  one  culture  group  to  another.  The  fact  that  they  have  been 
transmitted  over  long  periods  of  time  and  wide  areas  of  territory  is 
an  indication  that  they  are  the  natural  vehicle  for  the  expression  of 
fundamental  human  impulses. 

It  is  quite  as  true  of  leadership,  as  it  is  of  myth  and  prestige, 
that  it  springs  directly  out  of  an  emotional  setting.  The  natural 
leaders  are  never  elected  and  leadership  is,  in  general,  a  matter  that 
cannot  be  rationally  controlled. 

The  materials  upon  ceremony,  social  ritual,  and  fashion  are  large 
in  comparison  with  the  attempts  at  a  systematic  study  of  the 
phenomena.  Herbert  Spencer's  chapter  on  "Ceremonial  Govern- 
ment," while  it  interprets  social  forms  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
individual  rather  than  of  the  group,  is  still  the  only  adequate  survey 
of  the  materials  in  this  special  field. 


850  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Ethnology  and  folklore  have  accumulated  an  enormous  amount 
of  information  in  regard  to  primitive  custom  which  has  yet  to  be 
interpreted  from  the  point  of  view  of  more  recent  studies  of  human 
nature  and  social  life.  The  most  important  collections  are  Frazer's 
Golden  Bough  and  his  Totemism  and  Exogamy.  Crawley's  The 
Mystic  Rose  is  no  such  monument  of  scholarship  and  learning  as 
Frazer's  Golden  Bough,  but  it  is  suggestive  and  interesting. 

Prestige  and  taboo  represent  fundamental  human  traits  whose 
importance  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  life  of  primitive  man  where, 
almost  exclusively  hitherto,  they  have  been  observed  and  studied. 

The  existing  literature  on  leadership,  while  serving  to  emphasize 
the  importance  of  the  leader  as  a  factor  in  social  organization  and 
social  process,  is  based  on  too  superficial  an  analysis  to  be  of  per- 
manent scientific  value.  Adequate  methods  for  the  investigation  of 
leadership  have  not  been  formulated.  In  general  it  is  clear,  however, 
that  leadership  must  be  studied  in  connection  with  the  social  group 
in  which  it  arises  and  that  every  type  of  group  will  have  a  different 
type  of  leader.  The  prophet,  the  agitator,  and  the  political  boss 
are  types  of  leaders  in  regard  to  whom  there  already  are  materials 
available  for  study  and  interpretation.  A  study  of  leadership  should 
include,  however,  in  addition  to  the  more  general  types,  like  the 
poet,  the  priest,  the  tribal  chieftain,  and  the  leader  of  the  gang, 
consideration  of  leadership  in  the  more  specific  areas  of  social  life, 
the  precinct  captain,  the  promoter,  the  banker,  the  pillar  of  the  church, 
the  football  coach,  and  the  society  leader. 

3.    Public  Opinion  and  Social  Control 

Public  opinion,  "the  fourth  estate"  as  Burke  called  it,  has  been 
appreciated,  but  not  studied.  The  old  Roman  adage,  Vox  populi, 
vox  del,  is  a  recognition  of  public  opinion  as  the  ultimate  seat  of 
authority.  Public  opinion  has  been  elsewhere  identified  with  the 
"general  will."  Rousseau  conceived  the  general  will  to  be  best 
expressed  through  a  plebiscite  at  which  a  question  was  presented 
without  the  possibilities  of  the  divisive  effects  of  public  discussion. 
The  natural  impulses  of  human  nature  would  make  for  more  uniform 
and  beneficial  decisions  than  the  calculated  self-interest  that  would 
follow  discussion  and  deliberation.  English  liberals  like  John  Stuart 
Mill,  of  the  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  looked  upon  freedom 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  851 

of  discussion  and  free  speech  as  the  breath  of  life  of  a  free  society, 
and  that  tradition  has  come  down  to  us  a  little  shaken  by  recent 
experience,  but  substantially  intact. 

The  development  of  advertising  and  of  propaganda,  particularly 
during  and  since  the  world-war,  has  aroused  a  great  many  misgiv- 
ings, nevertheless,  in  regard  to  the  traditional  freedom  of  the  press. 
Walter  Lippmann's  thoughtful  little  volume,  Liberty  and  the  News, 
has  stated  the  whole  problem  in  a  new  form  and  has  directed  atten- 
tion to  an  entirely  new  field  for  observation  and  study. 

De  Tocqueville,  in  his  study  of  the  early  frontier,  Democracy  in 
America,  and  James  Bryce,  in  his  American  Commonwealth,  have 
contributed  a  good  deal  of  shrewd  observation  to  our  knowledge 
of  the  role  of  political  opinion  in  the  United  States.  The  important 
attempts  in  English  to  define  public  opinion  as  a  social  phenomenon 
and  study  it  objectively  are  A.  V.  Dicey's  Law  and  Opinion  in  Eng- 
land in  the  Nineteenth  Century  and  A.Lawrence  Lowell's  Public  Opinion 
and  Popular  Government.  Although  Dicey's  investigation  is  confined 
to  England  and  to  the  nineteenth  century,  his  analysis  of  the  facts 
throws  new  light  on  the  nature  of  public  opinion  in  general.  The 
intimate  relation  between  the  press  and  parliamentary  government 
in  England  is  revealed  in  an  interesting  historical  monograph  by 
Michael  Macdonagh,  The  Reporters'  Gallery. 

4.     Legal  Institutions  and  Law 

Public  law  came  into  existence  in  an  effort  of  the  community  to 
deal  with  conflict.  In  achieving  this  result,  however,  courts  of  law 
invariably  have  sought  to  make  their  decisions  first  in  accordance 
with  precedent,  and  second  in  accordance  with  common  sense.  The 
latter  insured  that  the  law  would  be  administered  equitably;  the 
former  that  interpretations  of  the  law  would  be  consistent.  Post 
says: 

Jural  feelings  are  principally  feelings  of  indignation  as  when  an  injustice 
is  experienced  by  an  individual,  a  feeling  of  fear  as  when  an  individual  is 
affected  by  an  inclination  to  do  wrong,  a  feeling  of  penitence  as  when  the 
individual  has  committed  a  wrong.  With  the  feeling  of  indignation  is 
joined  a  desire  for  vengeance,  with  the  feeling  of  penitence  a  desire  of 
atonement,  the  former  tending  towards  an  act  of  vengeance  and  the  latter 
towards  an  act  of  expiation.  The  jural  judgments  of  individuals  are  not 


852  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

complete  judgments;  they  are  based  upon  an  undefined  sense  of  right  and 
wrong.  In  the  consciousness  of  the  individual  there  exists  no  standard  of 
right  and  wrong  under  which  every  single  circumstance  giving  rise  to  the 
formation  of  a  jural  judgment  can  be  subsumed.  A  simple  instinct 
impels  the  individual  to  declare  an  action  right  or  wrong.1 

If  these  motives  are  the  materials  with  which  the  administration 
of  justice  has  to  deal,  the  legal  motive  which  has  invariably  con- 
trolled the  courts  is  something  quite  different.  The  courts  in  the 
administration  of  law  have  invariably  sought,  above  all  else,  to  achieve 
consistency.  It  is  an  ancient  maxim  of  English  law  that  "it  is  better 
that  the  law  should  be  certain  than  that  the  law  should  be  just."2 

The  conception  implicit  in  the  law  is  that  the  rule  laid  down  in 
one  case  must  apply  in  every  similar  case.  In  the  effort  to  preserve 
this  consistency  in  a  constantly  increasing  variety  of  cases  the  courts 
have  been  driven  to  the  formulation  of  principles,  increasingly  general 
and  abstract,  to  multiply  distinctions  and  subtleties,  and  to  operate 
with  legal  fictions.  All  this  effort  to  make  the  law  a  rationally  consist- 
ent system  was  itself  inconsistent  with  the  conception  that  law,  like 
religion,  had  a  natural  history  and  was  involved,  like  language,  in  a 
process  of  growth  and  decay.  It  is  only  in  recent  years  that  compara- 
tive jurisprudence  has  found  its  way  into  the  law  schools.  Although 
there  is  a  vast  literature  upon  the  subject  of  the  history  of  the  law, 
Maine's  Ancient  Law,  published  in  1861,  is  still  the  classic  work  in 
this  field  in  English. 

More  recently  there  has  sprung  up  a  school  of  "legal  ethnology." 
The  purpose  of  these  studies  is  not  to  trace  the  historical  development 
of  the  law,  but  to  seek  in  the  forms  in  use  in  isolated  and  primitive 
societies  materials  which  will  reveal,  in  their  more  elementary  expres- 
sions, motives  and  practices  that  are  common  to  legal  institutions  of 
every  people.  In  the  Preface  to  a  recent  volume  of  Select  Readings 
on  the  Origin  and  Development  of  Legal  Institutions,  the  editors  venture 

1  Albert  H.  Post,  Evolution  of  Law:  Select  Readings  on  the  Origin  and  Develop- 
ment of  Legal  Institutions,  Vol.  II,  "Primitive  and  Ancient  Legal  Institutions," 
complied  by  Albert  Kocourek  and  John  H.  Wigmore;  translated  from  the 
German  by  Thomas  J.  McCormack.  Section  2,  "Ethnological  Jurisprudence," 
p.  12.  (Boston,  1915.) 

*  Quoted  by  James  Bryce,  "Influence  of  National  Character  and  Historical 
Environment  on  Development  of  Common  Law,"  annual  address  to  the  American 
Bar  Association,  1907,  Reports  of  the  American  Bar  Association,  XXXI  (1907), 
447- 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  853 

the  statement,  in  justification  of  the  materials  from  sociology  that 
these  volumes  include,  that  "contrary,  perhaps,  to  legal  tradition, 
the  law  itself  is  only  a  social  phenomenon  and  not  to  be  understood 
in  detachment  from  human  uses,  necessities  and  forces  from  which 
it  arises."  Justice  Holmes's  characterization  of  law  as  "a  great 
anthropological  document"  seems  to  support  that  position. 

Law  in  its  origin  is  related  to  religion.  The  first  public  law  was 
that  which  enforced  the  religious  taboos,  and  the  ceremonial  purifica- 
tions and  expiations  were  intended  to  protect  the  community  from 
the  divine  punishment  for  any  involuntary  disrespect  or  neglect  of  the 
rites  due  the  gods  which  were  the  first  crimes  to  be  punished  by  the 
community  as  a  whole,  and  for  the  reason  that  failure  to  punish  or 
expiate  them  would  bring  disaster  upon  the  community  as  a  whole. 

Maine  says  that  the  earliest  conceptions  of  law  or  a  rule  of  life 
among  the  Greeks  are  contained  in  the  Homeric  words  Themis  and 
Themistes. 

When  a  king  decided  a  dispute  by  a  sentence,  the  judgment  was  assumed 
to  be  the  result  of  direct  inspiration.  The  divine  agent,  suggesting  judicial 
awards  to  kings  or  to  gods,  the  greatest  of  kings,  was  Themis.  The 
peculiarity  of  the  conception  is  brought  out  by  the  use  of  the  plural.  Themis- 
tes, Themises,  the  plural  of  Themis,  are  the  awards  themselves,  divinely 
dictated  to  the  judge.  Kings  are  spoken  of  as  if  they  had  a  store  of 
"Themistes"  ready  to  hand  for  use;  but  it  must  be  distinctly  understood 
that  they  are  not  laws,  but  judgments.  "Zeus,  or  the  human  king  on 
earth,"  says  Mr.  Grote,  in  his  History  of  Greece,  "is  not  a  law-maker,  but 
a  judge."  He  is  provided  with  Themistes,  but,  consistently  with  the  belief 
in  their  emanation  from  above,  they  cannot  be  supposed  to  be  connected  by 
any  thread  of  principle;  they  are  separate,  isolated  judgments.1 

It  is  only  hi  recent  times,  with  the  gradual  separation  of  the 
function  of  the  church  and  the  state,  that  legal  institutions  have 
acquired  a  character  wholly  secular.  Within  the  areas  of  social 
life  that  are  represented  on  the  one  hand  by  religion  and  on  the  other 
by  law  are  included  all  the  sanctions  and  the  processes  by  which 
society  maintains  its  authority  and  imposes  its  will  upon  its  individual 
members.2 

1  Henry  S.  Maine,  Ancient  Law.  Its  connection  with  the  early  history  of 
society  and  its  relation  to  modern  ideas,  pp.  4-5.  i4th  ed.  (London,  1891.) 

3  For  the  distinction  between  the  cultural  process  and  the  political  process 
see  supra,  pp.  52-53. 


854  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.      SOCIAL  CON'JROL  AND  HUMAN  NATURE 

(1)  Maine,  Henry  S.    Dissertations  on  Early  Law  and  Custom.    New 
York,  1886. 

(2)  Kocourek,  Albert,  and  Wigmore,  John  H.,  editors.    Evolution  of  Law. 
Select  readings  on  the  origin  and  development  of  legal  institutions. 
Vol.  I,  "Sources  of  Ancient  and  Primitive  Law."    Vol.  II,  "Primitive 
and  Ancient  Legal  Institutions."    Vol.  Ill,  "Formative  Influences  of 
Legal  Development."    Boston,  1915. 

(3)  Sumner,  W.  G.    Folkways.    A  study  of  the  sociological  importance  of 
usages,  manners,  customs,  mores,  and  morals.    Boston,  1006. 

(4)  Letourneau,  Ch.    L'Evolution  de  la  morale.     Paris,  1887. 

(5)  Westermarck,  Edward.     The  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral 
Ideas,  2  vols.    London,  1906-8. 

(6)  Hobhouse,  L.  T.    Morals  in  Evolution.    New  ed.    A  study  in  com- 
parative ethics.    New  York,  1915. 

(7)  Durkheim,  Emile.     The  Elementary  Forms  of  the  Religious  Life.    A 
study  in  religious  sociology.    Translated  from  the  French  by  J.  W. 
Swain.    London,  1915.    . 

(8)  Novikow,  J.    Conscience  et  wlonli  societies.     Paris,  1897. 

(9)  Ross,  Edward  A.    Social  Control.    A  survey  of  the  foundations  of 
order.    New  York,  1901. 

(10)  Bernard,  Luther  L.     The  Transition  to  an  Objective  Standard  of  Social 
Control.     Chicago,  1911. 

II.      ELEMENTARY  FORMS   OF  SOCIAL  CONTROL 

A.  Leadership 

(1)  Woods,  Frederick  A.     The  Influence  of  M anarchs.     Steps  in  a  new 
science  of  history.    New  York,  1913. 

(2)  Smith,  J.  M.  P.     The  Prophet  and  His  Problems.    New  York, 
1914. 

(3)  Walter,  F.    Die  Propheten  in  ihrem  sozialen  Beruf  und  das  Wirt- 
schaftsleben  ihrer  Zeit.    Ein  Beitrag  zur  Geschichte  der  Sozialethik. 
Freiburg-in-Brisgau,  1900. 

(4)  Vierkandt,  A.     "Fiihrende  Individuen  bei  den  Naturvolkern," 
Zeitschrift  fur  Sozialwissenschaft,  XI  (1908),  542-53,  623-39. 

(5)  Dixon,  Roland  B.     "Some  Aspects  of  the  American  Shaman," 
The  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  XXI  (1908),  1-12. 

(6)  Kohler,    Josef.     Philosophy   of  Law.     (Albrecht's    translation.) 
"Cultural   Importance  of  Chief tainry."     "Philosophy   of   Law 
Series,"   Vol.   XII.     [Reprinted   in   the  Evolution   of  Law,   II, 
96-103.] 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  855 

(7)  Fustel  de  Coulanges.     The  Ancient  City,  Book  III,  chap,  ix,  "The 
Government  of  the  City.    The  King,"  pp.  231-39.    Boston,  1896. 

(8)  Leopold,    Lewis.    Prestige.    A    psychological    study    of    social 
estimates.    London,  1913. 

(9)  Clayton,  Joseph.    Leaders  of  the  People.     Studies  in  democratic 
history.     London,  1910. 

(10)  Brent,  Charles  H.    Leadership.    New  York,  1908. 
(n)  Rothschild,   Alonzo.    Lincoln:    Master   of  Men.    A   study   in 
character.    Boston,  1906. 

(12)  Mumford,  Eben.     The  Origins  of  Leadership.     Chicago,  1909. 

(13)  Ely,  Richard  T.     The  World  War  and  Leadership  in  a  Democracy. 
New  York,  1918. 

(14)  Terman,  L.  M.     "A  Preliminary  Study  of  the  Psychology  and 
Pedagogy   of  Leadership,"   Pedagogical   Seminary,   XI    (1904), 

4i3-5i- 

(15)  Miller,  Arthur  H.    Leadership.    A  study  and  discussion  of  the 
qualities  most  to  be  desired  in  an  officer.    New  York,  1920. 

(16)  Gowin,  Enoch  B.     The  Executive  and  His  Control  of  Men.    A 
study  in  personal  efficiency.    New  York,  1915. 

(17)  Cooley,  Charles  H.    "Genius,  Fame  and  the  Comparison  of 
Races,"  Annals  of  the  American  Academy,  IX  (1897),  317-58. 

(18)  Odin,  Alfred.    Genese  des  grands  hommes,  gens  de  lettres  franqais 
modernes.    Paris,    1895.     [See  Ward,  Lester  F.,  Applied  Soci- 
ology, for  a  statement  in  English  of  Odin's  study.] 

(19)  Kostyleff,  N.    Le  Mecanisme  cerebral  de  la  pensee.    Paris,  1914. 
[This  includes  a  study  of  the  mechanism  of  the  inspiration  of 
poets  and  writers  of  romance.] 

(20)  Chabaneix,  Paul.    Physiologic  cerebrate.    Le  subconscient  chez 
les  artistes,  les  savants,  et  les  ecrivains.    Bordeaux,  1897-98. 

Ceremony,  Rites,  and  Ritual 

(1)  Spencer,  Herbert.     The  Principles  of  Sociology,  Part  IV,  "Cere- 
monial Institutions."     Vol.  II,  pp.  3-225.    London,  1893. 

(2)  Tylor,   Edward    B.    Primitive    Culture.     Researches    into    the 
development  of  mythology,  philosophy,  religion,  language,  art, 
and  custom.     Chap,  xviif,  "Rites  and  Ceremonies,"  pp.  362-442. 
New  York,  1874. 

(3)  Frazer,  J.  G.     Totemism  and  Exogamy.  •  A  treatise  on  certain 
early  forms  of  superstition  and  society.     4  vols.     London,  1910. 

(4)  Freud,  Sigmund.     Totem  and  Taboo.    Resemblances  between  the 
psychic  life  of  savages  and  neurotics.    Authorized  translation 
from  the  German  by  A.  A.  Brill.    New  York,  1918. 


856  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(5)  James,  E.  O.    Primitive  Ritual  and  Belief.    An  anthropological 
essay.    With  an  introduction  by  R.  R.  Marett.    London,  1917. 

(6)  Brinton,  Daniel  G.     The  Religious  Sentiment:  Its  Source  and  Aim. 
A  contribution  to  the  science  and  philosophy  of  religion.     Chap, 
vi,  "The  Cult,  Its  Symbols  and  Rites,"  pp.  197-227.    New  York, 
1876. 

(7)  Frazer,  J.  G.    Golden  Bough.    A  study  in  magic  and  religion. 
Part  VI,  "The  Scapegoat."    3d  ed.    London,  1913. 

(8)  Nassau,  R.  H.    Fetichism  in  West  Africa.     Forty  years'  observa- 
tion of  native  customs  and  superstitions.     New  York,  1907. 

(9)  Hubert,  H.,  and  Mauss,  M.     "Essai  sur  la  nature  et  la  fonction 
de  sacrifice,"  L'Annee  sociologique,  II  (1897-98),  29-138. 

(10)  Farnell,  L.  R.     The  Higher  Aspects  of  Greek  Religion.     New  York, 

1912. 
(n)  .     The  Cults  of  the  Greek  States.     5  vols.    Oxford,  1896- 

1909. 

(12)  .     "Religious  and  Social  Aspects  of  the  Cult  of  Ancestors 

and  Heroes,"  Hibbert  Journal,  VII  (1909),  415-35. 

(13)  Harrison,  Jane  E.    Prolegomena  to  the  Study  of  Greek  Religion. 
Cambridge,  1903. 

(14)  De-Marchi,  A.    //  Culto  privato  di  Roma  antica.     Milano,  1896. 

(15)  Oldenberg,  H.    Die  Religion  des  Veda.    Part  III,  "Der  Cultus," 
pp.  302-523.     Berlin,  1894. 

C.  Taboo 

(1)  Thomas,  N.  W.    Article  on  "Taboo"   in   Encyclopaedia   Bri- 
tannica,  XXVI,  337-41. 

(2)  Frazer,  J.  G.     The  Golden  Bough.    A  study  in  magic  and  religion. 
Part  II,  "Taboo  and  the  Perils  of  the  Soul."    London,  1911. 

(3)  Kohler,   Josef.    Philosophy   of  Law.     "Taboo   as   a   Primitive 
Substitute  for  Law."     "Philosophy  of  Law  Series,"  Vol.  XII. 
Boston,  1914.     [Reprinted  in  Evolution  of  Law,  II,  120-21.] 

(4)  Crawley,  A.  E.     "Sexual  Taboo,"  Journal  of  Anthropological 
Institute,  XXIV  (London,  1894),  116-25,  219-35,  43°~4S- 

(5)  Gray,    W.     "Some    Notes    on    the    Tannese,"    Internationales 
Archil)  fur  Ethnographic,  VII  (1894),  232-37. 

(6)  Waitz,  Theodor,  und  Gerland,  Georg.     Anthropologie  der  Natur- 
volker,  VI,  343-63.    6  vols.    Leipzig,  1862-77. 

(7)  Tuchmann,    J.     "La    Fascination,"    Melusine,    II    (1884-85), 
169-175,    193-98,    241-50,    350-57,    368-76,    385-87,    409-17, 
457-64,  517-24;    HI  (1886-87),  49-56,  105-9,  319-25,  412-14, 
506-8. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  857 

(8)  Durkheim,  E.     "La  prohibition  de  1'inceste  et  ses  origines," 
UAnnee  sociologique,  I  (1896-97),  38-70. 

(9)  Crawley,   A.   E.     "Taboos   of   Commensality,"   Folk-Lore,   VI 
(1895),  130-44. 

(10)  Hubert,  H.,  and  Mauss,  M.  "Le  Mana,"  L }  Annie  sociologique, 
VII  (1902-3),  108-22. 

(n)  Codrington,  R.  H.  The  Melanesians.  Studies  in  their  anthro- 
pology and  folk-lore.  "Mana,"  pp.  51-58,  90,  103,  115,  118-24, 
191,  200,  307-8.  Oxford,  1891. 

D.  Myths 

(1)  Sorel,  Georges.    Reflections  on  Violence.     Chap,  iv,  "The  Pro- 
letarian Strike,"  pp.   126-67.     Translated  from  the  French  by 
T.  E.  Hulme.     New  York,  1912. 

(2)  Smith,  W.  Robertson.     Lectures  on  the  Religion  of  the  Semites. 
"Ritual,  Myth  and  Dogma,"  pp.   16-24.    New  ed.    London, 
1907. 

(3)  Harrison,  Jane  E.     Themis.    A  study  of  the  social  origins  of 
Greek  religion.     Cambridge,  1912. 

(4)  Clodd,   Edward.     The  Birth  and  Growth  of  Myth.     Humboldt 
Library  of  Popular  Science  Literature.     New  York,  1888. 

(5)  Gennep,  A.  van.     La  Formation  des  legendes.     Paris,  1910. 

(6)  Langenhove,  Fernand  van.     The  Growth  of  a  Legend.     A  study 
based  upon  the  German  accounts  of  francs-tireurs  and  "atroci- 
ties" in  Belgium.     With  a  preface  by  J.  Mark  Baldwin.     New 
York,  1916. 

(7)  Case,  S.  J.     The  Millennial  Hope.     Chicago,  1918. 

(8)  Abraham,    Karl.     Dreams    and    Myths.     Translated    from    the 
German   by   W.   A.    White.     "Nervous   and   Mental    Disease 
Monograph  Series,"  No.  15.     Washington,  1913. 

(9)  Pfister,   Oskar.     The  Psychoanalytic  Method.     Translated   from 
the  German  by  C.  R.  Payne.     Pp.  410-15.    New  York,  1917. 

(10)  Jung,  C.  G.  Psychology  of  the  Unconscious.  A  study  of  the 
transformations  and  symbolisms  of  the  libido.  A  contribution 
to  the  history  of  the  evolution  of  thought.  Authorized  transla- 
tion from  the  German  by  Beatrice  M.  Hinkle.  New  York,  1916. 

(n)  Brinton,  Daniel  G.  The  Religious  Sentiment:  Its  Source  and  Aim. 
A  contribution  to  the  science  and  philosophy  of  religion.  Chap. 
v,  "The  Myth  and  the  Mythical  Cycles,"  pp.  153-96.  New 
York,  1876. 

(12)  Rivers,  W.  H.  R.  "The  Sociological  Significance  of  Myth," 
Folk-Lore,  XXIII  (1912),  306-31. 


858          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(T3)  Rank,  Otto.  The  Myth  of  the  Birth  of  the  Hero.  A  psychological 
interpretation  of  mythology.  "Nervous  and  Mental  Disease 
Monograph  Series,"  No.  18.  Translated  from  the  German  by 
Drs.  F.  Robbins  and  Smith  E.  Jelliffe.  Washington,  1914. 

(14)  Freud,  Sigmund.  "Der  Dichter  und  das  Phantasieren,"  Samm- 
lung  kleiner  Schriften  zur  Neurosenlehre.  ad  ed.  Wien,  1909. 

III.      PUBLIC  OPINION  AND   SOCIAL  CONTROL 

A.  Materials  for  the  Study  of  Public  Opinion 

(1)  Lowell,  A.  Lawrence.    Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Government. 
New  York,  1913. 

(2)  Tarde,  Gabriel.    L'Opinion  et  lafoule.     Paris,  1901. 

(3)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.     Les  Opinions  et  les  croyances;  genese-evolution. 
Paris,  1911.     [Discusses  the  formation  of  public  opinion,  trends, 
etc.] 

(4)  Bauer,  Wilhelm.    Die  ojfentliche  Meinung  und  ihre  geschichtlichen 
Grundlagen.    Tubingen,  1914. 

(5)  Dicey,  A.  V.    Lectures  on  the  Relation  between  Law  and  Public 
Opinion   in  England  during   the   Nineteenth   Century.    2d   ed. 
London,  1914. 

(6)  Shepard,  W.  J.    "Public  Opinion,"  American  Journal  of  Soci- 
ology, XV  (1909),  32-60. 

(7)  Tocqueville,  Alexius  de.     The  Republic  of  the  United  Stales  of 
America.    Book    IV.     "Influence    of    Democratic    Opinion   on 
Political  Society,"  pp.  306-55.     2  vols.  in  one.    New  York,  1858. 

(8)  Bryce,  James.     The  American  Commonwealth,  Vol.  II,  Part  IV, 
"Public  Opinion,"  pp.  239-64.     Chicago,  1891. 

(9)  .    Modern  Democracies.     2  vols.    New  York,  1921. 

(10)  Lecky,  W.  E.  H.    Democracy  and  Liberty.    New  York,  1899. 
(n)  Godkin,  Edwin  L.     Unforeseen  Tendencies  of  Democracy.    Boston, 

1898. 

(12)  Sageret,  J.     "L'opinion,"  Revue  philosophique,  LXXXVI  (1918), 
19-38. 

(13)  Bluntschli,  Johann  K.    Article   on  "Public  Opinion,"  Lalor's 
Cyclopaedia  of  Political  Science,   Political  Economy  and  of  the 
Political  History  of  the  United  States.     Vol.  Ill,  pp.  479-80. 

(14)  Lewis,  George  C.    An  Essay  on  the  Influence  of  Authority  in 
Matters  of  Opinion.    London,  1849. 

(15)  Jephson,  Henry.     The  Platform.    Its  rise  and  progress.     2  vols. 
London,  1892. 

(16)  Junius.     (Pseud.)     The    Letters     of    Junius.     WoodfalTs     ed., 
revised  by  John  Wade.     2  vols.    London,  1902. 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  859 

(17)  Woodbury,  Margaret.    Public  Opinion  in  Philadelphia,  1789- 
1801.     "Smith  College  Studies  in  History."    Vol.  V.    North- 
ampton, Mass.,  1920. 

(18)  Heaton,  John  L.     The  Story  of  a  Page.    Thirty  years  of  public 
service  and  public  discussion  in  the  editorial  columns  of  The 
New  York  World.    New  York,  1913. 

(19)  Editorials  from  the  Hearst  Newspapers.    New  York,  1906. 

(20)  Harrison,   Shelby  M.    Community  Action  through  Surveys.    A 
paper  describing  the  main  features  of  the  social  survey.    Russell 
Sage  Foundation.    New  York,  1916. 

(21)  Millioud,  Maurice.     "La  propagation  des  idees,"  Revue  philo- 
sophique,  LXIX  (1910),  580-600;  LXX  (1910),  168-91. 

(22)  Scott,  Walter  D.     The  Theory  of  Advertising.    Boston,  1903. 

B.  The  Newspaper  as  an  Organ  of  Public  Opinion 

(1)  Dana,  Charles  A.     The  Art  of  Newspaper  Making.    New  Yorkj 
1895. 

(2)  Irwin,  Will.    "The  American  Newspaper,"  Colliers,  XL VI  and 
XL VII  (1911).     [A  series  of  fifteen  articles  beginning  in  the  issue 
of  January  21  and  ending  in  the  issue  of  July  29,  1911.] 

(3)  Park,  Robert  E.     The  Immigrant  Press  and  Its  Control.    [In 
Press.]    New  York,  1922. 

(4)  Stead,    W.    T.     "Government   by   Journalism,"    Contemporary 
Review,  XLIX  (1886),  653-74. 

(5)  Blowitz,  Henri  G.  S.  A.  O.  de.    Memoirs  of  M.  de  Blowitz.    New 
York,  1903. 

(6)  Cook,  Edward.    Delane  of  the  Times.    New  York,  1916. 

(7)  Trent,  William  P.    Daniel  Defoe:    How  to  Know  Him.    Indian- 
apolis, 1916. 

(8)  Oberholtzer,  E.  P.    Die  Beziehungen  zwischen  dem  Staat  und  der 
Zeitungspresse  im  Deutschen  Reich.    Nebst  einigen  Umrissen  fur 
die  Wissenschaft  der  Journalistik.    Berlin,  1895. 

(9)  Yarros,  Victor  S.     "The  Press  and  Public  Opinion,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  V  (1899-1900),  372-82. 

(10)  Macdonagh,  Michael.     The  Reporters'  Gallery.    London,  1913. 
(n)  Lippmann,  Walter.     Liberty  and  the  News.     New  York,  1920. 

(12)  O'Brien,  Frank  M.     The   Story   of  the   Sun,  New  York,  1833- 
1918.    With  an  introduction  by  Edward  Page  Mitchell,  editor  of 
The  Sun.     New  York,  1918. 

(13)  Hudson,  Frederic.    Journalism  in  the  United  States,  from  1690  to 
1872.    New  York,  1873. 

(14)  Bourne,  H.  R.  Fox.    English  Newspapers.    London,  1887. 


86o          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(15)  Andrews,  Alexander.     The  History  of  British  Journalism.     2  vols. 
London, 1859. 

( 1 6)  Lee,  James  Mel vin.    A  History  of  American  Journalism.    Boston, 
1917. 

IV.      LAW  AND   SOCIAL  CONTROL 

A.  The  Sociological  Conception  of  Law 

(1)  Post,    Albert    H.     "Ethnological    Jurisprudence."    Translated 
from  the  German  by  Thomas  J.  McCormack.    Open  Court,  XI 
(1897),  641-53,  718-32.    [Reprinted  in  Evolution  of  Law,  II,  10-36.] 

(2)  Vaccaro,  M.  A.    Les  Bases  sociologiques.    Du  droit  et  de  1'etat. 
Translated  by  J.  Gaure.    Paris,  1898. 

(3)  Duguit,  Leon.    Law  in  the  Modern  State.     With  introduction  by 
Harold  Laski.    Translated  from  the  French  by  Frida  and  Harold 
Laski.    New  York,  1919.     [The  inherent  nature  of  law  is  to  be 
found  in  the  social  needs  of  man.] 

(4)  Picard,  Edmond.    Le  Droit  pur.     Sees.    140-54.     Paris,   1908. 
[Translated  by  John  H.  Wigmore,  under  the   title  "Factors  of 
Legal  Evolution,"  in  Evolution  of  Law,  III,  163-81.] 

(5)  Laski,  Harold  J.    Studies  in  the  Problem  of  Sovereignty.    New 
Haven,  1917. 

(6)  — • .    Authority  in  the  Modern  State.     New,  Haven,  1919. 

(?)  •     The  Problem  of  Administrative   Areas.    An   essay   in 

reconstruction.     Northampton,  Mass.,  1918. 

B.  Ancient  and  Primitive  Law 

(1)  Maine,  Henry  S.     Ancient  Law.     i4th  ed.    London,  1891. 

(2)  Fustel  de  Coulanges.     The  Ancient  City.    A  study  on  the  religion, 
laws,  and  institutions  of  Greece  and  Rome.    Boston,  1894. 

(3)  Kocourek,   Albert,   and  Wigmore,   J.   H.,   editors.    Sources  of 
Ancient  and  Primitive  Law.     "Evolution  of  Law  Series."    Vol.1. 
Boston,  1915. 

(4)  Steinmetz,  S.  R.     Rechtsverhaltnisse  von  eingeborenen  Volkern  in 
Afrika  und  Oceanien.     Berlin,  1903. 

(5)  Sarbah,  John  M.     Fanti  Customary  Law.    A  brief  introduction  to 
the  principles  of  the  native  laws  and  customs  of  the  Fanti  and 
Akan  districts  of  the  Gold  Coast  with  a  report  of  some  cases 
thereon  decided  in  the  law  courts.    London,  1904.     [Reprinted 
in  Evolution  of  Law,  I,  326-82.] 

(6)  McGee,  W  J.    "The  Sen  Indians,"  Seventeenth  Annual  Report  of 
the  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  1895-96.     Part  I,  pp.  269-95. 
[Reprinted  in  Evolution  of  Law,  I,  257-78.] 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  86 1 

(7)  Dugmore,   H.   H.     Compendium   of  Kafir  Laws  and  Customs. 
Grahamstown,  South  Africa,  1906.     [Reprinted  in  Evolution  of 
Law,  I,  292-325.] 

(8)  Spencer,  Baldwin,  and  Gillen,  F.  J.     The  Northern  Tribes  of 
Central  Australia.    London,   1904.     [Reprinted  in  Evolution  of 
Law,  I,  213-326.] 

(9)  Seebohm,  Frederic.     Tribal  Custom  in  Anglo-Saxon  Law.    Being 
an  essay  supplemental  to  (i)  "The  English  Village  Community," 
(2)  "The  Tribal  System  in  Wales."    London,  1902. 

C.  The  History  and  Growth  of  Law 

(1)  Wigmore,  John  H.     "  Problems  of  the  Law's  Evolution,"  Virginia 
Law  Review,  IV  (1917),  247-72.     [Reprinted,  hi  part,  in  Evolution 
of  Law,  III,  153-58.] 

(2)  Robertson,  John  M.     The  Evolution  of  States.    An  introduction 
to  English  politics.     New  York,  1913. 

(3)  Jhering,  Rudolph  von.     The  Struggle  for  Law.    Translated  from 
the  German  by  John  J.  Lalor.     ist  ed.     Chicago,  1879.      Chap,  i, 
reprinted  hi  Evolution  of  Law,  III,  440-47.] 

(4)  Nardi-Greco,  Carlo.     Sociologia  giuridica.     Chap,  viii,  pp.  310- 
24.    Torino,  1907.     [Translated  by  John  H.  Wigmore  under  the 
title  "Causes  for  the  Variation  of  Jural  Phenomena  in  General," 
in  Evolution  of  Law,  III,  182-97.] 

(5)  Bryce,  James.    Studies  in  History  and  Jurisprudence.    Oxford, 
1901. 

(6)  .     "Influence    of    National    Character    and    Historical 

Environment  on  the  American  Law."    Annual  address  to  the 
Bar  Association,    1907.     Reports  of  American  Bar  Association, 
XXXI  (1907),  444-59.     [Abridged  and  reprinted  in  Evolution  of 
Law,  III,  369-77.] 

(7)  Pollock,  Frederick,  and  Maitland,  Frederic  W.     The  History  of 
English  Law  before  the  Time  of  Edward  I.     2d  ed.     Cambridge, 
1899. 

(8)  Jenks,  Edward.    Law  and  Politics  in  the  Middle  Ages.    With  a 
synoptic  table  of  sources.    London,  1913. 

(9)  Holdsworth,  W.  S.     A  History  of  English  Law.     3  vols.     London, 
1903-9. 

(10)  The  Modern  Legal  Philosophy  Series.     Edited  by  a  committee  of 

the  Association  of  American  Law  Schools.     13  vols.     Boston, 

1911-. 
(n)  Continental  Legal  History  Series.     Published  under  the  auspices 

of  the  Association  of  American  Law  Schools,     n  vols.    Boston, 

1912-. 


862  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(12)  Select  Essays  in  Anglo-American  Legal  History.  Compiled  and 
edited  by  a  committee  of  the  Association  of  American  Law 
Schools.  3  vols.  Boston,  1907-9. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  Social  Interaction  and  Social  Control 

2.  Social  Control  as  the  Central  Fact  and  the  Central  Problem  of  Sociology 

3.  Social  Control,  Collective  Behavior,  and  Progress 

4.  Manipulation  and  Participation  as  Forms  of  Social  Control 

5.  Social  Control  and  Self-Control 

6.  Accommodation  as  Control 

7.  Elementary  Forms  of  Social  Control:    Ceremony,  Fashion,  Prestige, 
and  Taboo,  etc. 

8.  Traditional  Forms  of  Control,   as   Folkways,   Mores,   Myths,  Law, 
Education,  Religion,  etc. 

9.  Rumors,  News,  Facts,  etc.,  as  Forms  of  Control 

10.  Case  Studies  of  the  Influence  of  Myths,  Legends,  "  Vital  Lies,"  etc.,  on 
Collective  Behavior 

11.  The  Newspaper  as  Controlling  and  as  Controlled  by  Public  Opinion 

12.  Gossip  as  Social  Control 

13.  Social  Control  in  the  Primary  Group  in  the  Village  Community  as 
Compared  with  Social  Control  in  the  Secondary  Group  in  the  City 

14.  An  Analysis  of  Public  Opinion  in  a  Selected  Community 

15.  The  Politician  and  Public  Opinion 

1 6.  The  Social  Survey  as  a  Mechanism  of  Social  Control 

17.  A  Study  of  Common  Law  and  Statute  Law  from  the  Standpoint  of 
Mores  and  Public  Opinion 

18.  A  Concrete  Example  of  Social  Change  Analyzed  in  Terms  of  Mores, 
the  Trend,  and  Public  Opinion,  as  Woman's  Suffrage,  Prohibition,  the 
Abolition  of  Slavery,  Birth  Control,  etc. 

19.  The  Life  History  of  an  Institution  from  the  Standpoint  of  Its  Origin 
and  Survival  as  an  Agency  of  Control 

20.  Unwritten  Law;  a  Case  Study 

21.  Legal  Fictions  and  Their  Function  in  Legal  Practice 

22.  The  Sociology  of  Authority  in  the  Social  Group  and  in  the  State 

23.  Maine's  Conception  of  Primitive  Law 

24.  The  Greek  Conception  of  Themistes  and  Their  Relation  to  Code  of  Solon 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1.  What  do  you  understand  by  social  control? 

2.  What  do  you  mean  by  elementary  social  control  ?    How  would  you 
distinguish  it  from  control  exercised  by  public  opinion  and  law  ? 


SOCIAL  CONTROL  863 

3.  How  does  social  control  in  human  society  differ  from  that  in  animal 
society  ? 

4.  What  is  the  natural  history  of  social  control  in  the  crowd  and   the 
public  ? 

5.  What  is  the  fundamental  mechanism  by  which  control  is  established 
in  the  group  ? 

6.  How  do  you  explain  the  process  by  which  a  crisis  develops  in  a  social 
group?    How  is  crisis  related  to  control? 

7.  Under  what  conditions  is  a  dictatorship  a  necessary  form  of  control  ? 
Why? 

8.  In  what  way  does  the  crowd  control  its  members  ? 

9.  Describe  and  analyze  your  behavior  in  a  crowd.     Were  you  conscious 
of  control  by  the  group  ? 

10.  What  is  the  mechanism  of  control  in  the  public? 

11.  In  what  sense  is  ceremony  a  control? 

12.  How  do  music,  rhythm,  and  art  enter  into  social  control? 

13.  Analyze  the  mechanism  of  the  following  forms  of  ceremonial  control: 
the  salute,  the  visit,  the  decoration,  forms  of  address,  presents,  greet- 
ings.   What  other  forms  of  ceremonial  control  occur  to  you  ? 

14.  What  is  the  relation  of  fashions  to  ceremonial  control  ? 

15.  What  is  the  meaning  to  the  individual  of  ceremony? 

1 6.  What  are  the  values  and  limitations  of  ceremonial  control? 

17.  What  do  you  understand  by  "prestige"  in  interpreting  control  through 
leadership  ? 

1 8.  In  what  sense  is  prestige  an  aspect  of  personal^  ? 

19.  What  relation,  if  any,  is  there  between  prestige  and  prejudice  ? 

20.  How  do  you  explain  the  prestige  of  the  white  man  in  South  East  Africa  ? 
Does  the  white  man  always  have  prestige  among  colored  races  ? 

21.  What  is  the  relation  of  taboo  to  contact?     (See  pp.  291-93.) 

22.  Why  does  taboo  refer  both  to  things  "holy"  and  things  "unclean"  ? 

23.  How  does  taboo  function  for  social  control? 

24.  Describe  and  analyze  the  mechanism  of  control  through  taboo  in  a 
selected  group. 

25.  What  examples  do  you  discover  of  American  taboos? 

26.  What  is  the  mechanism  of  control  by  the  myth  ? 

27.  "Myths  are  projections  of  our  hopes  and  of  our  fears."    Explain  with 
reference  to  the  Freudian  wish. 

28.  How  do  you  explain  the  growth  of  a  legend  ?    Make  an  analysis  of  the 
origin  and  development  of  the  legend. 

29.  Under  what  conditions  does  the  press  promote  the  growth  of  myths 
and  legends  ? 

30.  Does  control  by  public  opinion  exist  outside  of  democracies  ? 


864  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

31.  What  is  the  relation  of  the  majority  and  the  minority  to  public  opinion  ? 

32.  What  is  the  distinction  made  by  Lowell  between  (a)  an  effective 
majority,  and  (b)   a  numerical    majority,  with  reference  to  public 
opinion  ? 

33.  What  is  the  relation  of  mores  to  public  opinion? 

34.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  public  opinion,   advertising,   and 
propaganda  as  means  and  forms  of  social  control  ? 

35.  What  is  the  relation  of  news  to  social  control  ? 

36.  "The  news  columns  are  common  carriers."     Discuss  the  implications  of 
this  statement. 

37.  How  do  you  explain  the  psychology  of  propaganda? 

38.  What  is  the  relation  between  institutions  and  the  mores? 

39.  What  is  the  nature  of  social  control  exerted  by  the  institution  ? 

40.  What  is  the  relation  of  mores  to  common  law  and  statute  law  ? 

41.  "Under  the  free  Anglo-Saxon  government,  no  king  could  ever  make  a 
law,  but  could  only  declare  what  the  law  was."    Discuss  the  significance 
of  this  fact. 

42.  In  what  different  ways  does  religion  control  the  behavior  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  of  the  group  ? 

43.  Is  religion  a  conservative  or  a  progressive  factor  in  society? 


CHAPTER  XIII 

COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.     Collective  Behavior  Defined 

A  collection  of  individuals  is  not  always,  and  by  the  mere  fact 
of  its  collectivity,  a  society.  On  the  other  hand,  when  people  come 
together  anywhere,  in  the  most  casual  way,  on  the  street  corner  or  at 
a  railway  station,  no  matter  how  great  the  social  distances  between 
them,  the  mere  fact  that  they  are  aware  of  one  another's  presence  sets 
up  a  lively  exchange  of  influences,  and  the  behavior  that  ensues  is  both 
social  and  collective.  It  is  social,  at  the  very  least,  in  the  sense  that 
the  train  of  thought  and  action  in  each  individual  is  influenced  more 
or  less  by  the  action  of  every  other.  It  is  collective  in  so  far  as  each 
individual  acts  under  the  influence  of  a  mood  or  a  state  of  mind 
in  which  each  shares,  and  in  accordance  with  conventions  which  all 
quite  unconsciously  accept,  and  which  the  presence  of  each  enforces 
upon  the  others. 

The  amount  of  individual  eccentricity  or  deviation  from  normal 
and  accepted  modes  of  behavior  which  a  community  will  endure 
without  comment  and  without  protest  will  vary  naturally  enough 
with  the  character  of  the  community.  A  cosmopolitan  community 
like  New  York  City  can  and  does  endure  a  great  deal  in  the  way  of 
individual  eccentricity  that  a  smaller  city  like  Boston  would  not 
tolerate.  In  any  case,  and  this  is  the  point  of  these  observations, 
even  in  the  most  casual  relations  of  life,  people  do  not  behave  in  the 
presence  of  others  as  if  they  were  living  alone  like  Robinson  Crusoe, 
each  on  his  individual  island.  The  very  fact  of  their  consciousness 
of  each  other  tends  to  maintain  and  enforce  a  great  body  of  convention 
and  usage  which  otherwise  falls  into  abeyance  and  is  forgotten. 
Collective  behavior,  then,  is  the  behavior  of  individuals  under  the 
influence  of  an  impulse  that  is  common  and  collective,  an  impulse, 
in  other  words,  that  is  the  result  of  social  interaction. 

865 


866          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

2.    Social  Unrest  and  Collective  Behavior 

The  most  elementary  form  of  collective  behavior  seems  to  be  what 
is  ordinarily  referred  to  as  "social  unrest."  Unrest  in  the  individual 
becomes  social  when  it  is,  or  seems  to  be,  transmitted  from  one 
individual  to  another,  but  more  particularly  when  it  produces  some- 
thing akin  to  the  milling  process  in  the  herd,  so  that  the  manifestations 
of  discontent  in  A  communicated  to  B,  and  from  B  reflected  back  to 
A,  produce  the  circular  reaction  described  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

The  significance  of  social  unrest  is  that  it  represents  at  once  a 
breaking  up  of  the  established  routine  and  a  preparation  for  new 
collective  action.  Social  unrest  is  not  of  course  a  new  phenomenon; 
it  is  possibly  true,  however,  that  it  is  peculiarly  characteristic,  as  has 
been  said,  of  modern  life.  The  contrast  between  the  conditions  of 
modern  life  and  of  primitive  society  suggests  why  this  may  be  true. 

The  conception  which  we  ought  to  form  of  primitive  society,  says 
Sumner,  is  that  of  small  groups  scattered  over  a  territory.  The  size 
of  the  group  will  be  determined  by  the  conditions  of  the  struggle  for 
existence  and  the  internal  organization  of  each  group  will  correspond 
(i)  to  the  size  of  the  group,  and  (2)  to  the  nature  and  intensity  of  the 
struggle  with  its  neighbors. 

Thus  war  and  peace  have  reacted  on  each  other  and  developed  each 
other,  one  within  the  group,  the  other  in  the  intergroup  relation.  The 
closer  the  neighbors,  and  the  stronger  they  are,  the  intenser  is  the  warfare, 
and  then  the  intenser  is  the  internal  organization  and  discipline  of  each. 
Sentiments  are  produced  to  correspond.  Loyalty  to  the  group,  sacrifice 
for  it,  hatred  and  contempt  for  outsiders,  brotherhood  within,  warlikeness 
without — all  grow  together,  common  products  of  the  same  situation. 
These  relations  and  sentiments  constitute  a  social  philosophy.  It  is  sancti- 
fied by  connection  with  religion.  Men  of  an  others-group  are  outsiders 
with  whose  ancestors  the  ancestors  of  the  we-group  waged  war.  The  ghosts 
of  the  latter  will  see  with  pleasure  their  descendants  keep  up  the  fight, 
and  will  help  them.  Virtue  consists  in  killing,  plundering,  and  enslaving 
outsiders.1 

The  isolation,  territorial  and  cultural,  under  which  alone  it  is 
possible  to  maintain  an  organization  which  corresponds  to  Sumner's 
description,  has  disappeared  within  comparatively  recent  times  from 

'W.  G.  Sumner,  Folkways.  A  study  of  the  sociological  importance  of 
usages,  manners,  customs,  mores,  and  morals,  pp.  12-13.  (Boston,  1906.) 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  867 

all  the  more  inhabitable  portions  of  the  earth.  In  place  of  it  there 
has  come,  and  with  increasing  rapidity  is  coming,  into  existence  a 
society  which  includes  within  its  limits  the  total  population  of  the 
earth  and  is  so  intimately  bound  together  that  the  speculation  of  a 
grain  merchant  in  Chicago  may  increase  the  price  of  bread  in  Bombay, 
while  the  act  of  an  assassin  in  a  provincial  town  in  the  Balkans  has 
been  sufficient  to  plunge  the  world  into  a  war  which  changed  the  politi- 
cal map  of  three  continents  and  cost  the  lives,  in  Europe  alone,  of 
8,500,000  combatants. 

The  first  effect  of  modern  conditions  of  life  has  been  to  increase 
and  vastly  complicate  the  economic  interdependence  of  strange  and 
distant  peoples,  i.e.,  to  destroy  distances  and  make  the  world,  as  far 
as  national  relations  are  concerned,  small  and  tight. 

The  second  effect  has  been  to  break  down  family,  local,  and 
national  ties,  and  emancipate  the  individual  man. 

When  the  family  ceases,  as  it  does  in  the  city,  to  be  an  economic  unit, 
when  parents  and  children  have  vocations  that  not  only  intercept  the 
traditional  relations  of  family  life,  but  make  them  well  nigh  impossible, 
the  family  ceases  to  function  as  an  organ  of  social  control.  When  the 
different  nationalities,  with  their  different  national  cultures,  have  so  far 
interpenetrated  one  another  that  each  has  permanent  colonies  within  the 
territorial  limits  of  the  other,  it  is  inevitable  that  the  old  solidarities,  the 
common  loyalties  and  the  common  hatreds  that  formerly  bound  men 
together  in  primitive  kinship  and  local  groups  should  be  undermined. 

A  survey  of  the  world  today  shows  that  vast  changes  are  every- 
where in  progress.  Not  only  in  Europe  but  in  Asia  and  in  Africa  new 
cultural  contacts  have  undermined  and  broken  down  the  old  cultures. 
The  effect  has  been  to  loosen  all  the  social  bonds  and  reduce  society 
to  its  individual  atoms.  The  energies  thus  freed  have  produced  a 
world-wide  ferment.  Individuals  released  from  old  associations  enter 
all  the  more  readily  into  new  ones.  Out  of  this  confusion  new  and 
strange  political  and  religious  movements  arise,  which  represent  the 
groping  of  men  for  a  new  social  order. 

3.    The  Crowd  and  the  Public 

Gustave  Le  Bon,  who  was  the  first  writer  to  call  attention  to 
the  significance  of  the  crowd  as  a  social  phenomenon,1  said  that 

1  Scipio  Sighele,  in  a  note  to  the  French  edition  of  his  Psychology  of  Sects, 
claims  that  his  volume,  La  Folia  delinquente,  of  which  the  second  edition  was 


868  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

mass  movements  mark  the  end  of  an  old  regime  and  the  beginning 
of  a  new. 

"When  the  structure  of  a  civilization  is  rotten,  it  is  always  the 
masses  that  bring  about  its  downfall."1  On  the  other  hand,  "all 
founders  of  religious  or  political  creeds  have  established  them  solely 
because  they  were  successful  in  inspiring  crowds  with  those  fanatical 
sentiments  which  have  as  result  that  men  find  their  happiness  in 
worship  and  obedience  and  are  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives  for  their 
idol."* 

The  crowd  was,  for  Le  Bon,  not  merely  any  group  brought  together 
by  the  accident  of  some  chance  excitement,  but  it  was  above  all  the 
emancipated  masses  whose  bonds  of  loyalty  to  the  old  order  had  been 
broken  by  "the  destruction  of  those  religious,  political,  and  social 
beliefs  in  which  all  the  elements  of  our  civilization  are  rooted."  The 
crowd,  in  other  words,  typified  for  Le  Bon  the  existing  social  order. 
Ours  is  an  age  of  crowds,  he  said,  an  age  in  which  men,  massed  and 
herded  together  in  great  cities  without  real  convictions  or  funda- 
mental faiths,  are  likely  to  be  stampeded  in  any  direction  for  any 
chance  purpose  under  the  influence  of  any  passing  excitement. 

Le  Bon  did  not  attempt  to  distinguish  between  the  crowd  and  the 
public.  This  distinction  was  first  made  by  Tarde  in  a  paper  entitled 
"Le  Public  et  la  foule,"  published  first  in  La  Revue  de  Paris  in  1898, 
and  included  with  several  others  on  the  same  general  theme  under 
the  title  L 'Opinion  et  la  foule  which  appeared  in  1901.  The  public, 
according  to  Tarde,  was  a  product  of  the  printing  press.  The  limits 
of  the  crowd  are  determined  by  the  length  to  which  a  voice  will  carry 
or  the  distance  that  the  eye  can  survey.  But  the  public  presupposes 
a  higher  stage  of  social  development  in  which  suggestions  are  trans- 
mitted in  the  form  of  ideas  and  there  is  "  contagion  without  contact."3 


published  at  Turin  in  1895,  and  his  article  "Physiologic  du  succes,"  in  the  Revue 
des  Revues,  October  i,  1894,  were  the  first  attempts  to  describe  the  crowd  from  the 
point  of  view  of  collective  psychology.  Le  Bon  published  two  articles,  "  Psycholo- 
gic des  foules"  in  the  Revue  scientifique,  April  6  and  20,  1895.  These  were  later 
gathered  together  in  his  volume  Psychologic  des  foules,  Paris,  1895.  See  Sighele 
Psychologic  des  sectes,  pp.  25,  39. 

1  Gustave  Le  Bon,  The  Crowd.    A  study  of  the  popular  mind,  p.  19.     (New 
York,  1900.) 

'Ibid.,  p.  83.  3  L'Opinion  et  la  foule,  pp.  6-7.     (Paris,  1901.) 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  869 

The  fundamental  distinction  between  the  crowd  and  the  public, 
however,  is  not  to  be  measured  by  numbers  nor  by  means  of  commu- 
nication, but  by  the  form  and  effects  of  the  interactions.  In  the 
public,  interaction  takes  the  form  of  discussion.  Individuals  tend  to 
act  upon  one  another  critically;  issues  are  raised  and  parties  form. 
Opinions  clash  and  thus  modify  and  moderate  one  another. 

The  crowd  does  not  discuss  and  hence  it  does  not  reflect.  It 
simply  "mills."  Out  of  this  milling  process  a  collective  impulse  is 
formed  which  dominates  all  members  of  the  crowd.  Crowds,  when 
they  act,  do  so  impulsively.  The  crowd,  says  Le  Bon,  "is  the  slave 
of  its  impulses." 

"The  varying  impulses  which  crowds  obey  may  be,  according  to 
their  exciting  causes,  generous  or  cruel,  heroic  or  cowardly,  but  they 
will  always  be  so  imperious  that  the  interest  of  the  individual,  even 
the  interest  of  self-preservation,  will  not  dominate  them."1 

When  the  crowd  acts  it  becomes  a  mob.  What  happens  when 
two  mobs  meet  ?  We  have  in  the  literature  no  definite  record.  The 
nearest  approach  to  it  are  the  occasional  accounts  we  find  in  the 
stories  of  travelers  of  the  contacts  and  conflicts  of  armies  of  primitive 
peoples.  These  undisciplined  hordes  are,  as  compared  with  the 
armies  of  civilized  peoples,  little  more  than  armed  mobs.  Captain 
S.  L.  Hinde  in  his  story  of  the  Belgian  conquest  of  the  Congo  describes 
several  such  battles.  From  the  descriptions  of  battles  carried  on 
almost  wholly  between  savage  and  undisciplined  troops  it  is  evident 
that  the  morale  of  an  army  of  savages  is  a  precarious  thing.  A  very 
large  part  of  the  warfare  consists  in  alarms  and  excursions  inter- 
spersed with  wordy  duels  to  keep  up  the  courage  on  one  side  and 
cause  a  corresponding  depression  on  the  other.2 

1  The  Crowd,  p.  41. 

2  Sidney  L.  Hinde,  The  Fall  of  the  Congo  Arabs,  p.  147.     (London,  1897.) 
Describing  a  characteristic  incident  in  one  of  the  strange  confused  battles  Hinde 
says:   "Wordy  war,  which  also  raged,  had  even  more  effect  than  our  rifles.     Ma- 
homedi  and  Sefu  led  the  Arabs,  who  were  jeering  and  taunting  Lutete's  people, 
saying  that  they  were  in  a  bad  case,  and  had  better  desert  the  white  man,  who  was 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  Mohara  with  all  the  forces  of  Nyange  was  camped  in  his 
rear.    Lutete's  people  replied:   'Oh,  we  know  all  about  Mohara;   we  ate  him  the 
day  before  yesterday. ' "    This  news  became  all  the  more  depressing  when  it 
turned  out  to  be  true.     See  also  Him,  The  Origins  of  Art,  p.  269,  for  an  explana- 
tion of  the  rdle  of  threats  and  boastings  in  savage  warfare. 


870          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Gangs  are  conflict  groups.  Their  organization  is  usually  quite 
informal  and  is  determined  by  the  nature  and  imminence  of  the  con- 
flicts with  other  groups.  When  one  crowd  encounters  another  it 
either  goes  to  pieces  or  it  changes  its  character  and  becomes  a  conflict 
group.  When  negotiations  and  palavers  take  place  as  they  eventually 
do  between  conflict  groups,  these  two  groups,  together  with  the 
neutrals  who  have  participated  vicariously  in  the  conflict,  constitute 
a  public.  It  is  possible  that  the  two  opposing  savage  hordes  which 
seek,  by  threats  and  boastings  and  beatings  of  drums,  to  play  upon 
each  other's  fears  and  so  destroy  each  other's  morale,  may  be  said  to 
constitute  a  very  primitive  type  of  public. 

Discussion,  as  might  be  expected,  takes  curious  and  interesting 
forms  among  primitive  peoples.  In  a  volume,  Iz  Derevni:  12  Pisem 
("From  the  Country:  12  Letters"),  A.  N.  Engelgardt  describes  the 
way  in  which  the  Slavic  peasants  reach  their  decisions  in  the  village 
council. 

In  the  discussion  of  some  questions  by  the  mir  [organization  of  neighbors] 
there  are  no  speeches,  no  debates,  no  votes.  They  shout,  they  abuse  one 
another — they  seem  on  the  point  of  coming  to  blows;  apparently  they  riot 
in  the  most  senseless  manner.  Some  one  preserves  silence,  and  then 
suddenly  puts  in  a  word,  one  word,  or  an  ejaculation,  and  by  this  word, 
this  ejaculation,  he  turns  the  whole  thing  upside  down.  In  the  end,  you 
look  into  it  and  find  that  an  admirable  decision  has  been  formed  and,  what 
is  most  important,  a  unanimous  decision.  .  .  (In  the  division  of  land) 
the  cries,  the  noise,  the  hubbub  do  not  subside  until  everyone  is  satisfied 
and  no  doubter  is  left.1 

4.     Crowds  and  Sects 

Reference  has  been  made  to  the  crowds  that  act,  but  crowds  do  not 
always  act.  Sometimes  they  merely  dance  or,  at  least,  make  expres- 
sive motions  which  relieve  their  feelings.  "The  purest  and  most 
typical  expression  of  simple  feeling,"  as  Hirn  remarks,  "is  that  which 
consists  of  mere  random  movements."2  When  these  motions  assume, 
as  they  so  easily  do,  the  character  of  a  fixed  sequence  in  time,  that  is 
to  say  when  they  are  rhythmical,  they  can  be  and  inevitably  are,  as 

'Robert  E.  Park  and  Herbert  A.  Miller,  Old  World  Traits  Transplanted. 
Document  23,  pp.  32-33.  (New  York,  1921.) 

1  Yrjo  Him,  The  Origins  of  Art.  A  psychological  and  sociological  inquiry, 
p.  87.  (London,  1900.) 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  871 

by  a  sort  of  inner  compulsion,  imitated  by  the  onlookers.  "As  soon 
as  the  expression  is  fixed  in  rhythmical  form  its  contagious  power  is 
incalculably  increased."1 

This  explains  at  once  the  function  and  social  importance  of  the 
dance  among  primitive  people.  It  is  the  form  in  which  they  prepare 
for  battle  and  celebrate  their  victories.  It  gives  the  form  at  once  to 
their  religious  ritual  and  to  their  art.  Under  the  influence  of  the 
memories  and  the  emotions  which  these  dances  stimulate  the  primitive 
group  achieves  a  sense  of  corporate  unity,  which  makes  corporate 
action  possible  outside  of  the  fixed  and  sacred  routine  of  ordinary 
daily  life. 

If  it  is  true,  as  has  been  suggested,  that  art  and  religion  had  their 
origin  in  the  choral  dance,  it  is  also  true  that  in  modern  times  religious 
sects  and  social  movements  have  had  their  origin  in  crowd  excite- 
ments and  spontaneous  mass  movements.  The  very  names  which 
have  been  commonly  applied  to  them — Quakers,  Shakers,  Convul- 
sionaires,  Holy  Rollers — suggest  not  merely  the  derision  with  which 
they  were  at  one  time  regarded,  but  indicate  likewise  their  origin  in 
ecstatic  or  expressive  crowds,  the  crowds  that  do  not  act. 

All  great  mass  movements  tend  to  display,  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent,  the  characteristics  that  Le  Bon  attributes  to  crowds.  Speak- 
ing of  the  convictions  of  crowds,  Le  Bon  says: 

When  these  convictions  are  closely  examined,  whether  at  epochs 
marked  by  fervent  religious  faith,  or  by  great  political  upheavals  such  as 
those  of  the  last  century,  it  is  apparent  that  they  always  assume  a  peculiar 
form  which  I  cannot  better  define  than  by  giving  it  the  name  of  a  religious 
sentiment.2 

Le  Bon's  definition  of  religion  and  religious  sentiment  will  hardly 
find  general  acceptance  but  it  indicates  at  any  rate  his  conception 
of  the  extent  to  which  individual  personalities  are  involved  in  the 
excitements  that  accompany  mass  movements. 

A  person  is  not  religious  solely  when  he  worships  a  divinity,  but  when 
he  puts  all  the  resources  of  his  mind,  the  complete  submission  of  his  will, 
and  the  whole-souled  ardour  of  fanaticism  at  the  service  of  a  cause  or  an 
individual  who  becomes  the  goal  and  guide  of  his  thoughts  and  actions.3 

1  Ibid.,  p.  89.  J  Le  Bon,  op.  tit.,  p.  82. 

J  Ibid.,  p.  82. 


872  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Just  as  the  gang  may  be  regarded  as  the  perpetuation  and  per- 
manent form  of  "  the  crowd  that  acts,"  so  the  sect,  religious  or  politi- 
cal, may  be  regarded  as  a  perpetuation  and  permanent  form  of  the 
orgiastic  (ecstatic)  or  expressive  crowd. 

"The  sect,"  says  Sighele,  "is  a  crowd  triee,  selected,  and  per- 
manent; the  crowd  is  a  transient  sect,  which  does  not  select  its  mem- 
bers. The  sect  is  the  chronic  form  of  the  crowd;  the  crowd  is  the 
acute  form  of  the  sect."1  It  is  Sighele's  conception  that  the  crowd  is 
an  elementary  organism,  from  which  the  sect  issues,  like  the  chick 
from  the  egg,  and  that  all  other  types  of  social  groups  "may,  in  this 
same  manner,  be  deduced  from  this  primitive  social  protoplasm." 
This  is  a  simplification  which  the  facts  hardly  justify.  It  is  true  that, 
implicit  in  the  practices  and  the  doctrines  of  a  religious  sect,  there  is 
the  kernel  of  a  new  independent  culture. 

5.     Sects  and  Institutions 

A  sect  is  a  religious  organization  that  is  at  war  with  the  existing 
mores.  It  seeks  to  cultivate  a  state  of  mind  and  establish  a  code  of 
morals  different  from  that  of  the  world  about  it  and  for  this  it  claims 
divine  authority.  In  order  to  accomplish  this  end  it  invariably  seeks 
to  set  itself  off  in  contrast  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  simplest 
and  most  effective  way  to  achieve  this  is  to  adopt  a  peculiar  form  of 
dress  and  speech.  This,  however,  invariably  makes  its  members 
objects  of  scorn  and  derision,  and  eventually  of  persecution.  It 
would  probably  do  this  even  if  there  was  no  assumption  of  moral 
superiority  to  the  rest  of  the  world  in  this  adoption  of  a  peculiar 
manner  and  dress. 

Persecution  tends  to  dignify  and  sanctify  all  the  external  marks 
of  the  sect,  and  it  becomes  a  cardinal  principle  of  the  sect  to  maintain 
them.  Any  neglect  of  them  is  regarded  as  disloyalty  and  is  punished 
as  heresy.  Persecution  may  eventually,  as  was  the  case  with  the 
Puritans,  the  Quakers,  the  Mormons,  compel  the  sect  to  seek  refuge 
in  some  part  of  the  world  where  it  may  practice  its  way  of  life  in  peace. 

Once  the  sect  has  achieved  territorial  isolation  and  territorial 
solidarity,  so  that  it  is  the  dominant  power  within  the  region  that  it 
occupies,  it  is  able  to  control  the  civil  organization,  establish  schools 

1  Scipio  Sighele,  Psychologic  des  sectes,  p.  46.     (Paris,  1898.) 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  873 

and  a  press,  and  so  put  the  impress  of  a  peculiar  culture  upon  all  the 
civil  and  political  institutions  that  it  controls.  In  this  case  it  tends 
to  assume  the  form  of  a  state,  and  become  a  nationality.  Something 
approaching  this  was  achieved  by  the  Mormons  in  Utah.  The  most 
striking  illustration  of  the  evolution  of  a  nationality  from  a  sect  is 
Ulster,  which  now  has  a  position  not  quite  that  of  a  nation  within  the 
English  empire. 

This  sketch  suggests  that  the  sect,  like  most  other  social  institu- 
tions, originates  under  conditions  that  are  typical  for  all  institutions 
of  the  same  species;  then  it  develops  in  definite  and  predictable  ways, 
in  accordance  with  a  form  or  entelechy  that  is  predetermined  by 
characteristic  internal  processes  and  mechanisms,  and  that  has,  in 
short,  a  nature  and  natural  history  which  can  be  described  and 
explained  in  sociological  terms.  Sects  have  their  origin  in  social 
unrest  to  which  they  give  a  direction  and  expression  in  forms  and 
practices  that  are  largely  determined  by  historical  circumstances; 
movements  which  were  at  first  inchoate  impulses  and  aspirations 
gradually  take  form;  policies  are  defined,  doctrine  and  dogmas  formu- 
lated; and  eventually  an  administrative  machinery  and  efficiencies 
are  developed  to  carry  into  effect  policies  and  purposes.  The  Salva- 
tion Army,  of  which  we  have  a  more  adequate  history  than  of  most 
other  religious  movements,  is  an  example. 

A  sect  in  its  final  form  may  be  described,  then,  as  a  movement  of 
social  reform  and  regeneration  that  has  become  institutionalized. 
Eventually,  when  it  has  succeeded  in  accommodating  itself  to  the 
other  rival  organizations,  when  it  has  become  tolerant  and  is  tolerated, 
it  tends  to  assume  the  form  of  a  denomination.  Denominations  tend 
and  are  perhaps  destined  to  unite  in  the  form  of  religious  federations — 
a  thing  which  is  inconceivable  of  a  sect. 

What  is  true  of  the  sect,  we  may  assume,  and  must  assume  if 
social  movements  are  to  become  subjects  for  sociological  investigation, 
is  true  of  other  social  institutions.  Existing  institutions  represent 
social  movements  that  survived  the  conflict  of  cultures  and  the 
struggle  for  existence. 

Sects,  and  that  is  what  characterizes  and  distinguishes  them  from 
secular  institutions,  at  least,  have  had  their  origin  in  movements  that 
aimed  to  reform  the  mores — movements  that  sought  to  renovate  and 
renew  the  inner  life  of  the  community.  They  have  wrought  upon 


874          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

society  from  within  outwardly.  Revolutionary  and  reform  move- 
ments, on  the  contrary,  have  been  directed  against  the  outward  fabric 
and  formal  structure  of  society.  Revolutionary  movements  in 
particular  have  assumed  that  if  the  existing  structure  could  be 
destroyed  it  would  then  be  possible  to  erect  a  new  moral  order  upon 
the  ruins  of  the  old  social  structures. 

A  cursory  survey  of  the  history  of  revolutions  suggests  that  the 
most  radical  and  the  most  successful  of  them  have  been  religious.  Of 
this  type  of  revolution  Christianity  is  the  most  conspicuous  example. 

6.    Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  materials  in  this  chapter  have  been  arranged  under  the 
headings:  (a)  social  contagion,  (6)  the  crowd,  and  (c)  types  of  mass 
movements.  The  order  of  materials  follows,  in  a  general  way,  the 
order  of  institutional  evolution.  Social  unrest  is  first  communi- 
cated, then  takes  form  in  crowd  and  mass  movements,  and  finally 
crystallizes  in  institutions.  The  history  of  almost  any  single  social 
movement — woman's  suffrage,  prohibition,  protestantism — exhibits  in 
a  general  way,  if  not  in  detail,  this  progressive  change  in  character. 
There  is  at  first  a  vague  general  discontent  and  distress.  Then  a 
violent,  confused,  and  disorderly,  but  enthusiastic  and  popular  move- 
ment arises.  Finally  the  movement  takes  form;  develops  leadership, 
organization;  formulates  doctrines  and  dogmas.  Eventually  it  is 
accepted,  established,  legalized.  The  movement  dies,  but  the 
institution  remains. 

a)  Social  contagion. — The  ease  and  the  rapidity  with  which  a 
cultural  trait  originating  in  one  cultural  group  finds  its  way  to  other 
distant  groups  is  familiar  to  students  of  folklore  and  ethnology.  The 
manner  in  which  fashions  are  initiated  in  some  metropolitan  commu- 
nity, and  thence  make  their  way,  with  more  or  less  rapidity,  to  the 
provinces  is  an  illustration  of  the  same  phenomenon  in  a  different 
context. 

Fashion  plays  a  much  larger  r61e  in  social  life  than  most  of  us  imagine. 
Fashion  dominates  our  manners  and  dress  but  it  influences  also  our  senti- 
ments and  our  modes  of  thought.  Everything  in  literature,  art  or  phi- 
losophy that  was  characteristic  of  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the 
"  mid- Victorian  period,"  is  now  quite  out  of  date  and  no  one  who  is  intelli- 
gent now-a-days  practices  the  pruderies,  defends  the  doctrines,  nor  shares 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  875 

the  enthusiasms  of  that  period.  Philosophy,  also,  changes  with  the  fashion 
and  Sumner  says  that  even  mathematics  and  science  do  the  same.  Lecky 
in  his  history  of  Rationalism  in  Europe  describes  in  great  detail  how  the 
belief  in  witches,  so  characteristic  of  the  Middle  Ages,  gradually  disappeared 
with  the  period  of  enlightenment  and  progress.1  But  the  enlightenment 
of  the  eighteenth  century  was  itself  a  fashion  and  is  now  quite  out  of  date. 
In  the  meantime  a  new  popular  and  scientific  interest  is  growing  up  in 
obscure  mental  phenomena  which  no  man  with  scientific  training  would 
have  paid  any  attention  to  a  few  years  ago  because  he  did  not  believe  in 
such  things.  It  was  not  good  form  to  do  so. 

But  the  changes  of  fashion  are  so  pervasive,  so  familiar,  and, 
indeed,  universal  phenomena  that  we  do  not  regard  the  changes  which 
they  bring,  no  matter  how  fantastic,  as  quite  out  of  the  usual  and 
expected  order.  Gabriel  Tarde,  however,  regards  the  "social  con- 
tagion" represented  in  fashion  (imitation)  as  the  fundamental  social 
phenomenon.2 

The  term  social  epidemic,  which  is,  like  fashion,  a  form  of  social 
contagion,  has  a  different  origin  and  a  different  connotation.  J.  F.  C. 
Hecker,  whose  study  of  the  Dancing  Mania  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
published  in  1832,  was  an  incident  of  his  investigation  of  the  Black 
Death,  was  perhaps  the  first  to  give  currency  to  the  term.3  Both  the 
Black  Death  and  the  Dancing  Mania  assumed  the  form  of  epidemics 
and  the  latter,  the  Dancing  Mania,  was  in  his  estimation  the  sequel 
of  the  former,  the  Black  Death.  It  was  perhaps  this  similarity  in 
the  manner  in  which  they  spread — the  one  by  physical  and  the  other 
by  psychical  infection — that  led  him  to  speak  of  the  spread  of  a  popu- 
lar delusion  in  terms  of  a  physical  science.  Furthermore,  the  hysteria 
was  directly  traceable,  as  he  believed,  to  the  prevailing  conditions  of  the 
tune,  and  this  seemed  to  put  the  manifestations  in  the  world  of  intelli- 
gible and  controllable  phenomena,  where  they  could  be  investigated. 

It  is  this  notion,  then,  that  unrest  which  manifests  itself  in  social 
epidemics  is  an  indication  of  pathological  social  conditions,  and  the 

1 W.  E.  H.  Lecky,  History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the  Spirit  of  Rationalism 
in  Europe.  2  vols.  (Vol.  I.)  (New  York,  1866.) 

3  See  Gabriel  Tarde,  Laws  of  Imitation. 

s  J.  F.  C.  Hecker,  Die  Tanzwuth,  eine  Volkskrankheit  im  Mittelalter.  (Berlin, 
1832.)  See  Introduction  of  The  Black  Death  and  the  Dancing  Mania.  Translated 
from  the  German  by  B.  G.  Babington.  Cassell's  National  Library.  (New  York, 
1888.) 


876  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

further,  the  more  general,  conception  that  unrest  does  not  become 
social  and  hence  contagious  except  when  there  are  contributing  causes 
in  the  environment — it  is  this  that  gives  its  special  significance  to  the 
term  and  the  facts.  Unrest  in  the  social  organism  with  the  social 
ferments  that  it  induces  is  like  fever  in  the  individual  organism,  a 
highly  important  diagnostic  symptom. 

6)  The  crowd. — Neither  Le  Bon  nor  any  of  the  other  writers  upon 
the  subject  of  mass  psychology  has  succeeded  in  distinguishing 
clearly  between  the  organized  or  "psychological"  crowd,  as  Le  Bon 
calls  it,  and  other  similar  types  of  social  groups.  These  distinctions, 
if  they  are  to  be  made  objectively,  must  be  made  on  the  basis  of  case 
studies.  It  is  the  purpose  of  the  materials  under  the  general  heading 
of  "The  'Animal'  Crowd,"  not  so  much  to  furnish  a  definition,  as  to 
indicate  the  nature  and  sources  of  materials  from  which  a  definition 
can  be  formulated.  It  is  apparent  that  the  different  animal  groups 
behave  in  ways  that  are  distinctive  and  characteristic,  ways  which  are 
predetermined  in  the  organism  to  an  extent  that  is  not  true  of  human 
beings. 

One  other  distinction  may  possibly  be  made  between  the  so-called 
"animal"  and  the  human  crowd.  The  organized  crowd  is  controlled 
by  a  common  purpose  and  acts  to  achieve,  no  matter  how  vaguely  it 
is  defined,  a  common  end.  The  herd,  on  the  other  hand,  has  appar- 
ently no  common  purpose.  Every  sheep  in  the  flock,  at  least  as  the 
behavior  of  the  flock  is  ordinarily  interpreted,  behaves  like  every 
other.  Action  in  a  stampede,  for  example,  is  collective  but  it  is  not 
concerted.  It  is  very  difficult  to  understand  how  there  can  be  con- 
certed action  in  the  herd  or  the  flock  unless  it  is  on  an  instinctive  basis. 
The  crowd,  however,  responds  to  collective  representations.  The 
crowd  does  not  imitate  or  follow  its  leader  as  sheep  do  a  bellwether. 
On  the  contrary,  the  crowd  carries  out  the  suggestions  of  the  leader,  and 
even  though  there  be  no  division  of  labor  each  individual  acts  more 
or  less  in  his  own  way  to  achieve  a  common  end. 

In  the  case  of  a  panic  or  a  stampede,  however,  where  there  is  no 
common  end,  the  crowd  acts  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  But  a  stampede 
or  a  panic  is  not  a  crowd  in  Le  Bon's  sense.  It  is  not  a  psychological 
unity,  nor  a  "single  being,"  subject  to  "the  mental  unity  of  crowds."1 
The  panic  is  the  crowd  in  dissolution.  All  effective  methods  of 

'Le  Bon,  op.  cil.,  p.  26. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  877 

dispersing  crowds  involve  some  method  of  distracting  attention, 
breaking  up  the  tension,  and  dissolving  the  mob  into  its  individual 
units. 

c)  Types  of  mass  movements. — The  most  elementary  form  of  mass 
movement  is  a  mass  migration.  Such  a  mass  movement  displays,  in 
fact,  many  of  the  characteristics  of  the  "animal"  crowd.  It  is  the 
"human"  herd.  The  migration  of  a  people,  either  as  individuals  or 
in  organized  groups,  may  be  compared  to  the  swarming  of  the  hive. 
Peoples  migrate  in  search  of  better  living  conditions,  or  merely  in 
search  of  new  experience.  It  is  usually  the  younger  generation,  the 
more  restless,  active,  and  adaptable,  who  go  out  from  the  security  of 
the  old  home  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  the  new.  Once  settled  on  the 
new  land,  however,  immigrants  inevitably  remember  and  idealize  the 
home  they  have  left.  Their  first  disposition  is  to  reproduce  as  far  as 
possible  in  the  new  world  the  institutions  and  the  social  order  of  the 
old.  Just  as  the  spider  spins  his  web  out  of  his  own  body,  so  the 
immigrant  tends  to  spin  out  of  his  experience  and  traditions,  a  social 
organization  which  reproduces,  as  far  as  circumstances  will  permit, 
the  organization  and  the  life  of  the  ancestral  community.  In  this 
way  the  older  culture  is  transplanted  and  renews  itself,  under  some- 
what altered  circumstances,  in  the  new  home.  That  explains,  in  part, 
at  any  rate,  the  fact  that  migration  tends  to  follow  the  isotherms, 
since  all  the  more  fundamental  cultural  devices  and  experience  are 
likely  to  be  accommodations  to  geographical  and  climatic  conditions. 

In  contrast  with  migrations  are  movements  which  are  sometimes 
referred  to  as  crusades,  partly  because  of  the  religious  fervor  and 
fanaticism  with  which  they  are  usually  conducted  and  partly  because 
they  are  an  appeal  to  the  masses  of  the  people  for  direct  action  and 
depend  for  their  success  upon  their  ability  to  appeal  to  some  universal 
human  interest  or  to  common  experiences  and  interests  that  are 
keenly  comprehended  by  the  common  man. 

The  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Crusade,  referred  to  in  the 
materials,  may  be  regarded,  if  we  are  permitted  to  compare  great 
things  with  small,  as  an  illustration  of  collective  behavior  not  unlike 
the  crusades  of  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries. 

Crusades  are  reformatory  and  religious.  This  was  true  at  any 
rate  of  the  early  crusades,  inspired  by  Peter  the  Hermit,  whatever 
may  have  been  the  political  purposes  of  the  popes  who  encouraged 


878          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

them.  It  was  the  same  motive  that  led  the  people  of  the  Middle 
Ages  to  make  pilgrimages  which  led  them  to  join  the  crusades.  At 
bottom  it  was  an  inner  restlessness,  that  sought  peace  in  great  hard- 
ship and  inspiring  action,  which  moved  the  masses. 

Somewhat  the  same  widespread  contagious  restlessness  is  the 
source  of  most  of  our  revolutions.  It  is  not,  however,  hardships  and 
actual  distress  that  inspire  revolutions  but  hopes  and  dreams,  dreams 
which  find  expression  in  those  myths  and  "vital  lies,"  as  Vernon  Lee 
calls  them,1  which  according  to  Sorel  are  the  only  means  of  moving 
the  masses. 

The  distinction  between  crusades,  like  the  Woman's  Temperance 
Crusade,  and  revolutions,  like  the  French  Revolution,  is  that  one  is  a 
radical  attempt  to  correct  a  recognized  evil  and  the  other  is  a  radical 
attempt  to  reform  an  existing  social  order. 

H.    MATERIALS 

A.      SOCIAL   CONTAGION 
x.     An  Incident  in  a  Lancashire  Cotton  Mill3 

At  a  cotton  manufactory  at  Hodden  Bridge,  in  Lancashire,  a  girl, 
on  the  fifteenth  of  February,  1787,  put  a  mouse  into  the  bosom  of 
another  girl,  who  had  a  great  dread  of  mice.  The  girl  was  immediately 
thrown  into  a  fit,  and  continued  in  it  with  the  most  violent  convul- 
sions for  twenty-four  hours.  On  the  following  day  three  more  girls 
were  seized  in  the  same  manner;  and  on  the  seventeenth,  six  more. 
By  this  time  the  alarm  was  so  great  that  the  whole  work,  in  which 
200  or  300  were  employed,  was  totally  stopped,  and  an  idea  prevailed 
that  a  particular  disease  had  been  introduced  by  a  bag  of  cotton 
opened  in  the  house.  On  Sunday,  the  eighteenth,  Dr.  St.  Clare  was 
sent  for  from  Preston;  before  he  arrived  three  more  were  seized, 
and  during  that  night  and  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth,  eleven  more, 
making  in  all  twenty-four.  Of  these,  twenty-one  were  young  women, 
two  were  girls  of  about  ten  years  of  age,  and  one  man,  who  had  been 
much  fatigued  with  holding  the  girls.  Three  of  the  number  lived 

1  Vernon  Lee  [pseud.],  Vital  Lies.  Studies  of  some  varieties  of  recent 
obscurantism.  (London,  1912.) 

3  Taken  from  Gentleman's  Magazine,  March,  1787,  p.  268. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  879 

about  two  miles  from  the  place  where  the  disorder  first  broke  out, 
and  three  at  another  factory  in  Clitheroe,  about  five  miles  distant, 
which  last  and  two  more  were  infected  entirely  from  report,  not 
having  seen  the  other  patients,  but,  like  them  and  the  rest  of  the 
country,  strongly  impressed  with  the  idea  of  the  plague  being  caught 
from  the  cotton.  The  symptoms  were  anxiety,  strangulation,  and 
very  strong  convulsions;  and  these  were  so  violent  as  to  last  without 
any  intermission  from  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  twenty-four  hours, 
and  to  require  four  or  five  persons  to  prevent  the  patients  from 
tearing  their  hair  and  dashing  their  heads  against  the  floor  or  walls. 
Dr.  St.  Clare  had  taken  with  him  a  portable  electrical  machine,  and 
by  electric  shocks  the  patients  were  universally  relieved  without 
exception.  As  soon  as  the  patients  and  the  country  were  assured 
that  the  complaint  was  merely  nervous,  easily  cured,  and  not  intro- 
duced by  the  cotton,  no  fresh  person  was  affected.  To  dissipate 
their  apprehension  still  further,  the  best  effects  were  obtained  by 
causing  them  to  take  a  cheerful  glass  and  join  in  a  dance.  On  Tuesday, 
the  twentieth,  they  danced,  and  the  next  day  were  all  at  work,  except 
two  or  three,  who  were  much  weakened  by  their  fits. 

2.     The  Dancing  Mania  of  the  Middle  Ages1 

So  early  as  the  year  1374,  assemblages  of  men  and  women  were 
seen  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  who  had  come  out  of  Germany  and  who, 
united  by  one  common  delusion,  exhibited  to  the  public  both  in  the 
streets  and  in  the  churches  the  following  strange  spectacle.  They 
formed  circles  hand  in  hand  and,  appearing  to  have  lost  all  control 
over  their  senses,  continued  dancing,  regardless  of  the  by-standers, 
for  hours  together  in  wild  delirium,  until  at  length  they  fell  to  the 
ground  in  a  state  of  exhaustion.  While  dancing  they  neither  saw 
nor  heard,  being  insensible  to  external  impressions  through  the 
senses,  but  were  haunted  by  visions,  their  fancies  conjuring  up 
spirits  whose  names  they  shrieked  out;  and  some  of  them  afterward 
asserted  that  they  felt  as  if  they  had  been  immersed  in  a  stream  of 
blood,  which  obliged  them  to  leap  so  high.  Others,  during  the 
paroxysm,  saw  the  heavens  open  and  the  Saviour  enthroned  with 

1  Adapted  from  J.  F.  C.  Hecker,  The  Black  Death,  and  the  Dancing  Mania, 
pp.  106-11.  (Cassell  &  Co.,  1888.) 


88o          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  Virgin  Mary,  according  as  the  religious  notions  of  the  age  were 
strangely  and  variously  reflected  in  their  imaginations. 

Where  the  disease  was  completely  developed,  the  attack  com- 
menced with  epileptic  convulsions.  Those  affected  fell  to  the  ground 
senseless,  panting  and  laboring  for  breath.  They  foamed  at  the 
mouth,  and  suddenly  springing  up  began  their  dance  amid  strange 
contortions.  Yet  the  malady  doubtless  made  its  appearance  very 
variously,  and  was  modified  by  temporary  or  local  circumstances, 
whereof  non-medical  contemporaries  but  imperfectly  noted  the 
essential  particulars,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  confound  their 
observation  of  natural  events  with  their  notions  of  the  world  of 
spirits. 

It  was  but  a  few  months  ere  this  demoniacal  disease  had  spread 
from  Aix-la-Chapelle,  where  it  appeared  in  July,  over  the  neighboring 
Netherlands.  Wherever  the  dancers  appeared,  the  people  assembled 
in  crowds  to  gratify  their  curiosity  with  the  frightful  spectacle.  At 
length  the  increasing  number  of  the  affected  excited  no  less  anxiety 
than  the  attention  that  was  paid  to  them.  In  towns  and  villages 
they  took  possession  of  the  religious  houses,  processions  were  every- 
where instituted  on  their  account,  and  masses  were  said  and  hymns 
were  sung,  while  the  disease  itself,  of  the  demoniacal  origin  of  which 
no  one  entertained  the  least  doubt,  excited  everywhere  astonishment 
and  horror.  In  Liege  the  priests  had  recourse  to  exorcisms  and 
endeavored  by  every  means  in  their  power  to  allay  an  evil  which 
threatened  so  much  danger  to  themselves;  for  the  possessed,  assem- 
bling in  multitudes,  frequently  poured  forth  imprecations  against 
them  and  menaced  their  destruction. 

A  few  months  after  this  dancing  malady  had  made  its  appearance 
at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  it  broke  out  at  Cologne,  where  the  number  of 
those  possessed  amounted  to  more  than  five  hundred;  and  about  the 
same  time  at  Metz,  the  streets  of  which  place  are  said  to  have  been 
filled  with  eleven  hundred  dancers.  Peasants  left  their  plows, 
mechanics  their  workshops,  housewives  their  domestic  duties,  to 
join  the  wild  revels,  and  this  rich  commercial  city  became  the  scene 
of  the  most  ruinous  disorder.  Secret  desires  were  excited  and  but 
too  often  found  opportunities  for  wild  enjoyment;  and  numerous 
beggars,  stimulated  by  vice  and  misery,  availed  themselves  of  this 
new  complaint  to  gain  a  temporary  livelihood.  Girls  and  boys 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  88 1 

quitted  their  parents,  and  servants  their  masters,  to  amuse  them- 
selves at  the  dances  of  those  possessed,  and  greedily  imbibed  the  poison 
of  mental  infection.  Above  a  hundred  unmarried  women  were  seen 
raving  about  in  consecrated  and  unconsecrated  places,  and  the 
consequences  were  soon  perceived.  Gangs  of  idle  vagabonds,  who 
understood  how  to  imitate  to  the  life  the  gestures  and  convulsions 
of  those  really  affected,  roved  from  place  to  place  seeking  mainte- 
nance and  adventures,  and  thus,  wherever  they  went,  spreading  this 
disgusting  spasmodic  disease  like  a  plague;  for  in  maladies  of  this 
kind  the  susceptible  are  infected  as  easily  by  the  appearance  as  by 
the  reality.  At  last  it  was  found  necessary  to  drive  away  these 
mischievous  guests,  who  were  equally  inaccessible  to  the  exorcisms 
of  the  priests  and  the  remedies  of  the  physicians.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, until  after  four  months  that  the  Rhenish  cities  were  able  to 
suppress  these  impostures,  which  had  so  alarmingly  increased  the 
original  evil.  In  the  meantime,  when  once  called  into  existence,  the 
plague  crept  on  and  found  abundant  food  in  the  tone  of  thought  which 
prevailed  in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  and  even,  though 
in  a  minor  degree,  throughout  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth,  causing 
a  permanent  disorder  of  the  mind,  and  exhibiting,  in  those  cities  to 
whose  inhabitants  it  was  a  novelty,  scenes  as  strange  as  they  were 
detestable. 

B.      THE   CROWD 
I.    The  "Animal"  Crowd 

a.     The  Flock1 

Understand  that  a  flock  is  not  the  same  thing  as  a  number  of 
sheep.  On  the  stark,  wild  headlands  of  the  White  Mountains,  as 
many  as  thirty  Bighorn  are  known  to  run  in  loose,  fluctuating  hordes; 
in  fenced  pastures,  two  to  three  hundred;  close-herded  on  the  range, 
two  to  three  thousand;  but  however  artificially  augmented,  the  flock 
is  always  a  conscious  adjustment.  There  are  always  leaders,  middlers, 
and  tailers,  each  insisting  on  its  own  place  in  the  order  of  going. 
Should  the  flock  be  rounded  up  suddenly  in  alarm  it  mills  within 
itself  until  these  have  come  to  their  own  places. 

There  is  much  debate  between  herders  as  to  the  advantage  of 
goats  over  sheep  as  leaders.  In  any  case  there  are  always  a  few  goats 

1  From  Mary  Austin,  The  Flock,  pp.  110-29.     (Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  1906.) 


882  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

in  a  flock,  and  most  American  owners  prefer  them;  but  the  Frenchmen 
choose  bell-wethers.  Goats  lead  naturally  by  reason  of  a  quicker 
instinct,  forage  more  freely,  and  can  find  water  on  their  own  account. 
But  wethers,  if  trained  with  care,  learn  what  goats  abhor,  to  take 
broken  ground  sedately,  to  walk  through  the  water  rather  than  set 
the  whole  flock  leaping  and  scrambling;  but  never  to  give  voice  to 
alarm,  as  goats  will,  and  call  the  herder. 

It  appears  that  leaders  understand  their  office,  and  goats  particu- 
larly exhibit  a  jealousy  of  their  rights  to  be  first  over  the  stepping- 
stones  or  to  walk  the  teetering  log-bridges  at  the  roaring  creeks. 
By  this  facile  reference  of  the  initiative  to  the  wisest  one,  the  shepherd 
is  served  most.  The  dogs  learn  to  which  of  the  flock  to  communicate 
orders,  at  which  heels  a  bark  or  a  bite  soonest  sets  the  flock  in  motion. 
But  the  flock-mind  obsesses  equally  the  best-trained,  flashes  as 
instantly  from  the  meanest  of  the  flock. 

By  very  little  the  herder  may  turn  the  flock-mind  to  his  advantage, 
but  chiefly  it  works  against  him.  Suppose  on  the  open  range  the 
impulse  to  forward  movement  overtakes  them,  set  in  motion  by  some 
eager  leaders  that  remember  enough  of  what  lies  ahead  to  make  them 
oblivious  to  what  they  pass.  They  press  ahead.  The  flock  draws  on. 
The  momentum  of  travel  grows.  The  bells  clang  soft  and  hurriedly; 
the  sheep  forget  to  feed;  they  neglect  the  tender  pastures;  they  will 
not  stay  to  drink.  Under  an  unwise  or  indolent  herder  the  sheep 
going  on  an  unaccustomed  trail  will  overtravel  and  underfeed,  until 
in  the  midst  of  good  pasture  they  starve  upon  their  feet.  So  it  is  on 
the  Long  Trail  you  so  often  see  the  herder  walking  with  his  dogs 
ahead  of  his  sheep  to  hold  them  back  to  feed.  But  if  it  should  be 
new  ground  he  must  go  after  and  press  them  skilfully,  for  the  flock- 
mind  balks  chiefly  at  the  unknown. 

In  sudden  attacks  from  several  quarters,  or  inexplicable  man- 
thwarting  of  their  instincts,  the  flock-mind  teaches  them  to  turn  a 
solid  front,  revolving  about  in  the  smallest  compass  with  the  lambs  in 
their  midst,  narrowing  and  indrawing  until  they  perish  by  suffocation. 
So  they  did  in  the  intricate  defiles  of  Red  Rock,  where  Carrier  lost 
250  in  '74,  and  at  Poison  Springs,  as  Narcisse  Duplin  told  me,  where 
he  had  to  choose  between  leaving  them  to  the  deadly  waters,  or, 
prevented  from  the  spring,  made  witless  by  thirst,  to  mill  about  until 
they  piled  up  and  killed  threescore  in  their  midst.  By  no  urgency 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  883 

of  the  dogs  could  they  be  moved  forward  or  scattered  until  night  fell 
with  coolness  and  returning  sanity.  Nor  does  the  imperfect  gre- 
gariousness  of  man  always  save  us  from  ill-considered  rushes  or 
strangulous  in-turnings  of  the  social  mass.  Notwithstanding  there 
are  those  who  would  have  us  to  be  flock-minded. 

It  is  doubtful  if  the  herder  is  anything  more  to  the  flock  than  an 
incident  of  the  range,  except  as  a  giver  of  salt,  for  the  only  cry  they 
make  to  him  is  the  salt  cry.  When  the  natural  craving  is  at  the 
point  of  urgency,  they  circle  about  his  camp  or  his  cabin,  leaving  off 
feeding  for  that  business;  and  nothing  else  offering,  they  will  continue 
this  headlong  circling  about  a  bowlder  or  any  object  bulking  large 
in  their  immediate  neighborhood  remotely  resembling  the  appurte- 
nances of  man,  as  if  they  had  learned  nothing  since  they  were  free 
to  find  licks  for  themselves,  except  that  salt  comes  by  bestowal  and 
in  conjunction  with  the  vaguely  indeterminate  lumps  of  matter  that 
associate  with  man.  As  if  in  fifty  centuries  of  man-herding  they 
had  made  but  one  step  out  of  the  terrible  isolation  of  brute  species, 
an  isolation  impenetrable  except  by  fear  to  every  other  brute,  but 
now  admitting  the  fact  without  knowledge,  of  the  God  of  the  Salt. 
Accustomed  to  receiving  this  miracle  on  open  bowlders,  when  the 
craving  is  strong  upon  them,  they  seek  such  as  these  to  run  about, 
vociferating,  as  if  they  said,  In  such  a  place  our  God  has  been  wont 
to  bless  us,  come  now,  let  us  greatly  entreat  Him.  This  one  quavering 
bleat,  unmistakable  to  the  sheepman  even  at  a  distance,  is  the  only 
new  note  in  the  sheep's  vocabulary,  and  the  only  one  which  passes 
with  intention  from  himself  to  man.  As  for  the  call  of  distress  which 
a  leader  raised  by  hand  may  make  to  his  master,  it  is  not  new,  is  not 
common  to  flock  usage,  and  is  swamped  utterly  in  the  obsession  of 
the  flock-mind. 

b.     The  Herd1 

My  purpose  in  this  paper  is  to  discuss  a  group  of  curious  and 
useless  emotional  instincts  of  social  animals,  which  have  not  yet 
been  properly  explained.  Excepting  two  of  the  number,  placed  first 
and  last  in  the  list,  they  are  not  related  in  their  origin;  consequently 
they  are  here  grouped  together  arbitrarily,  only  for  the  reason  that 

'From  W.  H.  Hudson,  "The  Strange  Instincts  of  Cattle,"  in  Longman's 
Magazine,  XVIII  (1891),  389-91. 


884          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

we  are  very  familiar  with  them  on  account  of  their  survival  in  our 
domestic  animals,  and  because  they  are,  as  I  have  said,  useless;  also 
because  they  resemble  each  other,  among  the  passions  and  actions  of 
the  lower  animals,  in  their  effect  on  our  minds.  This  is  in  all  cases 
unpleasant,  and  sometimes  exceedingly  painful,  as  when  species  that 
rank  next  to  ourselves  in  their  developed  intelligence  and  organized 
societies,  such  as  elephants,  monkeys,  dogs,  and  cattle,  are  seen  under 
the  domination  of  impulses,  in  some  cases  resembling  insanity,  and 
in  others  simulating  the  darkest  passions  of  man. 
These  instincts  are: 

(1)  The  excitement  caused  by  the  smell  of  blood,  noticeable  in 
horses  and  cattle  among  our  domestic  animals,  and  varying  greatly 
in  degree,  from  an  emotion  so  slight  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible  to 
the  greatest  extremes  of  rage  or  terror. 

(2)  The  angry  excitement  roused  in  some  animals  when  a  scarlet 
or  bright  red  cloth  is  shown  to  them.     So  well  known  is  this  appar- 
ently insane  instinct  in  our  cattle  that  it  has  given  rise  to  a  proverb 
and  metaphor  familiar  in  a  variety  of  forms  to  everyone. 

(3)  The  persecution  of  a  sick  or  weakly  animal  by  its  companions. 

(4)  The  sudden  deadly  fury  that  seizes  on  the  herd  or  family  at 
the  sight  of  a  companion  in  extreme  distress.    Herbivorous  mammals 
at  such  times  will  trample  and  gore  the  distressed  one  to  death.    In 
the  case  of  wolves,  and  other  savage-tempered  carnivorous  species, 
the  distressed  fellow  is  frequently  torn  to  pieces  and  devoured  on 
the  spot. 

To  take  the  first  two  together.  When  we  consider  that  blood  is 
red;  that  the  smell  of  it  is,  or  may  be,  or  has  been,  associated  with 
that  vivid  hue  in  the  animal's  mind;  that  blood,  seen  and  smelt,  is, 
or  has  been,  associated  with  the  sight  of  wounds  and  with  cries  of 
pain  and  rage  or  terror  from  the  wounded  or  captive  animal,  there 
appears  at  first  sight  to  be  some  reason  for  connecting  these  two 
instinctive  passions  as  having  the  same  origin — namely,  terror  and 
rage  caused  by  the  sight  of  a  member  of  the  herd  struck  down  and 
bleeding,  or  struggling  for  life  in  the  grasp  of  an  enemy.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  such  an  image  is  actually  present  in  the  animal's 
mind,  but  that  the  inherited  or  instinctive  passion  is  one  in  kind  and 
in  its  working  with  the  passion  of  the  animal  when  experience  and 
reason  were  its  guides. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  885 

But  the  more  I  consider  the  point,  the  more  am  I  inclined  to 
regard  these  two  instincts  as  separate  in  their  origin,  although  I  retain 
the  belief  that  cattle  and  horses  and  several  wild  animals  are  violently 
excited  by  the  smell  of  blood  for  the  reason  just  given — namely,  their 
inherited  memory  associates  the  smell  of  blood  with  the  presence 
among  them  of  some  powerful  enemy  that  threatens  their  life. 

The  following  incident  will  show  how  violently  this  blood  passion 
sometimes  affects  cattle,  when  they  are  permitted  to  exist  in  a  half- 
wild  condition,  as  on  the  Pampas.  I  was  out  with  my  gun  one  day, 
a  few  miles  from  home,  when  I  came  across  a  patch  on  the  ground 
where  the  grass  was  pressed  or  trodden  down  and  stained  with  blood. 
I  concluded  that  some  thievish  Gauchos  had  slaughtered  a  fat  cow 
there  on  the  previous  night,  and,  to  avoid  detection,  had  somehow 
managed  to  carry  the  whole  of  it  away  on  their  horses.  As  I  walked 
on,  a  herd  of  cattle,  numbering  about  three  hundred,  appeared  moving 
slowly  on  to  a  small  stream  a  mile  away;  they  were  traveling  in  a 
thin,  long  line,  and  would  pass  the  blood-stained  spot  at  a  distance 
of  seven  to  eight  hundred  yards,  but  the  wind  from  it  would  blow 
across  their  track.  When  the  tainted  wind  struck  the  leaders  of  the 
herd  they  instantly  stood  still,  raising  their  heads,  then  broke  out 
into  loud,  excited  bellowings;  and  finally  turning,  they  started  off  at 
a  fast  trot,  following  up  the  scent  in  a  straight  line,  until  they  arrived 
at  the  place  where  one  of  their  kind  had  met  its  death.  The  contagion 
spread,  and  before  long  all  the  cattle  were  congregated  on  the  fatal 
spot,  and  began  moving  round  in  a  dense  mass,  bellowing  continually. 

It  may  be  remarked  here  that  the  animal  has  a  peculiar  language 
on  occasions  like  this;  it  emits  a  succession  of  short,  bellowing  cries, 
like  excited  exclamations,  followed  by  a  very  loud  cry,  alternately 
sinking  into  a  hoarse  murmur  and  rising  to  a  kind  of  scream  that 
grates  harshly  on  the  sense.  Of  the  ordinary  "cow-music"  I  am  a 
great  admirer,  and  take  as  much  pleasure  in  it  as  in  the  cries  and 
melody  of  birds  and  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  trees ;  but  this  perform- 
ance of  cattle  excited  by  the  smell  of  blood  is  most  distressing  to  hear. 

The  animals  that  had  forced  their  way  into  the  center  of  the 
mass  to  the  spot  where  the  blood  was,  pawed  the  earth,  and  dug  it 
up  with  their  horns,  and  trampled  each  other  down  in  their  frantic 
excitement.  It  was  terrible  to  see  and  hear  them.  The  action  of 
those  on  the  border  of  the  living  mass,  in  perpetually  moving  round 


886          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

in  a  circle  with  dolorous  bellowings,  was  like  that  of  the  women  in 
an  Indian  village  when  a  warrior  dies,  and  all  night  they  shriek  and 
howl  with  simulated  grief,  going  round  and  round  the  dead  man's  hut 
in  an  endless  procession. 

c.    The  Pack1 

Wolves  are  the  most  sociable  of  beasts  of  prey.  Not  only  do 
they  gather  in  bands,  but  they  arrange  to  render  each  other  assistance, 
which  is  the  most  important  test  of  sociability.  The  most  gray 
wolves  I  ever  saw  in  a  band  was  five.  This  was  in  northern  New 
Mexico  in  January,  1894.  The  most  I  ever  heard  of  in  a  band  was 
thirty-two  that  were  seen  in  the  same  region.  These  bands  are 
apparently  formed  in  winter  only.  The  packs  are  probably  temporary 
associations  of  personal  acquaintances,  for  some  temporary  purpose, 
or  passing  reason,  such  as  food  question  or  mating-instinct.  As  soon 
as  this  is  settled,  they  scatter. 

An  instance  in  point  was  related  to  me  by  Mr.  Gordon  Wright  of 
Carberry,  Manitoba.  During  the  winter  of  1865  he  was  logging  at 
Sturgeon  Lake,  Ontario.  One  Sunday  he  and  some  companions 
strolled  out  on  the  ice  of  the  lake  to  look  at  the  logs  there.  They 
heard  the  hunting-cry  of  wolves,  then  a  deer  (a  female)  darted  from 
the  woods  to  the  open  ice.  Her  sides  were  heaving,  her  tongue  out, 
and  her  legs  cut  by  the  slight  crust  of  the  snow.  Evidently  she  was 
hard  pressed.  She  was  coming  toward  them,  but  one  of  the  men 
gave  a  shout  which  caused  her  to  sheer  off.  A  minute  later  six  timber 
wolves  appeared  galloping  on  her  trail,  heads  low,  tails  horizontal,  and 
howling  continuously.  They  were  uttering  their  hunting-cry,  but  as 
soon  as  they  saw  her  they  broke  into  a  louder,  different  note,  left  the 
trail  and  made  straight  for  her.  Five  of  the  wolves  were  abreast 
and  one  that  seemed  much  darker  was  behind.  Within  half  a  mile 
they  overtook  her  and  pulled  her  down,  all  seemed  to  seize  her  at  once. 
For  a  few  minutes  she  bleated  like  a  sheep  in  distress;  after  that  the 
only  sound  was  the  snarling  and  the  crunching  of  the  wolves  as  they 
feasted.  Within  fifteen  minutes  nothing  was  left  of  the  deer  but  hair 
and  some  of  the  larger  bones,  and  the  wolves  fighting  among  them- 
selves for  even  these.  Then  they  scattered,  each  going  a  quarter  of  a 

1  From  Ernest  Thompson  Seton,  "The  Habits  of  Wolves,"  in  The  American 
Magazine,  LXIV  (1907),  636. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  887 

mile  or  so,  no  two  in  the  same  direction,  and  those  that  remained  in 
view  curled  up  there  on  the  open  lake  to  sleep.  This  happened  about 
ten  in  the  morning  within  three  hundred  yards  of  several  witnesses. 

2.     The  Psychological  Crowd1 

In  its  ordinary  sense  the  word  "crowd"  means  a  gathering  of 
individuals  of  whatever  nationality,  profession,  or  sex,  and  whatever 
be  the  chances  that  have  brought  them  together.  From  the  psy- 
chological point  of  view  the  expression  "crowd"  assumes  quite  a 
different  signification.  Under  certain  given  circumstances,  and  only 
under  those  circumstances,  an  agglomeration  of  men  presents  new 
characteristics  very  different  from  those  of  the  individuals  composing 
it.  The  sentiments  and  ideas  of  all  the  persons  in  the  gathering  take 
one  and  the  same  direction,  and  their  conscious  personality  vanishes. 
A  collective  mind  is  formed,  doubtless  transitory,  but  presenting  very 
clearly  defined  characteristics.  The  gathering  has  thus  become  what, 
hi  the  absence  of  a  better  expression,  I  will  call  an  organized  crowd, 
or,  if  the  term  is  considered  preferable,  a  psychological  crowd.  It 
forms  a  single  being,  and  is  subjected  to  the  law  of  the  mental  unity  of 
crowds. 

It  is  evident  that  it  is  not  by  the  mere  fact  of  a  number  of  indi- 
viduals finding  themselves  accidentally  side  by  side  that  they  acquire 
the  character  of  an  organized  crowd.  A  thousand  individuals  acci- 
dentally gathered  in  a  public  place  without  any  determined  object 
in  no  way  constitute  a  crowd,  from  the  psychological  point  of  view. 
To  acquire  the  special  characteristics  of  such  a  crowd,  the  influence 
is  necessary  of  certain  predisposing  causes,  of  which  we  shall  have  to 
determine  the  nature. 

The  disappearance  of  conscious  personality  and  the  turning  of 
feelings  and  thoughts  in  a  definite  direction,  which  are  the  primary 
characteristics  of  a  crowd  about  to  become  organized,  do  not  always 
involve  the  simultaneous  presence  of  a  number  of  individuals  on  one 
spot.  Thousands  of  isolated  individuals  may  acquire  at  certain 
moments,  and  under  the  influence  of  certain  violent  emotions- 
such,  for  example,  as  a  great  national  event — the  characteristics  of  a 
psychological  crowd.  It  will  be  sufficient  hi  that  case  that  a  mere 

1  Adapted  from  Gustave  Le  Bon,  The  Crowd,  pp.  1-14.  (T.  Fisher  Unwin, 
1897.) 


888  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

chance  should  bring  them  together  for  their  acts  at  once  to  assume  the 
characteristics  peculiar  to  the  acts  of  a  crowd.  At  certain  moments 
half  a  dozen  men  might  constitute  a  psychological  crowd,  which  may 
not  happen  in  the  case  of  hundreds  of  men  gathered  together  by 
accident.  On  the  other  hand,  an  entire  nation,  though  there  may  be 
no  visible  agglomeration,  may  become  a  crowd  under  the  action  of 
certain  influences. 

It  is  not  easy  to  describe  the  mind  of  crowds  with  exactness, 
because  its  organization  varies  not  only  according  to  race  and  com- 
position but  also  according  to  the  nature  and  intensity  of  the  exciting 
causes  to  which  crowds  are  subjected.  The  same  difficulty,  however, 
presents  itself  in  the  psychological  study  of  an  individual.  It  is  only 
in  novels  that  individuals  are  found  to  traverse  their  whole  life  with 
an  unvarying  character.  It  is  only  the  uniformity  of  the  environment 
that  creates  the  apparent  uniformity  of  characters.  I  have  shown 
elsewhere  that  all  mental  constitutions  contain  possibilities  of  charac- 
ter which  may  be  manifested  in  consequence  of  a  sudden  change  of 
environment.  This  explains  how  it  was  that  among  the  most  savage 
members  of  the  French  Convention  were  to  be  found  inoffensive 
citizens  who,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  have  been  peace- 
able notaries  or  virtuous  magistrates.  The  storm  past,  they  resumed 
their  normal  character  of  quiet,  law-abiding  citizens.  Napoleon 
found  amongst  them  his  most  docile  servants. 

It  being  impossible  to  study  here  all  the  successive  degrees  of 
organization  of  crowds,  we  shall  concern  ourselves  more  especially 
with  such  crowds  as  have  attained  to  the  phase  of  complete  organi- 
zation. In  this  way  we  shall  see  what  crowds  may  become,  but  not 
what  they  invariably  are.  It  is  only  in  this  advanced  phase  of 
organization  that  certain  new  and  special  characteristics  are  super- 
posed on  the  unvarying  and  dominant  character  of  the  race;  then 
takes  place  that  turning,  already  alluded  to,  of  all  the  feelings  and 
thoughts  of  the  collectivity  in  an  identical  direction.  It  is  only 
under  such  circumstances,  too,  that  what  I  have  called  above  the 
psychological  law  of  the  mental  unity  of  crowds  comes  into  play. 

The  most  striking  peculiarity  presented  by  a  psychological 
crowd  is  the  following:  Whoever  be  the  individuals  that  compose  it, 
however  like  or  unlike  be  their  mode  of  life,  their  occupations,  their 
character,  or  their  intelligence,  the  fact  that  they  hare  been  trans- 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  889 

formed  into  a  crowd  puts  them  in  possession  of  a  sort  of  collective 
mind  which  makes  them  feel,  think,  and  act  in  a  manner  quite  different 
from  that  in  which  each  individual  of  them  would  feel,  think,  and  act, 
were  he  in  a  state  of  isolation.  There  are  certain  ideas  and  feelings 
which  do  not  come  into  being  or  do  not  transform  themselves  into 
acts  except  in  the  case  of  individuals  forming  a  crowd.  The  psy- 
chological crowd  is  a  provisional  being  formed  of  heterogeneous 
elements,  which  for  a  moment  are  combined,  exactly  as  the  cells  which 
constitute  a  living  body  form  by  their  reunion  a  new  being  which 
displays  characteristics  very  different  from  those  possessed  by  each 
of  the  cells  singly. 

Contrary  to  an  opinion  which  one  is  astonished  to  find  coming 
from  the  pen  of  so  acute  a  philosopher  as  Herbert  Spencer,  in  the 
aggregate  which  constitutes  a  crowd  there  is  in  no  sort  a  summing-up 
of  or  an  average  struck  between  its  elements.  What  really  takes 
place  is  a  combination  followed  by  the  creation  of  new  characteristics, 
just  as  in  chemistry  certain  elements,  when  brought  into  contact — 
bases  and  acids,  for  example — combine  to  form  a  new  body  possessing 
properties  quite  different  from  those  of  the  bodies  that  have  served 
to  form  it. 

It  is  easy  to  prove  how  much  the  individual  forming  part  of  a 
crowd  differs  from  the  isolated  individual,  but  it  is  less  easy  to  dis- 
cover the  causes  of  this  difference.  To  obtain,  at  any  rate,  a  glimpse 
of  them  it  is  necessary  in  the  first  place  to  call  to  mind  the  truth 
established  by  modern  psychology  that  unconscious  phenomena 
play  an  altogether  preponderating  part  not  only  in  organic  life  but 
also  in  the  operations  of  the  intelligence.  The  conscious  life  of  the 
mind  is  of  small  importance  in  comparison  with  its  unconscious  life. 
The  most  subtle  analyst,  the  most  acute  observer,  is  scarcely  suc- 
cessful in  discovering  more  than  a  very  small  number  of  the  uncon- 
scious motives  that  determine  his  conduct. 

The  greater  part  of  our  daily  actions  are  the  result  of  hidden 
motives  which  escape  our  observation.  It  is  more  especially  with 
respect  to  those  unconscious  elements  that  all  the  individuals  belong- 
ing to  it  resemble  each  other,  while  it  is  principally  in  respect  to  the 
conscious  elements  of  their  character — the  fruit  of  education,  and 
yet  more  of  exceptional  hereditary  conditions — that  they  differ  from 
each  other.  Men  most  unlike  in  the  matter  of  their  intelligence 


8po          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

possess  instincts,  passions,  and  feelings  that  are  very  similar.  In  the 
case  of  everything  that  belongs  to  the  realm  of  sentiment — religion, 
politics,  morality,  the  affections  and  antipathies,  etc. — the  most 
eminent  men  seldom  surpass  the  standard  of  the  most  ordinary 
individuals.  From  the  intellectual  point  of  view  an  abyss  may  exist 
between  a  great  mathematician  and  his  bootmaker,  but  from  the 
point  of  view  of  character  the  difference  is  most  often  slight  or  non- 
existent. 

It  is  precisely  these  general  qualities  of  character,  governed  by 
forces  of  which  we  are  unconscious,  and  possessed  by  the  majority 
of  the  normal  individuals  of  a  race  in  much  the  same  degree,  it  is 
precisely  these  qualities  that  in  crowds  become  common  property. 
In  the  collective  mind  the  intellectual  aptitudes  of  the  individuals, 
and  in  consequence  their  individuality,  are  weakened.  The  heteroge- 
neous is  swamped  by  the  homogeneous,  and  the  unconscious  qualities 
obtain  the  upper  hand. 

This  very  fact  that  crowds  possess  in  common  ordinary  qualities 
explains  why  they  can  never  accomplish  acts  demanding  a  high 
degree  of  intelligence.  The  decisions  affecting  matters  of  general 
interest  come  to  by  an  assembly  of  men  of  distinction,  but  specialists 
in  different  walks  of  life,  are  not  sensibly  superior  to  the  decisions 
that  would  be  adopted  by  a  gathering  of  imbeciles.  The  truth  is, 
they  can  only  bring  to  bear  in  common  on  the  work  in  hand  those 
mediocre  qualities  which  are  the  birthright  of  every  average  indi- 
vidual. In  crowds  it  is  stupidity  and  not  mother-wit  that  is  accumu- 
lated. It  is  not  all  the  world,  as  is  so  often  repeated,  that  has  more 
wit  than  Voltaire,  but  assuredly  Vo]*aire  that  has  more  wit  than 
all  the  world,  if  by  "ail  the  world"  crowds  are  to  be  understood. 

If  the  individuals  of  a  crowd  confined  themselves  to  putting  in 
common  the  ordinary  qualities  of  which  each  of  them  has  his  share, 
there  would  merely  result  the  striking  of  an  average,  and  not,  as  we 
have  said  is  actually  the  case,  the  creation  of  new  characteristics. 
How  is  it  that  these  new  characteristics  are  created  ?  This  is  what 
we  are  now  to  investigate. 

Different  causes  determine  the  appearance  of  these  characteristics 
peculiar  to  crowds  and  not  possessed  by  isolated  individuals.  The 
first  is  that  the  individual  forming  part  of  a  crowd  acquires,  solely 
from  numerical  considerations,  a  sentiment  of  invincible  power  which 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  891 

allows  him  to  yield  to  instincts  which,  had  he  been  alone,  he  would 
perforce  have  kept  under  restraint.  He  will  be  the  less  disposed  to 
check  himself  from  the  consideration  that,  a  crowd  being  anonymous 
and  in  consequence  irresponsible,  the  sentiment  of  responsibility 
which  always  controls  individuals  disappears  entirely. 

The  second  cause,  which  is  contagion,  also  intervenes  to  deter- 
mine the  manifestation  in  crowds  of  their  special  characteristics, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  trend  they  are  to  take.  Contagion  is  a 
phenomenon  of  which  it  is  easy  to  establish  the  presence,  but  which 
it  is  not  easy  to  explain.  It  must  be  classed  among  those  phenomena 
of  a  hypnotic  order.  In  a  crowd  every  sentiment  and  act  is  conta- 
gious, and  contagious  to  such  a  degree  that  an  individual  readily 
sacrifices  his  personal  interest  to  the  collective  interest.  This  is  an 
aptitude  very  contrary  to  his  nature,  and  of  which  a  man  is  scarcely 
capable  except  when  he  makes  part  of  a  crowd. 

A  third  cause,  and  by  far  the  most  important,  determines  in  the 
individuals  of  a  crowd  special  characteristics  which  are  quite  contrary 
at  times  to  those  presented  by  the  isolated  individual.  I  allude  to 
that  suggestibility  of  which,  moreover,  the  contagion  mentioned 
above  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  effect. 

The  most  careful  observations  seem  to  prove  that  an  individual 
immerged  for  some  length  of  time  in  a  crowd  in  action  soon  finds 
himself — either  in  consequence  of  the  magnetic  influence  given  out 
by  the  crowd  or  from  some  other  cause  of  which  we  are  ignorant — 
in  a  special  state,  which  much  resembles  the  state  of  fascination  in 
which  the  hypnotized  individual  finds  himself  in  the  hands  of  the 
hypnotizer. 

Such  also  is  approximately  the  state  of  the  individual  forming 
part  of  a  psychological  crowd.  He  is  no  longer  conscious  of  his  acts. 
In  his  case,  as  in  the  case  of  the  hypnotized  subject,  at  the  same  time 
that  certain  faculties  are  destroyed,  others  may  be  brought  to  a  high 
degree  of  exaltation.  Under  the  influence  of  a  suggestion,  he  will 
undertake  the  accomplishment  of  certain  acts  with  irresistible  impetu- 
osity. This  impetuosity  is  the  more  irresistible  in  the  case  of  crowds 
than  in  that  of  the  hypnotized  subject,  from  the  fact  that,  the  sugges- 
tion being  the  same  for  all  the  individuals  of  the  crowd,  it  gains 
in  strength  by  reciprocity.  The  individualities  in  the  crowd  who 
might  possess  a  personality  sufficiently  strong  to  resist  the  suggestion 


892  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

are  too  few  in  number  to  struggle  against  the  current.  At  the  utmost, 
they  may  be  able  to  attempt  a  diversion  by  means  of  different  sug- 
gestions. It  is  in  this  way,  for  instance,  that  a  happy  expression,  an 
image  opportunely  evoked,  have  occasionally  deterred  crowds  from 
the  most  bloodthirsty  acts. 

We  see,  then,  that  the  disappearance  of  the  conscious  personality, 
the  predominance  of  the  unconscious  personality,  the  turning  by 
means  of  suggestion  and  contagion  of  feelings  and  ideas  in  an  identical 
direction,  the  tendency  to  immediately  transform  the  suggested  ideas 
into  acts;  these,  we  see,  are  the  principal  characteristics  of  the 
individual  forming  part  of  a  crowd.  He  is  no  longer  himself,  but 
has  become  an  automaton  who  has  ceased  to  be  guided  by  his  will. 

Moreover,  by  the  mere  fact  that  he  forms  part  of  an  organized 
crowd,  a  man  descends  several  rungs  in  the  ladder  of  civilization. 
Isolated,  he  may  be  a  cultivated  individual;  in  a  crowd,  he  is  a 
barbarian — that  is,  a  creature  acting  by  instinct.  He  possesses  the 
spontaneity,  the  violence,  the  ferocity,  and  also  the  enthusiasm  and 
heroism  of  primitive  beings. 

An  individual  in  a  crowd  is  a  grain  of  sand  amid  other  grains  of 
sand,  which  the  wind  stirs  up  at  will.  It  is  for  these  reasons  that 
juries  are  seen  to  deliver  verdicts  of  which  each  individual  juror  would 
disapprove,  that  parliamentary  assemblies  adopt  laws  and  measures 
of  which  each  of  their  members  would  disapprove  in  his  own  person. 
Taken  separately,  the  men  of  the  Convention  were  enlightened 
citizens  of  peaceful  habits.  United  in  a  crowd,  they  did  not  hesitate 
to  give  their  adhesion  to  the  most  savage  proposals,  to  guillotine 
individuals  most  clearly  innocent,  and,  contrary  to  their  interest,  to 
renounce  their  inviolability  and  to  decimate  themselves. 

The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  what  precedes  is  that  the  crowd 
is  always  intellectually  inferior  to  the  isolated  individual,  but  that, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  feelings  and  of  the  acts  these  feelings  provoke, 
the  crowd  may,  according  to  circumstances,  be  better  or  worse  than  the 
individual.  All  depends  on  the  nature  of  the  suggestion  to  which 
the  crowd  is  exposed.  This  is  the  point  that  has  been  completely 
misunderstood  by  writers  who  have  only  studied  crowds  from  the 
criminal  point  of  view.  Doubtless  a  crowd  is  often  criminal,  but  also 
it  is  often  heroic.  It  is  crowds  rather  than  isolated  individuals  that 
may  be  induced  to  run  the  risk  of  death  to  secure  the  triumph  of  a 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  893 

creed  or  an  idea,  that  may  be  fired  with  enthusiasm  for  glory  and 
honor,  that  are  led  on — almost  without  bread  and  without  arms, 
as  in  the  age  of  the  Crusades — to  deliver  the  tomb  of  Christ  from  the 
infidel,  or,  as  in  '93,  to  defend  the  fatherland.  Such  heroism  is  without 
doubt  somewhat  unconscious,  but  it  is  of  such  heroism  that  history 
is  made.  Were  peoples  only  to  be  credited  with  the  great  actions 
performed  in  cold  blood,  the  annals  of  the  world  would  register  but 
few  of  them. 

3.    The  Crowd  Defined1 

A  crowd  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  that  term  is  any  chance  collection 
of  individuals.  Such  a  collectivity  becomes  a  crowd  in  the  sociological 
sense  only  when  a  condition  of  rapport  has  been  established  among  the 
individuals  who  compose  it. 

Rapport  implies  the  existence  of  a  mutual  responsiveness,  such 
that  every  member  of  the  group  reacts  immediately,  spontaneously, 
and  sympathetically  to  the  sentiments  and  attitudes  of  every  other 
member. 

The  fact  that  A  responds  sympathetically  toward  B  and  C  implies 
the  existence  in  A  of  an  attitude  of  receptivity  and  suggestibility 
toward  the  sentiments  and  attitudes  of  B  and  C.  Where  A,  B,  and 
C  are  mutually  sympathetic,  the  inhibitions  which,  under  ordinary 
circumstances,  serve  to  preserve  the  isolation  and  self-consciousness 
of  individuals  are  relaxed  or  completely  broken  down.  Under  these 
circumstances  each  individual,  in  so  far  as  he  may  be  said  to  reflect, 
in  his  own  consciousness  and  in  his  emotional  reactions,  the  sentiments 
and  emotions  of  all  the  others,  tends  at  the  same  time  to  modify  the 
sentiments  and  attitudes  of  those  others.  The  effect  is  to  produce 
a  heightened,  intensified,  and  relatively  impersonal  state  of  con- 
sciousness in  which  all  seem  to  share,  but  which  is,  at  the  same  time, 
relatively  independent  of  each. 

The  development  of  this  so-called  "group-consciousness"  repre- 
sents a  certain  amount  of  loss  of  self-control  on  the  part  of  the  indi- 
vidual. Such  control  as  the  individual  loses  over  himself  is  thus 
automatically  transferred  to  the  group  as  a  whole  or  to  the  leader. 

What  is  meant  by  rapport  in  the  group  may  be  illustrated  by  a 
somewhat  similar  phenomenon  which  occurs  in  hypnosis.  In  this 
case  a  relation  is  established  between  the  experimenter  and  his  subject 

1  From  Robert  E.  Park,  The  Crowd  and  the  Public.     (Unpublished  manuscript.) 


894  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

such  that  the  subject  responds  automatically  to  every  suggestion  of 
the  experimenter  but  is  apparently  oblivious  of  suggestions  coming 
from  other  persons  whose  existence  he  does  not  perceive  or  ignores. 
This  is  the  condition  called  "isolated  rapport."1 

In  the  case  of  the  crowd  this  mutual  and  exclusive  responsiveness 
of  each  member  of  the  crowd  to  the  suggestions  emanating  from  the 
other  members  produces  here  also  a  kind  of  mental  isolation  which  is 
accompanied  by  an  inhibition  of  the  stimuli  and  suggestions  that 
control  the  behavior  of  individuals  under  the  conditions  of  ordinary 
life.  Under  these  conditions  impulses  long  repressed  in  the  individual 
may  find  an  expression  in  the  crowd.  It  is  this,  no  doubt,  which 
accounts  for  those  so-called  criminal  and  atavistic  tendencies  of 
crowds,  of  which  Le  Bon  and  Sighele  speak.2 

The  organization  of  the  crowd  is  only  finally  effected  when  the 
attention  of  the  individuals  who  compose  it  becomes  focused  upon 
some  particular  object  or  some  particular  objective.  This  object 
thus  fixed  in  the  focus  of  the  attention  of  the  group  tends  to  assume 
the  character  of  a  collective  representation.3  It  becomes  this  because 
it  is  the  focus  of  the  collectively  enhanced  emotion  and  sentiment  of 
the  group.  It  becomes  the  representation  and  the  symbol  of  what 
the  crowd  feels  and  wills  at  the  moment  when  all  members  are  suffused 
with  a  common  collective  excitement  and  dominated  by  a  common 
and  collective  idea.  This  excitement  and  this  idea  with  the  meanings 
that  attach  to  it  are  called  collective  because  they  are  a  product  of 
the  interactions  of  the  members  of  the  crowd.  They  are  not  individual 
but  corporate  products. 

Le  Bon  describes  the  organization  thus  effected  in  a  chance-met 
collection  of  individuals  as  a  "collective  mind,"  and  refers  to  the 
group,  transitory  and  ephemeral  though  it  be,  as  a  "single  being." 

The  positive  factors  in  determining  the  organization  of  the  crowd 
are  then: 

(i)  A  condition  of  rapport  among  the  members  of  the  group  with 
a  certain  amount  of  contagious  excitement  and  heightened  suggesti- 
bility incident  to  it. 

1  Moll,  Hypnotism,  pp.  134-36. 

3  Sighele,  Psychologic  des  Auflaufs  und  der  Massenverbrechen  (translated  from 
the  Italian),  p.  79. 

JDurkheim,  The  Elementary  Forms  of  Religious  Life,  pp.  432-37. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  895 

(2)  A  certain  degree  of  mental  isolation  of  the  group  following  as 
a  consequence  of  the  rapport  and  sympathetic  responsiveness  of 
members  of  the  group. 

(3)  Focus  of  attention;  and  finally  the  consequent 

(4)  Collective  representation. 

C.      TYPES    OF  MASS   MOVEMENTS 
i.  Crowd  Excitements  and  Mass  Movements:   The  Klondike  Rush1 

It  was  near  the  middle  of  July  when  the  steamer  Excelsior 
arrived  in  San  Francisco  from  St.  Michael's,  on  the  west  coast  of 
Alaska,  with  forty  miners,  having  among  them  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gold,  brought  down  from  the  Klondike. 
When  the  bags  and  cans  and  jars  containing  it  had  been  emptied 
and  the  gold  piled  on  the  counters  of  the  establishment  to  which  it 
was  brought,  no  such  sight  had  been  seen  in  San  Francisco  since  the 
famous  year  of  1849. 

On  July  1 8  the  Portland  arrived  in  Seattle,  on  Puget  Sound, 
having  on  board  sixty-eight  miners,  who  brought  ashore  bullion 
worth  a  million  dollars.  The  next  day  it  was  stated  that  these  miners 
had  in  addition  enough  gold  concealed  about  their  persons  and  in 
their  baggage  to  double  the  first  estimate..  Whether  all  these  state- 
ments were  correct  or  not  does  not  signify,  for  those  were  the  reports 
that  were  spread  throughout  the  states.  From  this  last  source  alone, 
the  mint  at  San  Francisco  received  half  a  million  dollars'  worth  of 
gold  in  one  week,  and  it  was  certain  that  men  who  had  gone  away 
poor  had  come  back  with  fortunes.  It  was  stated  that  a  poor  black- 
smith who  had  gone  up  from  Seattle  returned  with  $115,000,  and  that 
a  man  from  Fresno,  who  had  failed  as  a  farmer,  had  secured  $135,000. 

The  gold  fever  set  in  with  fury  and  attacked  all  classes.  Men  in 
good  positions,  with  plenty  of  money  to  spend  on  an  outfit,  and  men 
with  little  beyond  the  amount  of  their  fare,  country  men  and  city 
men,  clerks  and  professional  men  without  the  faintest  notion  of  the 
meaning  of  "roughing  it,"  flocked  in  impossible  numbers  to  secure 
a  passage.  There  were  no  means  of  taking  them.  Even  in  distant 
New  York,  the  offices  of  railroad  companies  and  local  agencies  were 

'Adapted  from  T.  C.  Down,  "The  Rush  to  the  Klondike,"  in  the  Cornhitt 
Magazine,  IV  (1898),  33-43. 


896  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

besieged  by  anxious  inquirers  eager  to  join  the  throng.  On  Puget 
Sound,  mills,  factories,  and  smelting  works  were  deserted  by  their 
employees,  and  all  the  miners  on  the  upper  Skeena  left  their  work 
in  a  body.  On  July  2 1  the  North  American  Transportation  Company 
(one  of  two  companies  which  monopolized  the  trade  of  the  Yukon) 
was  reincorporated  in  Chicago  with  a  quadrupled  capital,  to  cope 
with  the  demands  of  traffic.  At  the  different  Pacific  ports  every 
available  vessel  was  pressed  into  the  service,  and  still  the  wild  rush 
could  not  be  met.  Before  the  end  of  July  the  Portland  left  Seattle 
again  for  St.  Michael's,  and  the  Mexico  and  Topeka  for  Dyea;  the 
Islander  and  Tees  sailed  for  Dyea  from  Victoria,  and  the  G.  W.  Elder 
from  Portland;  while  from  San  Francisco  the  Excelsior,  of  the  Alaska 
Company,  which  had  brought  the  first  gold  down,  left  again  for 
St.  Michael's  on  July  28,  being  the  last  of  the  company's  fleet 
scheduled  to  connect  with  the  Yukon  river  boats  for  the  season. 
Three  times  the  original  price  was  offered  for  the  passage,  and  one 
passenger  accepted  an  offer  of  $1,500  for  the  ticket  for  which  he  had 
paid  only  $150. 

This,  however,  was  only  the  beginning  of  the  rush.  Three  more 
steamers  were  announced  to  sail  in  August  for  the  mouth  of  the  Yukon, 
and  at  least  a  dozen  more  for  the  Lynn  Canal,  among  which  were  old 
tubs,  which,  after  being  tied  up  for  years,  were  now  overhauled  and 
refitted  for  the  voyage  north.  One  of  these  was  the  Williamette, 
an  old  collier  with  only  sleeping  quarters  for  the  officers  and  crew, 
which,  however,  was  fitted  up  with  bunks  and  left  Seattle  for  Dyea  and 
Skagway  with  850  passengers,  1,200  tons  of  freight,  and  300  horses, 
men,  live  stock,  and  freight  being  wedged  between  decks  till  the 
atmosphere  was  like  that  of  a  dungeon;  and  even  with  such  a  prospect 
in  view,  it  was  only  by  a  lavish  amount  of  tipping  that  a  man  could 
get  his  effects  taken  aboard.  Besides  all  these,  there  were  numerous 
scows  loaded  with  provisions  and  fuel,  and  barges  conveying  horses 
for  packing  purposes. 

A  frightful  state  of  congestion  followed  as  each  successive  steamer 
on  its  arrival  at  the  head  of  the  Lynn  Canal  poured  forth  its  crowds 
of  passengers  and  added  to  the  enormous  loads  of  freight  already 
accumulated.  Matters  became  so  serious  that  on  August  10  the 
United  States  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  having  received  information 
that  3,000  persons  with  2,000  tons  of  baggage  and  freight  were  then 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  897 

waiting  to  cross  the  mountains  to  Yukon,  and  that  many  more  were 
preparing  to  join  them,  issued  a  warning  to  the  public  (following 
that  of  the  Dominion  Government  of  the  previous  week)  in  which 
he  called  attention  to  the  exposure,  privation,  suffering,  and  danger 
incident  to  the  journey  at  that  advanced  period  of  the  season,  and 
further  referred  to  the  gravity  of  the  possible  consequences  to  people 
detained  in  the  mountainous  wilderness  during  five  or  six  months  of 
Arctic  winter,  where  no  relief  could  reach  them. 

To  come  now  to  the  state  of  things  at  the  head  of  the  Lynn 
Canal,  where  the  steamers  discharged  their  loads  of  passengers, 
horses,  and  freight.  This  was  done  either  at  Dyea  or  Skagway,  the 
former  being  the  landing-place  for  the  Chilcoot  Pass,  and  the  latter 
for  the  White  Pass,  the  distance  between  the  two  places  being  about 
four  miles  by  sea.  There  were  no  towns  at  these  places,  nor  any 
convenience  for  landing  except  a  small  wharf  at  Skagway,  which  was 
not  completed,  the  workmen  having  been  smitten  with  the  gold  fever. 
Every  man  had  to  bring  with  him,  if  he  wanted  to  get  through  and 
live,  supplies  for  a  year:  sacks  of  flour,  slabs  of  bacon,  beans,  and  so 
forth,  his  cooking  utensils,  his  mining  outfit  and  building  tools,  his 
tent,  and  all  the  heavy  clothing  and  blankets  suitable  for  the  northern 
winter,  one  thousand  pounds'  weight  at  least.  Imagine  the  frightful 
mass  of  stuff  disgorged  as  each  successive  vessel  arrived,  with  no 
adequate  means  of  taking  it  inland! 

Before  the  end  of  September  people  were  preparing  to  winter  on 
the  coast,  and  Skagway  was  growing  into  a  substantial  town.  Where 
in  the  beginning  of  August  there  were  only  a  couple  of  shacks,  there 
were  in  the  middle  of  October  700  wooden  buildings  and  a  population 
of  about  1,500.  Businesses  of  all  kinds  were  carried  on,  saloons  and 
low  gaming  houses  and  haunts  of  all  sorts  abounded,  but  of  law  and 
order  there  was  none.  Dyea  also,  which  at  one  tune  was  almost 
deserted,  was  growing  into  a  place  of  importance,  but  the  title  of 
even'  lot  in  both  towns  was  in  dispute.  Rain  was  still  pouring  down, 
and  without  high  rubber  boots  walking  was  impossible.  None 
indeed  but  the  most  hardy  could  stand  existence  in  such  places, 
and  every  steamer  from  the  south  carried  fresh  loads  of  people  back 
to  their  homes. 

Of  the  6,000  people  who  went  in  this  fall,  200  at  the  most  got 
over  to  the  Dawson  Route  by  the  White  Pass,  and  perhaps  700  by 


898  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  Chilcoot.  There  were  probably  1,000  camped  at  Lake  Bennett, 
and  all  the  rest,  except  the  1,500  remaining  on  the  coast,  had  returned 
home  to  wait  till  midwinter  or  the  spring  before  venturing  up  again. 
The  question  of  which  was  the  best  trail  was  still  undecided,  and 
men  vehemently  debated  it  every  day  with  the  assistance  of  the 
most  powerful  language  at  their  command. 

As  to  the  crowds  who  had  gone  to  St.  Michael's,  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  of  them  got  through  to  Dawson  City,  since  the  lower 
Yukon  is  impassable  by  the  end  of  September,  and,  at  any  rate,  in 
view  of  the  prospects  of  short  rations,  it  would  have  been  rash  to  try. 
The  consequence  would  be  that  they  would  have  to  remain  on  that 
desolate  island  during  nine  months  of  almost  Arctic  winter,  for  the 
river  does  not  open  again  till  the  end  of  June.  Here  they  would  be 
absolutely  without  employment  unless  they  chose  to  stack  wood  for 
the  steamboat  companies,  and  their  only  amusements  (save  the  mark) 
would  be  drinking  bad  rye- whiskey — for  Alaska  is  a  " prohibition" 
country — and  poker-playing.  For  men  with  a  soul  above  such 
delights,  the  heart-breaking  monotony  of  a  northern  winter  would  be 
appalling,  and  it  is  only  to  be  understood  by  those  who  have  had  to 
endure  similar  experiences  themselves  on  the  western  prairies. 

2.    Mass  Movements  and  the  Mores:    The  Woman's 
Temperance  Crusade1 

On  the  evening  of  December  23,  1873,  there  might  have  been  seen 
in  the  streets  of  Hillsboro,  Ohio,  persons  singly  or  in  groups  wending 
their  way  to  Music  Hall,  where  a  lecture  on  temperance  was  to  be 
delivered  by  Dr.  Dio  Lewis,  of  Boston,  Massachusetts. 

Hillsboro  is  a  small  place,  containing  something  more  than  3,000 
people.  The  inhabitants  are  rather  better  educated  than  is  usually 
the  case  in  small  towns,  and  its  society  is  indeed  noted  in  that  part  of 
the  country  for  its  quietude,  culture,  and  refinement. 

But  Hillsboro  was  by  no  means  exempt  from  the  prevailing  scourge 
of  intemperance.  The  early  settlers  of  Hillsboro  were  mostly  from 
Virginia,  and  brought  with  them  the  old-fashioned  ideas  of  hospitality. 
For  many  years  previous  to  the  crusade  the  professional  men,  and 
especially  of  the  bar,  were  nearly  all  habitual  drinkers,  and  many  of 
them  very  dissipated.  When  a  few  earnest  temperance  men,  among 

1  Adapted  from  Mrs.  Annie  Wittenmyer,  History  of  the  Woman's  Temperance 
Crusade  (1878),  pp.  34-62. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  899 

whom  was  Governor  Allen  Trimble,  initiated  a  total-abstinence  move- 
ment in  or  about  the  year  1830,  the  pulpit  took  up  arms  against 
them,  and  a  condemnatory  sermon  was  preached  in  one  of  the 
churches. 

Thus  it  was  that,  although  from  time  to  time  men,  good  and  true, 
banded  themselves  together  in  efforts  to  break  up  this  dreadful  state 
of  things  and  reform  society,  all  endeavors  seemed  to  fail  of  any 
permanent  effect. 

The  plan  laid  down  by  Dr.  Lewis  challenged  attention  by  its 
novelty  at  least.  He  believed  the  work  of  temperance  reform  might 
be  successfully  carried  on  by  women  if  they  would  set  about  it  in  the 
right  manner — going  to  the  saloon-keeper  in  a  spirit  of  Christian  love, 
and  persuading  him  for  the  sake  of  humanity  and  his  own  eternal 
welfare  to  quit  the  hateful,  soul-destroying  business.  The  doctor 
spoke  with  enthusiasm;  and  seeing  him  so  full  of  faith,  the  hearts 
of  the  women  seized  the  hope — a  forlorn  one,  'tis  true,  but  still  a 
hope — and  when  Dr.  Lewis  asked  if  they  were  willing  to  undertake 
the  task,  scores  of  women  rose  to  their  feet,  and  there  was  no  lack  of 
good  men  who  pledged  themselves  to  encourage  and  sustain  the  women 
in  their  work. 

At  a  subsequent  meeting  an  organization  was  effected  and  Mrs. 
Eliza  J.  Thompson,  a  daughter  of  ex-Governor  Trimble  of  Ohio,  was 
elected  chairman.  Mrs.  Thompson  gives  the  following  account  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  crusade  was  organized: 

My  boy  came  home  from  Dr.  Dio  Lewis'  lecture  and  said,  "Ma, 
they've  got  you  into  business";  and  went  on  to  tell  that  Dio  Lewis  had 
incidentally  related  the  successful  effort  of  his  mother,  by  prayer  and 
persuasion,  to  close  the  saloon  in  a  town  where  he  lived  when  a  boy,  and 
that  he  had  exhorted  the  women  of  Hillsboro  to  do  the  same,  and  fifty  had 
risen  up  to  signify  their  willingness,  and  that  they  looked  to  me  to  help 
them  to  carry  out  their  promise.  As  I'm  talking  to  you  here  familiarly, 
I'll  go  on  to  say  that  my  husband,  who  had  retired,  and  was  in  an  adjoining 
room,  raised  up  on  his  elbow  and  called  out,  "Oh!  that's  all  tomfoolery!" 
I  remember  I  answered  him  something  like  this:  "Well,  husband,  the  men 
have  been  in  the  tomfoolery  business  a  long  time;  perhaps  the  Lord  is  going 
to  call  us  into  partnership  with  them."  I  said  no  more.  The  next  morning 

my  brother-in-law,  Colonel ,  came  in  and  told  me  about  the  meeting, 

and  said,  "Now,  you  must  be  sure  to  go  to  the  women's  meeting  at  the 
church  this  morning;  they  look  to  see  you  there."  Our  folks  talked  it  all 


QOO          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

over,  and  my  husband  said,  "Well,  we  all  know  where  your  mother'll  take 
this  case  for  counsel,"  and  then  he  pointed  to  the  Bible  and  left  the  room. 
I  went  into  the  corner  of  my  room,  and  knelt  down  and  opened  my 
Bible  to  see  what  God  would  say  to  me.  Just  at  that  moment  there  was 
a  tap  on  the  door  and  my  daughter  entered.  She  was  in  tears;  she  held 
her  Bible  in  her  hand,  open  to  the  i46th  Psalm.  She  said,  "Ma,  I  just 
opened  to  this,  and  I  think  it  is  for  you,"  and  then  she  went  away,  and  I 
sat  down  and  read 

THIS   WONDERFUL  MESSAGE   FROM  GOD 

"Put  not  your  trust  in  princes,  nor  in  the  son  of  man,  in  whom  there 
is  no  help.  Happy  is  he  that  hath  the  God  of  Jacob  for  his  help,  whose 
hope  is  in  the  Lord  his  God;  which  keepeth  truth  forever;  which  executeth 
judgment  for  the  oppressed;  the  Lord  looseth  the  prisoners;  the  Lord 
openeth  the  eyes  of  the  blind;  the  Lord  raiseth  them  that  are  bowed  down; 
the  Lord  loveth  the  righteous;  the  Lord  relieveth  the  fatherless  and  the 
widow — but  the  way  of  the  wicked  he  turneth  upside  down.  The  Lord  shall 
reign  forever,  even  thy  God,  O  Zion,  unto  all  generations.  Praise  ye 
the  Lord!" 

I  knew  that  was  for  me,  and  I  got  up,  put  on  my  shoes,  and  started. 
I  went  to  the  church,  in  this  town  where  I  was  born.  I  sat  down  quietly 
in  the  back  part  of  the  audience  room,  by  the  stove.  A  hundred  ladies 
were  assembled.  I  heard  my  name — heard  the  whisper  pass  through  the 
company,  "Here  she  is!"  "She's  come!"  and  before  I  could  get  to  the 
pulpit,  they  had  put  me  "in  office" — I  was  their  leader. 

Many  of  our  citizens  were  there,  and  our  ministers  also.  They  stayed 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  rose  and  went  out,  saying,  "This  is  your  work — 
we  leave  it  with  the  women  and  the  Lord."  When  they  had  gone,  I  just 
opened  the  big  pulpit  Bible  and  read  that  i46th  Psalm,  and  told  them  the 
circumstance  of  my  selecting  it.  The  women  sobbed  so  I  could  hardly 
go  on.  When  I  had  finished,  I  felt  inspired  to  call  on  a  dear  Presbyterian 
lady  to  pray.  She  did  so  without  the  least  hesitation,  though  it  was  the 
first  audible  prayer  in  her  life.  I  can't  tell  you  anything  about  that  prayer, 
only  that  the  words  were  like  fire. 

When  she  had  prayed,  I  said — and  it  all  came  to  me  just  at  the  moment 
-"Now,  ladies,  let  us  file  out,  two  by  two,  the  smallest  first,  and  let  us  sing 
as  we  go,  'Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears.'  " 

We  went  first  to  John  's  saloon.  Now,  John  was  a  German, 

and  his  sister  had  lived  in  my  family  thirteen  years,  and  she  was  very  mild 
and  gentle,  and  I  hoped  it  might  prove  a  family  trait,  but  I  found  out  it 
wasn't.  He  fumed  about  dreadfully  and  said,  "It's  awful;  it's  a  sin  and 
a  shame  to  pray  in  a  saloon!"  But  we  prayed  right  on  just  the  same. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  90 1 

Next  day  the  ladies  held  another  meeting,  but  decided  not  to 
make  any  visitations,  it  being  Christmas  day,  and  the  hotel-keepers 
more  than  usually  busy  and  not  likely  to  listen  very  attentively  to 
our  proposition. 

On  the  twenty-sixth,  the  hotels  and  saloons  were  visited;  Mrs. 
Thompson  presenting  the  appeal.  And  it  was  on  this  morning,  and 
at  the  saloon  of  Robert  Ward,  that  there  came  a  break  in  the  estab- 
lished routine.  "Bob"  was  a  social,  jolly  sort  of  fellow,  and  his 
saloon  was  a  favorite  resort,  and  there  were  many  women  in  the 
company  that  morning  whose  hearts  were  aching  in  consequence  of 
his  wrong-doing.  Ward  was  evidently  touched.  He  confessed  that 
it  was  a  "bad  business,"  said  if  he  could  only  "afford  to  quit  it  he 
would,"  and  then  tears  began  to  flow  from  his  eyes.  Many  of  the 
ladies  were  weeping,  and  at  length,  as  if  by  inspiration,  Mrs.  Thomp- 
son kneeled  on  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  all  kneeling  with  her,  even  the 
saloonist,  and  prayed,  pleading  with  indescribable  pathos  and 
earnestness  for  the  conversion  and  salvation  of  this  and  all  saloon- 
keepers. When  the  amen  was  sobbed  rather  than  spoken,  Mrs. 
Washington  Doggett's  sweet  voice  began,  "There  is  a  fountain,"  etc., 
in  which  all  joined;  the  effect  was  most  solemn,  and  when  the  hymn 
was  finished  the  ladies  went  quietly  away,  and  that  was  the  first 
saloon  prayer  meeting. 

There  was  a  saloon-keeper  brought  from  Greenfield  to  H to 

be  tried  under  the  Adair  law.  The  poor  mother  who  brought  the 
suit  had  besought  him  not  to  sell  to  her  son — "her  only  son."  He 
replied  roughly  that  he  would  sell  to  him  "as  long  as  he  had  a  dime." 
Another  mother,  an  old  lady,  made  the  same  request,  "lest,"  she  said, 
"he  may  some  day  fill  a  drunkard's  grave."  "Madam,"  he  replied, 
"  your  son  has  as  good  a  right  to  fill  a  drunkard's  grave  as  any  other 
mother's  son."  And  in  one  of  the  Hillsboro  saloons  a  lady  saw  her 

nephew.  "O,  Mr.  B ,"  said  she,  "don't  sell  whiskey  to  that 

boy:  if  he  has  one  drink  he  will  want  another,  and  he  may  die  a 
drunkard."  "Madam,  I  will  sell  to  him  if  it  sends  his  soul  to  hell," 
was  the  awful  reply.  The  last  man  is  a  peculiarly  hard,  stony  sort 
of  man;  his  lips  look  as  if  chiseled  out  of  flint,  a  man  to  be  afraid  of. 
One  morning,  when  the  visiting  band  reached  his  door,  they  found 
him  in  a  very  bad  humor.  He  locked  his  door  and  seated  himself  on 
the  horse  block  in  front  in  a  perfect  rage,  clenched  his  fist,  swore 


902  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

furiously,  and  ordered  us  to  go  home.  Some  gentlemen,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  afterward  said  that  they  were  watching 
the  scene,  ready  to  rush  over  and  defend  the  ladies  from  an  attack, 
and  they  were  sure  it  would  come;  but  one  of  the  ladies,  a  sweet- 
souled  woman,  gentle  and  placid,  kneeled  just  at  his  feet,  and  poured 
out  such  a  tender,  earnest  prayer  for  him,  that  he  quieted  down 
entirely,  and  when  she  rose  and  offered  him  her  hand  in  token  of  kind 
feeling,  he  could  not  refuse  to  take  it. 

During  the  Crusade,  a  saloon-keeper  (at  Ocean  Grove)  consented  to 
close  his  business.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm  and  interest, 
and  we  women  decided  to  compensate  the  man  for  his  whiskey  and  make 
a  bonfire  of  it  in  the  street.  A  great  crowd  gathered  about  the  saloon,  and 
the  barrels  of  whiskey  were  rolled  out  to  the  public  square  where  we  were 
to  have  our  bonfire.  Myself  and  two  other  little  women,  who  had  been 
chosen  to  knock  in  the  heads,  and  had  come  to  the  place  with  axes  concealed 
under  our  shawls,  went  to  our  work  with  a  wilt. 

I  didn't  know  I  was  so  strong,  but  I  lifted  that  axe  like  a  woodman 
and  brought  it  down  with  such  force  that  the  first  blow  stove  in  the  head  of 
a  barrel  and  splashed  the  whiskey  in  every  direction.  I  was  literally 
baptized  with  the  noxious  stuff.  The  intention  was  to  set  it  on  fire,  and 
we  had  brought  matches  for  that  purpose,  but  it  would  not  burnt  It  was  a 
villainous  compound  of  some  sort,  but  we  had  set  out  to  have  a  fire,  and 
were  determined  by  some  means  or  other  to  make  it  burn,  so  we  sent  for 
some  coal  oil  and  poured  it  on  and  we  soon  had  a  blaze.  The  man  who 
could  sell  such  liquors  would  not  be  likely  to  keep  the  pledge.  He  is  selling 
liquors  again. 

The  crusade  began  at  Washington  C.H.  only  two  days  later  than 
at  Hillsboro.  And  Washington  C.H.  was  the  first  place  where  the 
crusade  was  made  prominent  and  successful. 

On  Friday  morning,  December  26,  1873,  after  an  hour  of  prayer 
in  the  M.E.  Church,  forty-four  women  filed  slowly  and  solemnly  down 
the  aisle,  and  started  forth  upon  their  strange  mission  with  fear  and 
trembling,  while  the  male  portion  of  the  audience  remained  at  the 
church  to  pray  for  the  success  of  this  new  undertaking;  the  tolling 
of  the  church-bell  keeping  time  to  the  solemn  march  of  the  women, 
as  they  wended  their  way  to  the  £rst  drug-store  on  the  list.  (The 
number  of  places  within  the  city  limits  where  intoxicating  drinks 
were  sold  was  fourteen — eleven  saloons  and  three  drug-stores.)  Here, 
as  in  every  place,  they  entered  singing,  every  woman  taking  up  the 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  903 

sacred  strain  as  she  crossed  the  threshold.  This  was  followed  by  the 
reading  of  the  appeal  and  prayer;  then  earnest  pleading  to  desist 
from  their  soul-destroying  traffic  and  sign  the  dealer's  pledge. 

Thus,  all  the  day  long,  they  went  from  place  to  place,  without 
stopping  even  for  dinner  or  lunch,  till  five  o'clock,  meeting  with  no 
marked  success;  but  invariably  courtesy  was  extended  to  them;  not 
even  their  reiterated  promise,  "We  will  call  again,"  seeming  to  offend. 

No  woman  who  has  ever  entered  one  of  these  dens  of  iniquity  on 
such  an  errand  needs  to  be  told  of  the  heartsickness  that  almost  over- 
came them  as  they,  for  the  first  time,  saw  behind  those  painted  win- 
dows or  green  blinds,  or  entered  the  little  stifling  "back  room,"  or 
found  their  way  down  winding  steps  into  the  damp,  dark  cellars,  and 
realized  that  into  such  places  those  they  loved  best  were  being  landed, 
through  the  allurements  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  drug-store,  the 
fascinating  billiard  table,  or  the  enticing  beer  gardens,  with  their  siren 
attractions.  A  crowded  house  at  night,  to  hear  the  report  of  the  day's 
work,  betrayed  the  rapidly  increasing  interest  in  this  mission. 

On  the  twenty-seventh  the  contest  really  began,  and,  at  the  first 
place,  the  doors  were  found  locked.  With  hearts  full  of  compassion, 
the  women  knelt  in  the  snow  upon  the  pavement,  to  plead  for  the 
divine  influence  upon  the  heart  of  the  liquor-dealer,  and  there  held 
their  first  street  prayer  meeting. 

At  night  the  weary  but  zealous  workers  reported  at  a  mass  meeting 
of  the  various  rebuffs,  and  the  success  in  having  two  druggists  sign 
the  pledge  not  to  sell,  except  upon  the  written  prescription  of  a 
physician. 

The  Sabbath  was  devoted  to  union  mass  meeting,  with  direct 
reference  to  the  work  in  hand;  and  on  Monday  the  number  of  ladies 
had  increased  to  near  one  hundred.  That  day,December  2p,is  one  long 
to  be  remembered  in  Washington,  as  the  day  upon  which  occurred  the 
first  surrender  ever  made  by  a  liquor-dealer,  of  his  stock  of  liquors 
of  every  kind  and  variety,  to  the  women,  in  answer  to  their  prayers 
and  entreaties,  and  by  them  poured  into  the  street.  Nearly  a  thou- 
sand men,  women,  and  children  witnessed  the  mingling  of  beer,  ale, 
wine,  and  whiskey,  as  they  filled  the  gutters  and  were  drunk  up  by 
the  earth,  while  the  bells  were  ringing,  men  and  boys  shouting,  and 
women  singing  and  praying  to  God  who  had  given  the  victory.  But 
on  the  fourth  day,  "stock  sale-day,"  the  campaign  had  reached  its 


904  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

height,  the  town  being  filled  with  visitors  from  all  parts  of  the  county 
and  adjoining  villages.  Another  public  surrender,  and  another  pour- 
ing into  the  street  of  a  larger  stock  of  liquors  than  on  the  previous 
day,  and  more  intense  excitement  and  enthusiasm. 

Mass  meetings  were  held  nightly,  with  new  victories  reported 
constantly,  until  on  Friday,  January  21,  one  week  from  the  beginning 
of  the  work,  at  the  public  meeting  held  in  the  evening,  the  secretary's 
report  announced  the  unconditional  surrender  of  every  liquor-dealer, 
some  having  shipped  their  liquors  back  to  wholesale  dealers,  others 
having  poured  them  into  the  gutters,  and  the  druggists  as  all  having 
signed  the  pledge.  Thus  a  campaign  of  prayer  and  song  had,  in 
eight  days,  closed  eleven  saloons,  and  pledged  three  drug-stores  to 
sell  only  on  prescription.  At  first  men  had  wondered,  scoffed,  and 
laughed,  then  criticized,  respected,  and  yielded. 

Morning  prayer  and  evening  mass  meetings  continued  daily,  and 
the  personal  pledge  was  circulated  till  over  one  thousand  signatures 
were  obtained.  Physicians  were  called  upon  to  sign  a  pledge  not  to 
prescribe  ardent  spirits  when  any  other  substitute  could  be  found,  and 
in  no  case  without  a  personal  examination  of  the  patient. 

Early  in  the  third  week  the  discouraging  intelligence  came  that  a 
new  man  had  taken  out  a  license  to  sell  liquor  in  one  of  the  deserted 
saloons,  and  that  he  was  backed  by  a  whiskey  house  in  Cincinnati,  to 
the  amount  of  $5,000,  to  break  down  this  movement.  On  Wednesday, 
the  fourteenth,  the  whiskey  was  unloaded  at  his  room.  About  forty 
women  were  on  the  ground  and  followed  the  liquor  in,  and  remained 
holding  an  uninterrupted  prayer  meeting  all  day  and  until  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  The  next  day,  bitterly  cold,  was  spent  in  the  same 
place  and  manner,  without  fire  or  chairs,  two  hours  of  that  time  the 
women  being  locked  in,  while  the  proprietor  was  off  attending  a  trial. 
On  the  following  day,  the  coldest  of  the  winter  of  1874,  the  women 
were  locked  out,  and  stood  on  the  street  holding  religious  services 
all  day  long. 

Next  morning  a  tabernacle  was  built  in  the  street,  just  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  was  occupied  for  the  double  purpose  of  watching  and 
prayer  through  the  day;  and  before  night  the  sheriff  closed  the  saloon, 
and  the  proprietor  surrendered;  thus  ended  the  third  week, 

A  short  time  after,  on  a  dying-bed,  this  four  days'  liquor-dealer 
sent  for  some  of  these  women,  telling  them  their  songs  and  prayers 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  905 

had  never  ceased  to  ring  in  his  ears,  and  urging  them  to  pray  again 
in  his  behalf;  so  he  passed  away. 

Thus,  through  most  of  the  winter  of  1874  no  alcoholic  drinks  were 
publicly  sold  as  a  beverage  in  the  county. 

During  the  two  intervening  years  weekly  temperance-league 
meetings  have  been  kept  up  by  the  faithful  few,  while  frequent  union 
mass  meetings  have  been  held,  thus  keeping  the  subject  always  before 
the  people.  Today  the  disgraceful  and  humiliating  fact  exists  that 
there  are  more  places  where  liquors  are  sold  than  before  the  crusade. 

3.    Mass  Movements  and  Revolution 

a.     The  French  Revolution1 

The  outward  life  of  men  in  every  age  is  molded  upon  an  inward 
life  consisting  of  a  framework  of  traditions,  sentiments,  and  moral 
influences  which  direct  their  conduct  and  maintain  certain  funda- 
mental notions  which  they  accept  without  discussion. 

Let  the  resistance  of  this  social  framework  weaken,  and  ideas 
which  could  have  had  no  force  before  will  germinate  and  develop. 
Certain  theories  whose  success  was  enormous  at  the  time  of  the 
Revolution  would  have  encountered  an  impregnable  wall  two  cen- 
turies earlier. 

The  ami  of  these  considerations  is  to  recall  to  the  reader  the  fact 
that  the  outward  events  of  revolutions  are  always  a  consequence  of 
invisible  transformations  which  have  slowly  gone  forward  in  men's 
minds.  Any  profound  study  of  a  revolution  necessitates  a  study  of 
the  mental  soil  upon  which  the  ideas  that  direct  its  courses  have  to 
germinate. 

Generally  slow  in  the  extreme,  the  evolution  of  ideas  is  often 
invisible  for  a  whole  generation.  Its  extent  can  only  be  grasped  by 
comparing  the  mental  condition  of  the  same  social  classes  at  the  two 
extremities  of  the  curve  which  the  mind  has  followed. 

The  actual  influence  of  the  philosophers  in  the  genesis  of  the 
Revolution  was  not  that  which  was  attributed  to  them.  They 
revealed  nothing  new,  but  they  developed  the  critical  spirit  which 
no  dogma  can  resist,  once  the  way  is  prepared  for  its  downfall. 

1  Adapted  from  Gustave  Le  Bon,  The  Psychology  of  Revolution,  pp.  147-70. 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  1913.) 


Qo6  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Under  the  influence  of  this  developing  critical  spirit  things  which 
were  no  longer  very  greatly  respected  came  to  be  respected  less  and 
less.  When  tradition  and  prestige  had  disappeared,  the  social  edifice 
suddenly  fell.  This  progressive  disaggregation  finally  descended  to 
the  people,  but  was  not  commenced  by  them.  The  people  follow 
examples,  but  never  set  them. 

The  philosophers,  who  could  not  have  exerted  any  influence  over 
the  people,  did  exert  a  great  influence  over  the  enlightened  portion 
of  the  nation.  The  unemployed  nobility,  who  had  long  been  ousted 
from  their  old  functions  and  who  were  consequently  inclined  to  be 
censorious,  followed  their  leadership.  Incapable  of  foresight,  the 
nobles  were  the  first  to  break  with  the  traditions  that  were  their 
only  raison  d'etre.  As  steeped  in  humanitarianism  and  rationalism 
as  the  bourgeoisie  of  today,  they  continually  sapped  their  own  privi- 
leges by  their  criticisms.  As  today,  the  most  ardent  reformers  were 
found  among  the  favorites  of  fortune.  The  aristocracy  encouraged 
dissertations  on  the  social  contract,  the  rights  of  man,  and  the  equality 
of  citizens.  At  the  theater  it  applauded  plays  which  criticized 
privileges,  the  arbitrariness  and  the  incapacity  of  men  in  high  places, 
and  abuses  of  all  kinds. 

As  soon  as  men  lose  confidence  in  the  foundations  of  the  mental 
framework  which  guides  their  conduct,  they  feel  at  first  uneasy  and 
then  discontented.  All  classes  felt  their  old  motives  of  action 
gradually  disappearing.  Things  that  had  seemed  sacred  for  centuries 
were  now  sacred  no  longer. 

The  censorious  spirit  of  the  nobility  and  of  the  writers  of  the  day 
would  not  have  sufficed  to  move  the  heavy  load  of  tradition  but  that 
its  action  was  added  to  that  of  other  powerful  influences.  We  have 
already  stated,  in  citing  Bossuet,  that  under  the  ancien  regime  the 
religious  and  civil  governments,  widely  separated  in  our  day,  were 
intimately  connected.  To  injure  one  was  inevitably  to  injure  the 
other.  Now  even  before  the  monarchical  idea  was  shaken,  the  force 
of  religious  tradition  was  greatly  diminished  among  cultivated  men. 
The  constant  progress  of  knowledge  had  sent  an  increasing  number 
of  minds  from  theology  to  science  by  opposing  the  truth  observed  to 
the  truth  revealed. 

This  mental  evolution,  although  as  yet  very  vague,  was  sufficient 
to  show  that  the  traditions  which  for  so  many  centuries  had  guided 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  907 

men  had  not  the  value  which  had  been  attributed  to  them,  and  that 
it  would  soon  be  necessary  to  replace  them. 

But  where  discover  the  new  elements  which  might  take  the  place 
of  tradition?  Where  seek  the  magic  ring  which  would  raise  a  new 
social  edifice  on  the  remains  of  that  which  no  longer  contented  men  ? 

Men  were  agreed  in  attributing  to  reason  the  power  that  tradi- 
tion and  the  gods  seemed  to  have  lost.  How  could  its  force  be 
doubted  ?  Its  discoveries  having  been  innumerable,  was  it  not  legiti- 
mate to  suppose  that  by  applying  it  to  the  construction  of  societies 
it  would  entirely  transform  them?  Its  possible  function  increased 
very  rapidly  in  the  thoughts  of  the  more  enlightened,  in  proportion 
as  tradition  seemed  more  and  more  to  be  distrusted. 

The  sovereign  power  attributed  to  reason  must  be  regarded  as 
the  culminating  idea  which  not  only  engendered  the  Revolution  but 
governed  it  throughout.  During  the  whole  Revolution  men  gave 
themselves  up  to  the  most  persevering  efforts  to  break  with  the  past 
and  to  erect  society  upon  a  new  plan  dictated  by  logic. 

Slowly  filtering  downward,  the  rationalistic  theories  of  the 
philosophers  meant  to  the  people  simply  that  all  the  things  which 
had  been  regarded  as  worthy  of  respect  were  now  no  longer  worthy. 
Men  being  declared  equal,  the  old  masters  need  no  longer  be  obeyed. 
The  multitude  easily  succeeded  in  ceasing  to  respect  what  the  upper 
classes  themselves  no  longer  respected.  When  the  barrier  of  respect 
was  down  the  Revolution  was  accomplished. 

The  first  result  of  this  new  mentality  was  a  general  insubordi- 
nation. Mme.  Vigee  Lebrun  relates  that  on  the  promenade  at 
Longchamps  men  of  the  people  leaped  on  the  footboards  of  the 
carriages,  saying,  "Next  year  you  will  be  behind  and  we  shall  be 
inside." 

The  populace  was  not  alone  in  manifesting  insubordination  and 
discontent.  These  sentiments  were  general  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. "The  lesser  clergy,"  says  Taine,  "are  hostile  to  the  prelates; 
the  provincial  gentry  to  the  nobility  of  the  court;  the  vassals  to  the 
seigneurs;  the  peasants  to  the  townsmen,  etc." 

This  state  of  mind,  which  had  been  communicated  from  the 
nobles  and  clergy  to  the  people,  also  invaded  the  army.  At  the 
moment  the  States  General  were  opened,  Necker  said:  "We  are  not 
sure  of  the  troops."  The  officers  were  becoming  humanitarian  and 


Qo8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

philosophical.  The  soldiers,  recruited  from  the  lowest  class  of  the 
population,  did  not  philosophize,  but  they  no  longer  obeyed.  In 
their  feeble  minds  the  ideas  of  equality  meant  simply  the  suppression 
of  all  leaders  and  masters,  and  therefore  of  all  obedience.  In  1790 
more  than  twenty  regiments  threatened  their  officers,  and  some- 
times, as  at  Nancy,  threw  them  into  prison. 

The  mental  anarchy  which,  after  spreading  through  all  classes  of 
society,  finally  invaded  the  army  was  the  principal  cause  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  ancien  regime.  "It  was  the  defection  of  the 
army  affected  by  the  ideas  of  the  Third  Estate,"  wrote  Rivarol, 
"that  destroyed  royalty." 

The  genesis  of  the  French  Revolution,  as  well  as  its  duration, 
was  conditioned  by  elements  of  a  rational,  affective,  mystic,  and 
collective  nature,  each  category  of  which  was  ruled  by  a  different 
logic.  The  rational  element  usually  invoked  as  an  explanation 
exerted  in  reality  but  very  slight  influence.  It  prepared  the  way  for 
the  Revolution,  but  maintained  it  only  at  the  outset,  while  it  was 
still  exclusively  middle  class.  Its  action  was  manifested  by  many 
measures  of  the  time,  such  as  the  proposals  to  reform  the  taxes,  the 
suppression  of  the  privileges  of  a  useless  nobility,  etc. 

As  soon  as  the  Revolution  reached  the  people,  the  influence  of 
the  rational  elements  speedily  vanished  before  that  of  the  affective 
and  collective  elements.  As  for  the  mystic  elements,  the  foundation 
of  the  revolutionary  faith,  they  made  the  army  fanatical  and  propa- 
gated the  new  belief  throughout  the  world. 

We  shall  see  these  various  elements  as  they  appeared  in  events 
and  in  the  psychology  of  individuals.  Perhaps  the  most  important 
was  the  mystic  element.  The  Revolution  cannot  be  clearly  compre- 
hended— we  cannot  repeat  it  too  often — unless  it  is  considered  as 
the  formation  of  a  religious  belief.  What  I  have  said  elsewhere  of 
all  beliefs  applies  equally  to  the  Revolution.  They  impose  themselves 
on  men  apart  from  reason  and  have  the  power  to  polarize  men's 
thoughts  and  feelings  in  one  direction.  Pure  reason  had  never  such 
a  power,  for  men  were  never  impassioned  by  reason. 

The  religious  forms  rapidly  assumed  by  the  Revolution  explain 
its  power  of  expansion  and  the  prestige  which  it  possessed  and  has 
retained.  Few  historians  have  understood  that  this  great  monument 
ought  to  be  regarded  as  the  foundation  of  a  new  religion.  The 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  909 

penetrating  mind  of  Tocqueville,  I  believe,  was  the  first  to  perceive 
as  much.     He  wrote: 

The  French  Revolution  was  a  political  revolution  which  operated  in  the 
manner  of  and  assumed  something  of  the  aspect  of  a  religious  revolution. 
See  by  what  regular  and  characteristic  traits  it  finally  resembled  the  latter; 
not  only  did  it  spread  itself  far  and  wide  like  a  religious  revolution,  but, 
like  the  latter,  it  spread  itself  by  means  of  preaching  and  propaganda.  A 
political  revolution  which  inspires  proselytes,  which  is  preached  as  passion- 
ately to  foreigners  as  it  is  accomplished  at  home:  consider  what  a  novel 
spectacle  was  this. 

Although  the  mystic  element  is  always  the  foundation  of  beliefs, 
certain  affective  and  rational  elements  are  quickly  added  thereto. 
A  belief  thus  serves  to  group  sentiments  and  passions  and  interests 
which  belong  to  the  affective  domain.  Reason  then  envelops  the 
whole,  seeking  to  justify  events  in  which,  however,  it  played  no 
part  whatever. 

At  the  moment  of  the  Revolution  everyone,  according  to  his 
aspirations,  dressed  the  new  belief  in  a  different  rational  vesture. 
The  peoples  saw  in  it  only  the  suppression  of  the  religious  and  political 
despotisms  and  hierarchies  under  which  they  had  so  often  suffered. 
Writers  like  Goethe  and  thinkers  like  Kant  imagined  that  they  saw 
in  it  the  triumph  of  reason.  Foreigners  like  Humboldt  came  to 
France  "  to  breathe  the  air  of  liberty  and  to  assist  at  the  obsequies 
of  despotism."  These  intellectual  illusions  did  not  last  long.  The 
evolution  of  the  drama  soon  revealed  the  true  foundations  of  the 
dream. 

b.  Bolshevism1 

Great  mass  movements,  whether  these  be  religious  or  political, 
are  at  first  always  difficult  to  understand.  Invariably  they  challenge 
existing  moral  and  intellectual  values,  the  revaluation  of  which  is, 
for  the  normal  mind,  an  exceedingly  difficult  and  painful  task.  More- 
over the  definition  of  their  aims  and  policies  into  exact  and  compre- 
hensive programs  is  generally  slowly  achieved.  At  their  inception 
and  during  the  early  stages  of  their  development  there  must  needs 
be  many  crude  and  tentative  statements  and  many  rhetorical  exag- 
gerations. It  is  safe  to  assert  as  a  rule  that  at  no  stage  of  its  history 

1  Adapted  from  John  Spargo,  The  Psychology  of  Bolshevism,  pp.  i-i  20.  (Harper 
&  Brothers,  1919.) 


910  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

can  a  great  movement  of  the  masses  be  fully  understood  and  fairly 
interpreted  by  a  study  of  its  formal  statements  and  authentic  exposi- 
tions only.  These  must  be  supplemented  by  a  careful  study  of  the 
psychology  of  the  men  and  women  whose  ideals  and  yearnings  these 
statements  and  expositions  aim  to  represent.  It  is  not  enough  to 
know  and  comprehend  the  creed:  it  is  essential  that  we  also  know 
and  comprehend  the  spiritual  factors,  the  discontent,  the  hopes,  the 
fears,  the  inarticulate  visionings  of  the  human  units  in  the  movement. 
This  is  of  greater  importance  in  the  initial  stages  than  later,  when  the 
articulation  of  the  soul  of  the  movement  has  become  more  certain 
and  clear. 

No  one  who  has  attended  many  bolshevist  meetings  or  is  ac- 
quainted with  many  of  the  individuals  to  whom  bolshevism  makes  a 
strong  appeal  will  seriously  question  the  statement  that  an  impressively 
large  number  of  those  who  profess  to  be  Bolshevists  present  a  striking 
likeness  to  extreme  religious  zealots,  not  only  hi  the  manner  of  mani- 
festing their  enthusiasm,  but  also  in  their  methods  of  exposition  and 
argument.  Just  as  in  religious  hysteria  a  single  text  becomes  a 
whole  creed  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  text,  and  instead  of  being 
itself  subject  to  rational  tests  is  made  the  sole  test  of  the  rationality 
of  everything  else,  so  in  the  case  of  the  average  Bolshevist  of  this  type 
a  single  phrase  received  into  the  mind  in  a  spasm  of  emotion,  never 
tested  by  the  usual  criteria  of  reason,  becomes  not  only  the  very 
essence  of  truth  but  also  the  standard  by  which  the  truth  or  untruth 
of  everything  else  must  be  determined.  Most  of  the  preachers  who 
become  pro-Bolshevists  are  of  this  type. 

People  who  possess  minds  thus  affected  are  generally  capable  of, 
and  frequently  indulge  in,  the  strictest  logical  deduction  and  analysis. 
Sometimes  they  acquire  the  reputation  of  being  exceptionally  brilliant 
thinkers  because  of  this  power.  But  the  fact  is  that  their  initial 
ideas,  upon  which  every  thing  is  pivoted,  are  derived  emotionally  and 
are  not  the  results  of  a  deliberate  weighing  of  available  evidence. 
The  initial  movement  is  one  of  feeling,  of  emotional  impulse.  The 
conviction  thereby  created  is  so  strong  and  so  dominant  that  it 
cannot  be  affected  by  any  purely  rational  functional  factors. 

People  of  this  type  jump  at  decisions  and  reach  very  positive 
convictions  upon  the  most  difficult  matters  with  bewildering  ease. 
For  them  the  complexities  and  intricacies  which  trouble  the  normal 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  911 

mind  do  not  exist.  Everything  is  either  black  or  white:  there  are 
no  perplexing  intervening  grays.  Right  is  right  and  wrong  is  wrong; 
they  do  not  recognize  that  there  are  doubtful  twilight  zones.  Ideas 
capable  of  the  most  elaborate  expansion  and  the  most  subtle  intri- 
cacies of  interpretation  are  immaturely  grasped  and  preached  with 
na'ive  assurance.  Statements  alleged  to  be  facts,  no  matter  what 
their  source,  if  they  seem  to  support  the  convictions  thus  emotionally 
derived,  are  received  without  any  examination  and  used  as  con- 
clusive proof,  notwithstanding  that  a  brief  investigation  would  prove 
them  to  be  worthless  as  evidence. 

If  we  take  the  group  of  American  intellectuals  who  at  present 
are  ardent  champions  of  bolshevism  we  shall  find  that,  with  exceptions 
so  few  as  to  be  almost  negligible,  they  have  embraced  nearly  every 
"ism"  as  it  arose,  seeing  in  each  one  the  magic  solvent  of  humanity's 
ills.  Those  of  an  older  generation  thus  regarded  bimetallism,  for 
instance.  What  else  could  be  required  to  make  the  desert  bloom 
like  a  garden  and  to  usher  in  the  earthly  Paradise?  The  younger 
ones,  in  their  turn,  took  up  anarchist-communism,  Marxian  socialism, 
industrial  unionism,  syndicalism,  birth  control,  feminism,  and  many 
other  movements  and  propagandas,  each  of  which  in  its  turn  induced 
ecstatic  visions  of  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth.  The  same  indi- 
viduals have  grown  lyrical  in  praise  of  every  bizarre  and  eccentric 
art  fad.  In  the  banal  and  grotesque  travesties  of  art  produced  by 
cubists,  futurists,  et  al.,  they  saw  transcendent  genius.  They  are 
forever  seeking  new  gods  and  burying  old  ones. 

It  would  be  going  too  far  to  say  that  these  individuals  are  all 
hystericals  in  the  pathological  sense,  but  it  is  strictly  accurate  to  say 
that  the  class  exhibits  marked  hysterical  characteristics  and  that  it 
closely  resembles  the  large  class  of  over-emotionalized  religious 
enthusiasts  which  furnish  so  many  true  hystericals.  It  is  probable 
that  accidents  of  environment  account  for  the  fact  that  their  emo- 
tionalism takes  sociological  rather  than  religious  forms.  If  the 
sociological  impetus  were  absent,  most  of  them  would  be  religiously 
motived  to  a  state  not  less  abnormal. 

To  understand  the  spread  of  bolshevist  agitation  and  sympathy 
among  a  very  considerable  part  of  the  working  class  in  this  country, 
we  must  take  into  account  the  fact  that  its  logical  and  natural  nucleus 
is  the  I.W.W.  It  is  necessary  also  to  emancipate  our  minds  from  the 


912  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

obsession  that  only  "ignorant  foreigners"  are  affected.  This  is  not 
a  true  estimate  of  either  the  I.W.W.  or  the  bolshevist  propaganda  as 
a  whole.  There  are  indeed  many  of  this  class  in  both,  but  there  are 
also  many  native  Americans,  sturdy,  self-reliant,  enterprising,  and 
courageous  men.  The  peculiar  group  psychology  which  we  are 
compelled  to  study  is  less  the  result  of  those  subtle  and  complex 
factors  which  are  comprehended  in  the  vague  term  "race"  than  of 
the  political  and  economic  conditions  by  which  the  group  concerned 
is  environed. 

The  typical  native-born  I.W.W.  member,  the  "Wobbly"  one 
frequently  encounters  in  our  mid-western  and  western  cities,  is  very 
unlike  the  hideous  and  repulsive  figure  conjured  up  by  sensational 
cartoonists.  He  is  much  more  likely  to  be  a  very  attractive  sort  of 
man.  Here  are  some  characteristics  of  the  type:  figure  robust, 
sturdy,  and  virile;  dress  rough  but  not  unclean;  speech  forthright, 
deliberate,  and  bold;  features  intelligent,  frank,  and  free  from  signs 
of  alcoholic  dissipation;  movements  slow  and  leisurely  as  of  one 
averse  to  over-exertion.  There  are  thousands  of  "wobblies"  to 
whom  the  specifications  of  this  description  will  apply.  Conversation 
with  these  men  reveals  that,  as  a  general  rule,  they  are  above  rather 
than  below  the  average  in  sobriety.  They  are  generally  free  from 
family  ties,  being  either  unmarried  or,  as  often  happens,  wife-deserters. 
They  are  not  highly  educated,  few  having  attended  any  school  beyond 
the  grammar-school  grade.  Many  of  them  have,  however,  read  a 
great  deal  more  than  the  average  man,  though  their  reading  has  been 
curiously  miscellaneous  in  selection  and  nearly  always  badly  balanced. 
Theology,  philosophy,  sociology,  and  economics  seem  to  attract  most 
attention.  In  discussion — and  every  "Wobbly"  seems  to  possess 
a  passion  for  disputation — men  of  this  type  will  manifest  a  surprising 
familiarity  with  the  broad  outlines  of  certain  theological  problems, 
as  well  as  with  the  scriptural  texts  bearing  upon  them.  It  is  very 
likely  to  be  the  case,  however,  that  they  have  only  read  a  few  popular 
classics  of  what  used  to  be  called  rationalism — Paine's  Age  of  Reason, 
Ingersoll's  lectures  ir>  pamphlet  form,  and  Haeckel's  Riddle  of  the 
Universe  are  typical.  A  surprisingly  large  number  can  quote  exten- 
sively from  Buckle's  History  of  Civilization  and  from  the  writings  of 
Marx.  They  quote  statistics  freely — statistics  of  wages,  poverty, 
crime,  vice,  and  so  on — generally  derived  from  the  radical  press  and 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  913 

implicitly  believed  because  so  published,  with  what  they  accept  as 
adequate  authority. 

Their  most  marked  peculiarity  is  the  migratory  nature  of  their 
lives.  Whether  this  is  self-determined,  a  matter  of  temperament 
and  habit,  or  due  to  uncontrollable  factors,  it  is  largely  responsible 
for  the  contempt  in  which  they  are  popularly  held.  It  naturally 
brings  upon  them  the  reproach  and  resentment  everywhere  visited 
upon  "tramps"  and  "vagabonds."  They  rarely  remain  long  enough 
in  any  one  place  to  form  local  attachments  and  ties  or  anything  like 
civic  pride.  They  move  from  job  to  job,  city  to  city,  state  to  state, 
sometimes  tramping  afoot,  begging  as  they  go;  sometimes  stealing 
rides  on  railway  trains,  in  freight  cars — "side-door  Pullmans" — or 
on  the  rods  underneath  the  cars.  Frequently  arrested  for  begging, 
trespassing,  or  stealing  rides,  they  are  often  victims  of  injustice  at 
the  hands  of  local  judges  and  justices.  The  absence  of  friends,  com- 
bined with  the  prejudice  against  vagrants  which  everywhere  exists, 
subjects  them  to  arbitrary  and  high-handed  injustice  such  as  no 
other  body  of  American  citizens  has  to  endure.  Moreover,  through 
the  conditions  of  their  existence  they  are  readily  suspected  of  crimes 
they  do  not  commit;  it  is  all  too  easy  for  the  hard-pushed  police 
officer  or  sheriff  to  impute  a  crime  to  the  lone  and  defenseless  "Wob- 
bly," who  frequently  can  produce  no  testimony  to  prove  his  in- 
nocence, simply  because  he  has  no  friends  in  the  neighborhood  and 
has  been  at  pains  to  conceal  his  movements.  In  this  manner  the 
"Wobbly"  becomes  a  veritable  son  of  Ishmael,  his  hand  against  the 
hand  of  nearly  every  man  in  conventional  society.  In  particular  he 
becomes  a  rebel  by  habit,  hating  the  police  and  the  courts  as  his 
constant  enemies. 

Doubtless  the  great  majority  of  these  men  are  temperamentally 
predisposed  to  the  unanchored,  adventurous,  migratory  existence 
which  they  lead.  Boys  so  constituted  run  away  to  sea,  take  jobs 
with  traveling  circuses,  or  enlist  as  soldiers.  The  type  is  familiar 
and  not  uncommon.  Such  individuals  cannot  be  content  with  the 
prosaic,  humdrum,  monotonous  life  of  regular  employment.  As  a 
rule  we  do  not  look  upon  this  trait  in  boy  or  man  as  criminal. 

Many  a  hardworking,  intelligent  American,  who  from  choice  or 
from  necessity  is  a  migratory  worker,  following  his  job,  never  has  an 
opportunity  to  vote  for  state  legislators,  for  governor,  for  congressman 


914  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

or  president.  He  is  just  as  effectively  excluded  from  the  actual 
electorate  as  if  he  were  a  Chinese  coolie,  ignorant  of  our  customs  and 
our  speech. 

We  cannot  wonder  that  such  conditions  prove  prolific  breeders  of 
bolshevism  and  similar  "isms."  It  would  be  strange  indeed  if  it 
were  otherwise.  We  have  no  right  to  expect  that  men  who  are  so 
constantly  the  victims  of  arbitrary,  unjust,  and  even  brutal  treatment 
at  the  hands  of  our  police  and  our  courts  will  manifest  any  reverence 
for  the  law  and  the  judicial  system.  Respect  for  majority  rule  in 
government  cannot  fairly  be  demanded  from  a  disfranchised  group. 
It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  old  slogan  of  socialism,  "Strike 
at  the  ballot-box!" — the  call  to  lift  the  struggle  of  the  classes  to 
the  parliamentary  level  for  peaceful  settlement — becomes  the  des- 
perate, anarchistic  I.W.W.  slogan,  "Strike  at  the  ballot-box  with 
an  ax!"  Men  who  can  have  no  family  life  cannot  justly  be  expected 
to  bother  about  school  administration.  Men  who  can  have  no  home 
life  but  only  dreary  shelter  in  crowded  work-camps  or  dirty  doss- 
houses  are  not  going  to  bother  themselves  with  municipal  housing 
reforms. 

In  short,  we  must  wake  up  to  the  fact  that,  as  the  very  heart 
of  our  problem,  we  have  a  bolshevist  nucleus  in  America  composed 
of  virile,  red-blooded  Americans,  racy  of  our  soil  and  history,  whose 
conditions  of  life  and  labor  are  such  as  to  develop  in  them  the  psy- 
chology of  reckless,  despairing,  revengeful  bolshevism.  They  really 
are  little  concerned  with  theories  of  the  state  and  of  social  develop- 
ment, which  to  our  intellectuals  seem  to  be  the  essence  of  bolshevism. 
They  are  vitally  concerned  only  with  action.  Syndicalism  and 
bolshevism  involve  speedy  and  drastic  action — hence  the  force  of  their 
appeal. 

Finally,  if  we  would  understand  why  millions  of  people  in  all 
lands  have  turned  away  from  old  ideals,  old  loyalties,  and  old  faiths 
to  bolshevism,  with  something  of  the  passion  and  frenzy  character- 
istic of  great  messianic  movements,  we  must  take  into  account  the 
intense  spiritual  agony  and  hunger  which  the  Great  War  has  brought 
into  the  lives  of  civilized  men.  The  old  gods  are  dead  and  men  are 
everywhere  expectantly  waiting  for  the  new  gods  to  arise.  The 
aftermath  of  the  war  is  a  spiritual  cataclysm  such  as  civilized  mankind 
has  never  before  known.  The  old  religions  and  moralities  are  shat- 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  915 

tered  and  men  are  waiting  and  striving  for  new  ones.  It  is  a  time 
suggestive  of  the  birth  of  new  religions.  Man  cannot  live  as  yet 
without  faith,  without  some  sort  of  religion.  The  heart  of  the  world 
today  is  strained  with  yearning  for  new  and  living  faiths  to  replace 
the  old  faiths  which  are  dead.  Were  some  persuasive  fanatic  to  arise 
proclaiming  himself  to  be  a  new  Messiah,  and  preaching  the  religion 
of  action,  the  creation  of  a  new  society,  he  would  find  an  eager,  soul- 
hungry  world  already  predisposed  to  believe. 

4.     Mass  Movements  and  Institutions:   Methodism1 

The  corruption  of  manners  which  has  been  general  since  the 
Restoration  was  combated  by  societies  for  "  the  reformation  of  man- 
ners," which  in  the  last  years  of  the  seventeenth  century  acquired 
extraordinary  dimensions.  They  began  in  certain  private  societies 
which  arose  in  the  reign  of  James  II,  chiefly  under  the  auspices  of 
Beveridge  and  Bishop  Horneck.  These  societies  were  at  first  purely 
devotional,  and  they  appear  to  have  been  almost  identical  in  char- 
acter with  those  of  the  early  Methodists.  They  held  prayer  meetings, 
weekly  communions,  and  Bible-readings;  they  sustained  charities 
and  distributed  religious  books,  and  they  cultivated  a  warmer  and 
more  ascetic  type  of  devotion  than  was  common  in  the  Church. 
Societies  of  this  description  sprang  up  in  almost  every  considerable 
city  in  England  and  even  in  several  of  those  in  Ireland.  In  the  last 
years  of  the  seventeenth  century  we  find  no  less  than  ten  of  them 
in  Dublin.  Without,  however,  altogether  discarding  their  first 
character,  they  assumed,  about  1695,  new  and  very  important  func- 
tions. They  divided  themselves  into  several  distinct  groups,  under- 
taking the  discovery  and  suppression  of  houses  of  ill  fame,  and  the 
prosecution  of  swearers,  drunkards,  and  Sabbath-breakers.  They 
became  a  kind  of  voluntary  police,  acting  largely  as  spies,  and  enfor- 
cing the  laws  against  religious  offenses.  The  energy  with  which  this 
scheme  was  carried  out  is  very  remarkable.  As  many  as  seventy  or 
eighty  persons  were  .often  prosecuted  in  London  and  Westminster  for 
cursing  and  swearing,  in  a  single  week.  Sunday  markets,  which  had 
hitherto  been  not  uncommon,  were  effectually  suppressed.  Hundreds 
of  disorderly  houses  were  closed.  Forty  or  fifty  night-walkers  were 

1  Adapted  from  William  E.  H.  Lecky,  A  History  of  England  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century,  III,  33-101.  (D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1892.) 


Qi6          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

sent  every  week  to  Bridewell,  and  numbers  were  induced  to  emigrate 
to  the  colonies.  A  great  part  of  the  fines  levied  for  these  offenses  was 
bestowed  on  the  poor.  In  the  fortieth  annual  report  of  the  "  Societies 
for  the  Reformation  of  Manners"  which  appeared  in  1735,  it  was 
stated  that  the  number  of  prosecutions  for  debauchery  and  profane- 
ness  in  London  and  Westminster  alone,  since  the  foundation  of  the 
societies,  had  been  99,380. 

The  term  Methodist  was  a  college  nickname  bestowed  upon  a 
small  society  of  students  at  Oxford,  who  met  together  between  1729 
and  1735  for  the  purpose  of  mutual  improvement.  They  were  accus- 
tomed to  communicate  every  week,  to  /ast  regularly  on  Wednesdays 
and  Fridays,  and  on  most  days  during  Lent;  to  read  and  discuss  the 
Bible  in  common,  to  abstain  from  most  forms  of  amusement  and 
luxury,  and  to  visit  sick  persons  and  prisoners  in  the  gaol.  John 
Wesley,  the  future  leader  of  the  religious  revival  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  was  the  master-spirit  of  this  society.  The  society  hardly 
numbered  more  than  fifteen  members,  and  was  the  object  of  much 
ridicule  at  the  university;  but  it  included  some  men  who  afterward 
played  considerable  parts  in  the  world.  Among  them  was  Charles, 
the  younger  brother  of  John  Wesley,  whose  hymns  became  the  favorite 
poetry  of  the  sect,  and  whose  gentler>  more  submissive,  and  more 
amiable  character,  though  less  fitted  than*  that  of  his  brother  for  the 
great  conflicts  of  public  life,  was  very  useful  in  moderating  the  move- 
ment, and  in  drawing  converts  to  it  by  personal  influence.  Charles 
Wesley  appears  to  have  originated  the  society  at  Oxford ;  he  brought 
Whitefield  into  its  pale,  and  besides  being  the  most  popular  poet  he 
was  one  of  the  most  persuasive  preachers  of  the  movement. 

In  the  course  of  1738  the  chief  elements  of  the  movement  were 
already  formed.  Whitefield  had  returned  from  Georgia,  Charles 
Wesley  had  begun  to  preach  the  doctrine  with  extraordinary  effect  to 
the  criminals  in  Newgate  and  from  every  pulpit  into  which  he  was 
admitted.  Methodist  societies  had  already  sprung  up  under  Mora- 
vian influence.  They  were  in  part  a  continuation  of  the  society  at 
Oxford,  in  part  a  revival  of  those  religious  societies  that  have  been 
already  noticed  as  so  common  after  the  Revolution.  The  design  of 
each  was  to  be  a  church  within  a  church,  a  seedplot  of  a  more  fervent 
piety,  the  center  of  a  stricter  discipline  and  a  more  energetic  propa- 
gandism  than  existed  in  religious  communities  at  large.  In  these 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  917 

societies  the  old  Christian  custom  of  love-feasts  was  revived.  The 
members  sometimes  passed  almost  the  whole  night  in  the  most 
passionate  devotions,  and  voluntarily  submitted  to  a  spiritual  tyranny 
that  could  hardly  be  surpassed  in  a  Catholic  monastery.  They  were 
to  meet  every  week,  to  make  an  open  and  particular  confession  of 
every  frailty,  to  submit  to  be  cross-examined  on  all  their  thoughts, 
words,  and  deeds.  The  following  among  others  were  the  questions 
asked  at  every  meeting:  "  What  known  sin  have  you  committed  since 
our  last  meeting?  What  temptations  have  you  met  with?  How 
were  you  delivered  ?  What  have  you  thought,  said,  or  done  of  which 
you  doubt  whether  it  be  sin  or  not  ?  Have  you  nothing  you  desire 
to  keep  secret  ?" 

Such  rules  could  only  have  been  accepted  under  the  influence  of  an 
overpowering  religious  enthusiasm,  and  there  was  much  truth  in  the 
judgment  which  the  elder  brother  of  John  Wesley  passed  upon  them 
in  1739.  "Their  societies,"  he  wrote  to  their  mother,  "are  sufficient 
to  dissolve  all  other  societies  but  their  own.  Will  any  man  of  common 
sense  or  spirit  suffer  any  domestic  to  be  in  a  band  engaged  to  relate  to 
five  or  ten  people  everything  without  reserve  that  concerns  the 
person's  conscience  how  much  soever  it  may  concern  the  family? 
Ought  any  married  persons  to  be  there  unless  husband  and  wife  be 
there  together  ?" 

From  this  time  the  leaders  of  the  movement  became  the  most 
active  of  missionaries.  Without  any  fixed  parishes  they  wandered 
from  place  to  place,  proclaiming  their  new  doctrine  in  every  pulpit  to 
which  they  were  admitted,  and  they  speedily  awoke  a  passionate 
enthusiasm  and  a  bitter  hostility  in  the  Church. 

We  may  blame,  but  we  can  hardly,  I  think,  wonder  at  the  hostility 
all  this  aroused  among  the  clergy.  It  is,  indeed,  certain  that  Wesley 
and  Whitefield  were  at  this  time  doing  more  than  any  other  contem- 
porary clergymen  to  kindle  a  living  piety  among  the  people.  Yet 
before  the  end  of  1738  the  Methodist  leaders  were  excluded  from  most 
of  the  pulpits  of  the  Church,  and  were  thus  compelled,  unless  they 
consented  to  relinquish  what  they  considered  a  Divine  mission,  to 
take  steps  in  the  direction  of  separation. 

Two  important  measures  of  this  nature  were  taken  in  1739.  One 
of  them  was  the  creation  of  Methodist  chapels,  which  were  intended 
not  to  oppose  or  replace,  but  to  be  supplemental  and  ancillary  to,  the 


Ql8  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

churches,  and  to  secure  that  the  doctrine  of  the  new  birth  should  be 
faithfully  taught  to  the  people.  The  other  and  still  more  important 
event  was  the  institution  by  Whitefield  of  field-preaching.  The  idea 
had  occurred  to  him  in  London,  where  he  found  congregations  too 
numerous  for  the  church  in  which  he  preached,  but  the  first  actual 
step  was  taken  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bristol.  At  a  time  when  he 
was  himself  excluded  from  the  pulpits  at  Bristol,  and  was  thus  deprived 
of  the  chief  normal  means  of  exercising  his  talents,  his  attention  was 
called  to  the  condition  of  the  colliers  at  Kingswood.  He  was  filled 
with  horror  and  compassion  at  finding  in  the  heart  of  a  Christian 
country,  and  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  a  great  city,  a  popula- 
tion of  many  thousands,  sunk  in  the  most  brutal  ignorance  and  vice, 
and  entirely  excluded  from  the  ordinances  of  religion.  Moved  by 
such  feelings,  he  resolved  to  address  the  colliers  in  their  own  haunts. 
The  resolution  was  a  bold  one,  for  field-preaching  was  then  utterly 
unknown  in  England,  and  it  needed  no  common  courage  to  brave  all 
the  obloquy  and  derision  it  must  provoke,  and  to  commence  the 
experiment  in  the  center  of  a  half-savage  population.  Whitefield, 
however,  had  a  just  confidence  in  his  cause  and  in  his  powers.  Stand- 
ing himself  upon  a  hillside,  he  took  for  his  text  the  first  words  of  the 
sermon  which  was  spoken  from  the  Mount,  and  he  addressed  with  his 
accustomed  fire  an  astonished  audience  of  some  two  hundred  men. 
The  fame  of  his  eloquence  spread  far  and  wide.  On  successive 
occasions,  five,  ten,  fifteen,  even  twenty  thousand  were  present.  It 
was  February,  but  the  winter  sun  shone  clear  and  bright.  The  lanes 
were  filled  with  carriages  of  the  more  wealthy  citizens,  whom  curiosity 
had  drawn  from  Bristol.  The  trees  and  hedges  were  crowded  with 
humbler  listeners,  and  the  fields  were  darkened  by  a  compact  mass. 
The  voice  of  the  great  preacher  pealed  with  a  thrilling  power  to  the 
outskirts  of  that  mighty  throng.  The  picturesque  novelty  of  the 
occasion  and  of  the  scene,  the  contagious  emotion  of  so  great  a  multi- 
tude, a  deep  sense  of  the  condition  of  his  hearers  and  of  the  momentous 
importance  of  the  step  he  was  taking,  gave  an  additional  solemnity  to 
his  eloquence.  His  rude  auditors  were  electrified.  They  stood  for  a 
tune  in  rapt  and  motionless  attention.  Soon  tears  might  be  seen 
forming  white  gutters  down  cheeks  blackened  from  the  coal  mine. 
Then  sobs  and  groans  told  how  hard  hearts  were  melting  at  his 
words.  A  fire  was  kindled  among  the  outcasts  of  Kingswood  which 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  919 

burnt  long  and  fiercely,  and  was  destined  in  a  few  years  to  over- 
spread the  land. 

But  for  the  simultaneous  appearance  of  a  great  orator  and  a  great 
statesman,  Methodism  would  probably  have  smouldered  and  at  last 
perished  like  the  very  similar  religious  societies  of  the  preceding 
century.  Whitefield  was  utterly  destitute  of  the  organizing  skill  which 
could  alone  give  a  permanence  to  the  movement,  and  no  talent  is 
naturally  more  ephemeral  than  popular  oratory;  while  Wesley,  though 
a  great  and  impressive  preacher,  could  scarcely  have  kindled  a  general 
enthusiasm  had  he  not  been  assisted  by  an  orator  who  had  an  unrivaled 
power  of  moving  the  passions  of  the  ignorant.  The  institution  of 
field-preaching  by  Whitefield  in  the  February  of  1739  carried  the 
impulse  through  the  great  masses  of  the  poor,  while  the  foundation  by 
Wesley,  in  the  May  of  the  same  year,  of  the  first  Methodist  chapel 
was  the  beginning  of  an  organized  body  capable  of  securing  and 
perpetuating  the  results  that  had  been  achieved. 

From  the  time  of  the  institution  of  lay  preachers  Methodism 
became  in  a  great  degree  independent  of  the  Established  Church. 
Its  chapels  multiplied  in  the  great  towns,  and  its  itinerant  missionaries 
penetrated  to  the  most  secluded  districts.  They  were  accustomed  to 
preach  in  fields  and  gardens,  in  streets  and  lecture-rooms,  in  market 
places  and  churchyards.  On  one  occasion  we  find  Whitefield  at  a 
fair  mounting  a  stage  which  had  been  erected  for  some  wrestlers,  and 
there  denouncing  the  pleasures  of  the  world;  on  another,  preaching 
among  the  mountebanks  at  Moorfields;  on  a  third,  attracting 
around  his  pulpit  ten  thousand  of  the  spectators  at  a  race  course; 
on  a  fourth,  standing  beside  the  gallows  at  an  execution  to  speak  of 
death  and  of  eternity.  Wesley,  when  excluded  from  the  pulpit  of 
Epworth,  delivered  some  of  his  most  impressive  sermons  in  the 
churchyard,  standing  on  his  father's  tomb.  Howell  Harris,  the 
apostle  of  Wales,  encountering  a  party  of  mountebanks,  sprang  into 
their  midst  exclaiming,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "Let  us  pray,"  and  then 
proceeded  to  thunder  forth  the  judgments  of  the  Lord.  Rowland 
Hill  was  accustomed  to  visit  the  great  towns  on  market  day  in  order 
that  he  might  address  the  people  in  the  market  place,  and  to  go  from 
fair  to  fair  preaching  among  the  revelers  from  his  favorite  text,  "  Come 
out  from  among  them."  In  this  manner  the  Methodist  preachers 
came  in  contact  with  the  most  savage  elements  of  the  population,  and 


Q20  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

there  were  few  forms  of  mob  violence  they  did  not  experience.  In 
1741  one  of  their  preachers  named  Seward,  after  repeated  ill  treatment 
in  Wales,  was  at  last  struck  on  the  head  while  preaching  at  Mon 
mouth,  and  died  of  the  blow.  In  a  riot,  while  Wheatley  was  preaching 
at  Norwich,  a  poor  woman  with  child  perished  from  the  kicks  and 
blows  of  the  mob.  At  Dublin,  Whitefield  was  almost  stoned  to  death. 
At  Exeter  he  was  stoned  in  the  very  presence  of  the  bishop.  At 
Plymouth  he  was  violently  assaulted  and  his  life  seriously  threatened 
by  a  naval  officer. 

Scenes  of  this  kind  were  of  continual  occurrence,  and  they  were 
interspersed  with  other  persecutions  of  a  less  dangerous  description. 
Drums  were  beaten,  horns  blown,  guns  let  off,  and  blacksmiths  hired 
to  ply  their  noisy  trade  in  order  to  drown  the  voices  of  the  preachers. 
Once,  at  the  very  moment  when  Whitefield  announced  his  text,  the 
belfry  gave  out  a  peal  loud  enough  to  make  him  inaudible.  On  other 
occasions  packs  of  hounds  were  brought  with  the  same  object,  and 
once,  in  order  to  excite  the  dogs  to  fury,  a  live  cat  in  a  cage  was  placed 
in  their  midst.  Fire  engines  poured  streams  of  fetid  water  upon 
the  congregation.  Stones  fell  so  thickly  that  the  faces  of  many  grew 
crimson  with  blood.  At  Hoxton  the  mob  drove  an  ox  into  the  midst 
of  the  congregation.  At  Pensford  the  rabble,  who  had  been  baiting 
a  bull,  concluded  their  sport  by  driving  the  torn  and  tired  animal  full 
against  the  table  on  which  Wesley  was  preaching.  Sometimes  we 
find  innkeepers  refusing  to  receive  the  Methodist  leaders  in  their  inns, 
farmers  entering  into  an  agreement  to  dismiss  every  laborer  who 
attended  a  Methodist  preacher,  landlords  expelling  all  Methodists 
from  their  cottages,  masters  dismissing  their  servants  because  they 
had  joined  the  sect.  The  magistrates,  who  knew  by  experience  that 
the  presence  of  a  Methodist  preacher  was  the  usual  precursor  of 
disturbance  and  riot,  looked  on  them  with  the  greatest  disfavor,  and 
often  scandalously  connived  at  the  persecutions  they  underwent. 

It  was  frequently  observed  by  Wesley  that  his  preaching  rarely 
affected  the  rich  and  the  educated.  It  was  over  the  ignorant  and  the 
credulous  that  it  exercised  its  most  appalling  power,  and  it  is  difficult 
to  overrate  the  mental  anguish  it  must  sometimes  have  produced. 
Timid  and  desponding  natures  unable  to  convince  themselves  that 
they  had  undergone  a  supernatural  change,  gentle  and  affectionate 
natures  who  believed  that  those  who  were  dearest  to  them  were 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  921 

descending  into  everlasting  fire,  must  have  often  experienced  pangs 
compared  with  which  the  torments  of  the  martyr  were  insignificant. 
The  confident  assertions  of  the  Methodist  preacher  and  the  ghastly 
images  he  continually  evoked  poisoned  their  imaginations,  haunted 
them  in  every  hour  of  weakness  or  depression,  discolored  all  their 
judgments  of  the  world,  and  added  a  tenfold  horror  to  the  darkness 
of  the  grave.  Sufferings  of  this  description,  though  among  the  most 
real  and  the  most  terrible  that  superstition  can  inflict,  are  so  hidden 
in  their  nature  that  they  leave  few  traces  in  history;  but  it  is  impos- 
sible to  read  the  journals  of  Wesley  without  feeling  that  they  were 
most  widely  diffused.  Many  were  thrown  into  paroxysms  of  extreme, 
though  usually  transient,  agony;  many  doubtless  nursed  a  secret  sor- 
row which  corroded  all  the  happiness  of  their  lives,  while  not  a  few 
became  literally  insane.  On  one  occasion  Wesley  was  called  to  the 
bedside  of  a  young  woman  at  Kingswood.  He  tells  us: 

She  was  nineteen  or  twenty  years  old,  but,  it  seems,  could  not  write 
or  read.  I  found  her  on  the  bed,  two  or  three  persons  holding  her.  It 
was  a  terrible  sight.  Anguish,  horror,  and  despair  above  all  description 
appeared  in  her  pale  face.  The  thousand  distortions  of  her  whole  body 
showed  how  the  dogs  of  hell  were  gnawing  at  her  heart.  The  shrieks  inter- 
mixed were  scarce  to  be  endured.  But  her  stony  eyes  could  not  weep. 
She  screamed  out  as  soon  as  words  could  find  their  way,  "I  am  damned, 
damned,  lost  forever:  six  days  ago  you  might  have  helped  me.  But  it  is 

past.     I  am  the  devil's  now I  will  go  with  him  to  hell.     I  cannot 

be  saved."  They  sang  a  hymn,  and  for  a  time  she  sank  to  rest,  but  soon 
broke  out  anew  in  incoherent  exclamations,  "Break,  break,  poor  stony 
hearts!  Will  you  not  break  ?  What  more  can  be  done  for  stony  hearts? 
I  am  damned  that  you  may  be  saved!"  ....  She  then  fixed  her  eyes  in 
the  corner  of  the  ceiling,  and  said,  "There  he  is,  ay,  there  he  is!  Come, 
good  devil,  come!  Take  me  away."  ....  We  interrupted  her  by  calling 
again  on  God,  on  which  she  sank  down  as  before,  and  another  young  woman 
began  to  roar  out  as  loud  as  she  had  done. 

For  more  than  two  hours  Wesley  and  his  brother  continued  praying 
over  her.  At  last  the  paroxysms  subsided  and  the  patient  joined  in 
a  hymn  of  praise. 

In  the  intense  religious  enthusiasm  that  was  generated,  many  of 
the  ties  of  life  were  snapped  in  twain.  Children  treated  with  con- 
tempt the  commands  of  their  parents,  students  the  rules  of  their 


922  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

colleges,  clergymen  the  discipline  of  their  Church.  The  whole 
structure  of  society,  and  almost  all  the  amusements  of  life,  appeared 
criminal.  The  fairs,  the  mountebanks,  the  public  rejoicings  of  the 
people,  were  all  Satanic.  It  was  sinful  for  a  woman  to  wear  any  gold 
ornament  or  any  brilliant  dress.  It  was  even  sinful  for  a  man  to 
exercise  the  common  prudence  of  laying  by  a  certain  portion  of  his 
income.  When  Whitefield  proposed  to  a  lady  to  marry  him,  he 
thought  it  necessary  to  say,  "I  bless  God,  if  I  know  anything  of  my 
own  heart,  I  am  free  from  that  foolish  passion  which  the  world  calls 
love."  "I  trust  I  love  you  only  for  God,  and  desire  to  be  joined  to 
you  only  by  His  commands,  and  for  His  sake."  It  is  perhaps  not 
very  surprising  that  Whitefield's  marriage,  like  that  of  Wesley,  proved 
very  unhappy.  Theaters  and  the  reading  of  plays  were  absolutely 
condemned,  and  Methodists  employed  all  their  influence  with  the 
authorities  to  prevent  the  erection  of  the  former.  It  seems  to  have 
been  regarded  as  a  divine  judgment  that  once,  when  Macbeth  was 
being  acted  at  Drury  Lane,  a  real  thunderstorm  mingled  with  the 
mimic  thunder  in  the  witch  scene.  Dancing  was,  if  possible,  even 
worse  than  the  theater.  "Dancers,"  said  Whitefield,  "please  the 
devil  at  every  step";  and  it  was  said  that  his  visit  to  a  town  usually 
put  "a  stop  to  the  dancing- school,  the  assemblies,  and  every  pleasant 
thing."  He  made  it  his  mission  to  "bear  testimony  against  the 
detestable  diversions  of  this  generation";  and  he  declared  that  no 
"recreations,  considered  as  such,  can  be  innocent." 

Accompanying  this  asceticism  we  find  an  extraordinary  revival 
of  the  grossest  superstition.  It  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the 
essentially  emotional  character  of  Methodism  that  its  disciples  should 
imagine  that  every  strong  feeling  or  impulse  within  them  was  a  direct 
inspiration  of  God  or  Satan.  The  language  of  Whitefield — the 
language  in  a  great  degree  of  all  the  members  of  the  sect — was  that 
of  men  who  were  at  once  continually  inspired  and  the  continual 
objects  of  miraculous  interposition.  In  every  perplexity  they  imag- 
ined that,  by  casting  lots  or  opening  their  Bibles  at  random,  they 
could  obtain  a  supernatural  answer  to  their  inquiries. 

In  all  matters  relating  to  Satanic  interference,  Wesley  was  espe- 
cially credulous.  "  I  cannot  give  up  to  all  the.  Deists  in  Great  Britain 
the  existence  of  witchcraft  till  I  give  up  the  credit  of  all  history,  sacred 
and  profane."  He  had  no  doubt  that  the  physical  contortions  into 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  923 

which  so  many  of  his  hearers  fell  were  due  to  the  direct  agency  of 
Satan,  who  tore  the  converts  as  they  were  coming  to  Christ.  He  had 
himself  seen  men  and  women  who  were  literally  possessed  by  devils; 
he  had  witnessed  forms  of  madness  which  were  not  natural,  but 
diabolical,  and  he  had  experienced  in  his  own  person  the  hysterical 
affections  which  resulted  from  supernatural  agency. 

If  Satanic  agencies  continually  convulsed  those  who  were  coming 
to  the  faith,  divine  judgments  as  frequently  struck  down  those  who 
opposed  it.  Every  illness,  every  misfortune  that  befell  an  opponent, 
was  believed  to  be  supernatural.  Molther,  the  Moravian  minister, 
shortly  after  the  Methodists  had  separated  from  the  Moravians,  was 
seized  with  a  passing  illness.  "I  believe,"  wrote  Wesley,  "it  was  the 
hand  of  God  that  was  upon  him."  Numerous  cases  were  cited  of 
sudden  and  fearful  judgments  which  fell  upon  the  adversaries  of  the 
cause.  A  clergyman  at  Bristol,  standing  up  to  preach  against  the 
Methodists,  "was  suddenly  seized  with  a  rattling  in  his  throat, 
attended  with  a  hideous  groaning,"  and  on  the  next  Sunday  he  died. 
At  Todmorden  a  minister  was  struck  with  a  violent  fit  of  palsy  imme- 
diately after  preaching  against  the  Methodists.  At  Enniscorthy  a 
clergyman,  having  preached  for  some  time  against  Methodism, 
deferred  the  conclusion  of  the  discourse  to  the  following  Sunday. 
Next  morning  he  was  raging  mad,  imagined  that  devils  were  about 
him,  "  and  not  long  after,  without  showing  the  least  sign  of  hope,  he 
went  to  his  account."  At  Kingswood  a  man  began  a  vehement 
invective  against  Wesley  and  Methodism.  "In  the  midst  he  was 
struck  raving  mad."  A  woman,  seeing  a  crowd  waiting  for  Wesley 
at  the  church  door,  exclaimed,  "They  are  waiting  for  their  God." 
She  at  once  fell  senseless  to  the  ground,  and  next  day  expired.  "A 
party  of  young  men  rowed  up  to  Richmond  to  disturb  the  sermons  of 
Rowland  Hill.  The  boat  sank,  and  all  of  them  were  drowned."  At 
Sheffield  the  captain  of  a  gang  who  had  long  troubled  the  field- 
preachers,  was  bathing  with  his  companions.  "Another  dip,"  he 
said,  "and  then  for  a  bit  of  sport  with  the  Methodists."  He  dived, 
struck  his  head  against  a  stone,  and  appeared  no  more.  By  such 
anecdotes  and  by  such  beliefs  a  fever  of  enthusiasm  was  sustained. 

But  with  all  its  divisions  and  defects  the  movement  was  unques- 
tionably effecting  a  great  moral  revolution  in  England.  It  was 
essentially  a  popular  movement,  exercising  its  deepest  influence  over 


924  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

the  lower  and  middle  classes.  Some  of  its  leaders  were  men  of  real 
genius,  but  in  general  the  Methodist  teacher  had  little  sympathy  with 
the  more  educated  of  his  fellow-countrymen.  To  an  ordinarily 
cultivated  mind  there  was  something  extremely  repulsive  in  his  tears 
and  groans  and  amorous  ejaculations,  in  the  coarse  and  anthropo- 
morphic familiarity  and  the  unwavering  dogmatism  with  which  he 
dealt  with  the  most  sacred  subjects,  in  the  narrowness  of  his  theory  of 
life  and  his  utter  insensibility  to  many  of  the  influences  that  expand 
and  embellish  it,  in  the  mingled  credulity  and  self-confidence  with 
which  he  imagined  that  the  whole  course  of  nature  was  altered  for 
his  convenience.  But  the  very  qualities  that  impaired  his  influence 
in  one  sphere  enhanced  it  in  another.  His  impassioned  prayers  and 
exhortations  stirred  the  hearts  of  multitudes  whom  a  more  decorous 
teaching  had  left  absolutely  callous.  The  supernatural  atmosphere 
of  miracles,  judgments,  and  inspirations  in  which  he  moved,  invested 
the  most  prosaic  life  with  a  halo  of  romance.  The  doctrines  he 
taught,  the  theory  of  life  he  enforced,  proved  themselves  capable  of 
arousing  in  great  masses  of  men  an  enthusiasm  of  piety  which  was 
hardly  surpassed  in  the  first  days  of  Christianity,  of  eradicating 
inveterate  vice,  of  fixing  and  directing  impulsive  and  tempestuous 
natures  that  were  rapidly  hastening  toward  the  abyss.  Out  of  the 
profligate  slave-dealer,  John  Newton,  Methodism  formed  one  of  the 
purest  and  most  unselfish  of  saints.  It  taught  criminals  in  Newgate 
to  mount  the  gallows  in  an  ecstasy  of  rapturous  devotion.  It  planted 
a  fervid  and  enduring  religious  sentiment  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
brutal  and  most  neglected  portions  of  the  population,  and  whatever 
may  have  been  its  vices  or  its  defects,  it  undoubtedly  emancipated 
great  numbers  from  the  fear  of  death,  and  imparted  a  warmer  tone 
to  the  devotion  and  a  greater  energy  to  the  philanthropy  of  every 
denomination  both  in  England  and  the  colonies. 

III.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    Social  Unrest 

The  term  collective  behavior,  which  has  been  used  elsewhere  to 
include  all  the  facts  of  group  life,  has  been  limited  for  the  purposes 
of  this  chapter  to  those  phenomena  which  exhibit  in  the  most  obvious 
and  elementary  way  the  processes  by  which  societies  are  disintegrated 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  925 

into  their  constituent  elements  and  the  processes  by  which  these 
elements  are  brought  together  again  into  new  relations  to  form  new 
organizations  and  new  societies. 

Some  years  ago  John  Graham  Brooks  wrote  a  popular  treatise  on 
the  labor  situation  in  the  United  States.  He  called  the  volume  Social 
Unrest.  The  term  was,  even  at  that  time,  a  familiar  one.  Since  then 
the  word  unrest,  in  both  its  substantive  and  adjective  forms,  has 
gained  wide  usage.  We  speak  in  reference  to  the  notorious  disposition 
of  the  native  American  to  move  from  one  part  of  the  country  to 
another,  of  his  restless  blood,  as  if  restlessness  was  a  native  American 
trait  transmitted  in  the  blood.  We  speak  more  often  of  the  "  restless 
age,"  as  if  mobility  and  the  desire  for  novelty  and  new  experience  were 
peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  twentieth  century.  We  use  the  word 
to  describe  conditions  in  different  regions  of  social  life  in  such  expres- 
sions as  "political,"  "religious,"  and  "labor"  unrest,  and  in  every 
case  the  word  is  used  in  a  sense  that  indicates  change,  but  change  that 
menaces  the  existing  order.  Finally,  we  speak  of  the  "restless 
woman,"  as  of  a  peculiar  modern  type,  characteristic  of  the  changed 
status  of  women  in  general  in  the  modern  world.  In  all  these  different 
uses  we  may  observe  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the  concept  which 
seems  to  have  been  implicit  in  the  word  as  it  was  first  used.  It  is 
the  concept  of  an  activity  in  response  to  some  urgent  organic  impulse 
which  the  activity,  however,  does  not  satisfy.  It  is  a  diagnostic 
symptom,  a  symptom  of  what  Graham  Wallas  calls  "balked  dispo- 
sition." It  is  a  sign  that  in  the  existing  situation  some  one  or  more 
of  the  four  wishes — security,  new  experience,  recognition,  and  response 
— has  not  been  and  is  not  adequately  realized.  The  fact  that  the 
symptom  is  social,  that  it  is  contagious,  is  an  indication  that  the 
situations  that  provoke  it  are  social,  that  is  to  say,  general  in  the 
community  or  the  group  where  the  unrest  manifests  itself. 

The  materials  in  which  the  term  unrest  is  used  in  the  sense  indi- 
cated are  in  the  popular  discussions  of  social  questions.  The  term  is 
not  defined  but  it  is  frequently  used  in  connection  with  descriptions 
of  conditions  which  are  evidently  responsible  for  it.  Labor  strikes 
are  evidences  of  social  unrest,  and  the  literature  already  referred  to 
in  the  chapter  on  "Conflict"1  shows  the  conditions  under  which  unrest 

1  Supra,  pp.  652-53;  657-58. 


Q26  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

arises,  is  provoked  and  exploited  in  labor  situations.  The  relation 
of  unrest  to  routine  and  fatigue  has  been  the  subject  of  a  good  deal  of 
discussion  and  some  investigation.  The  popular  conception  is  that 
labor  unrest  is  due  to  the  dull  driving  routine  of  machine  industry. 
The  matter  needs  further  study.  The  actual  mental  experiences  of 
the  different  sexes,  ages,  temperamental  and  mental  types  under 
the  influence  of  routine  would  add  a  much  needed  body  of  fact  to  our 
present  psychology  of  the  worker. 

2.    Psychic  Epidemics 

If  social  unrest  is  a  symptom  of  disorganization,  then  the  psychic 
epidemics,  in  which  all  the  phenomena  of  social  unrest  and  contagion 
are  intensified,  is  evidence  positive  that  disorganization  exists.  Social 
disorganization  must  be  considered  in  relation  to  reorganization.  All 
change  involves  a  certain  amount  of  disorganization.  In  order  that 
an  individual  may  make  new  adjustments  and  establish  new  habits 
it  is  inevitable  that  old  habits  should  be  broken  up,  and  in  order  that 
society  may  reform  an  existing  social  order  a  certain  amount  of 
disorganization  is  inevitable.  Social  unrest  may  be,  therefore,  a 
symptom  of  health.  It  is  only  when  the  process  of  disorganization 
goes  on  so  rapidly  and  to  such  an  extent  that  the  whole  existing 
social  structure  is  impaired,  and  society  is,  for  that  reason,  not  able 
to  readjust  itself,  that  unrest  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  pathological 
symptom. 

There  is  reason  to  believe,  contrary  to  the  popular  conception, 
that  the  immigrant  in  America,  particularly  in  the  urban  environment, 
accommodates  himself  too  quickly  rather  than  too  slowly  to  American 
life.  Statistics  show,  particularly  in  the  second  generation,  a  notable 
increase  in  juvenile  delinquency,  and  this  seems  to  be  due  to  the  fact 
that  in  America  the  relation  between  parents  and  children  is  reversed. 
Owing  to  the  children's  better  knowledge  of  English  and  their  more 
rapid  accommodation  to  the  conditions  of  American  life,  parents 
become  dependent  .upon  their  children  rather  than  the  children 
dependent  upon  their  parents. 

Social  epidemics,  however,  are  evidence  of  a  social  disintegration 
due  to  more  fundamental  and  widespread  disorders.  The  literature 
has  recorded  the  facts  but  writers  have  usually  interpreted  the  phe- 
nomena in  medical  rather  than  sociological  terms.  Stoll,  in  his  very 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  927 

interesting  but  rather  miscellaneous  collection  of  materials  upon 
primitive  life,  disposes  of  the  phenomena  by  giving  them  another 
name.  His  volume  is  entitled  Suggestion  and  Hypnotism  in  Folk 
Psychology.1  Friedmann,  in  his  monograph,  Uber  Wahnideen  im 
Volkerleben,  is  disposed  as  a  psychiatrist  to  treat  the  whole  matter  as 
a  form  of  "  social "  insanity. 

3.     Mass  Movements 

In  spite  of  the  abundance  of  materials  on  the  subject  of  mass 
movements  no  attempt  has  been  made  as  yet  to  collect  and  classify 
them.  There  have  been  a  number  of  interesting  books  in  the  field 
of  collective  psychology,  so  called  mainly  by  French  and  Italian 
writers — Sighele,  Rossi,  Tarde,  and  Le  Bon — but  they  are  not  based 
on  a  systematic  study  of  cases.  The  general  assumption  has  been 
that  the  facts  are  so  obvious  that  any  attempt  to  study  systematically 
the  mechanisms  involved  would  amount  to  little  more  than  academic 
elaboration  of  what  is  already  obvious,  a  restatement  in  more  abstract 
terms  of  what  is  already  familiar. 

On  the  other  hand,  shepherds  and  cowboys,  out  of  their  experience 
in  handling  cattle  and  sheep,  have  learned  that  the  flock  and  the  herd 
have  quite  peculiar  and  characteristic  modes  of  collective  behavior 
which  it  is  necessary  to  know  if  one  is  to  handle  them  successfully. 
At  the  same  time,  practical  politicians  who  make  a  profession  of 
herding  voters,  getting  them  out  to  the  polls  at  the  times  they  are 
needed  and  determining  for  them,  by  the  familiar  campaign  devices, 
the  persons  and  the  issues  for  which  they  are  to  cast  their  ballots, 
have  worked  out  very  definite  methods  for  dealing  with  masses  of 
people,  so  that  they  are  able  to  predict  the  outcome  with  considerable 
accuracy  far  in  advance  of  an  election  and  make  their  dispositions 
accordingly. 

Political  manipulation  of  the  movements  and  tendencies  of 
popular  opinion  has  now  reached  a  point  of  perfection  where  it  can 
and  will  be  studied  systematically.  During  the  world-war  it  was 
studied,  and  all  the  knowledge  which  advertisers,  newspaper  men, 
and  psychologists  possessed  was  used  to  win  the  war. 

1  Otto  Stoll,  Suggestion  und  Hypnotismus  in  der  Volker  psychologic,  ad  ed. 
(Leipzig,  IQ04-) 


928          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Propaganda  is  now  recognized  as  part  of  the  grand  strategy  of 
war.  Not  only  political  and  diplomatic  victories,  but  battles  were 
won  during  the  world-war  by  the  aid  of  this  insidious  weapon.  The 
great  victory  of  the  Austrian  and  German  armies  at  Caporetto  which 
in  a  few  days  wiped  out  all  the  hard-won  successes  of  the  Italian 
armies  was  prepared  by  a  psychic  attack  on  the  morale  of  the  troops 
at  the  front  and  a  defeatist  campaign  among  the  Italian  population 
back  of  the  lines. 

In  the  battle  of  Caporetto  the  morale  of  the  troops  at  the  front  was 
undermined  by  sending  postal  cards  and  letters  to  individual  soldiers 
stating  that  their  wives  were  in  illicit  relations  with  officers  and  soldiers  of 
the  allies.  Copies  of  Roman  and  Milanese  newspapers  were  forged  and 
absolute  facsimiles  of  familiar  journals  were  secretly  distributed  or  dropped 
from  Austrian  aeroplanes  over  the  Italian  lines.  These  papers  contained 
sensational  articles  telling  the  Italians  that  Austria  was  in  revolt,  that 
Emperor  Charles  had  been  killed.  Accompanying  these  were  other  articles 
describing  bread  riots  throughout  Italy  and  stating  that  the  Italian  govern- 
ment, unable  to  quell  them  with  its  own  forces,  had  sent  British  and  French 
re-enforcing  troops  and  even  Zulus  into  the  cities,  and  that  these  troops 
were  shooting  down  women  and  children  and  priests  without  mercy. 

This  attack  upon  the  morale  of  the  troops  was  followed  by  an  unforeseen 
assault  upon  a  quiet  sector,  which  succeeded  in  piercing  the  line  at  numerous 
points.  In  the  confusion  that  followed  the  whole  structure  of  the  defense 
crumbled,  and  the  result  was  disastrous. 

When  the  final  history  of  the  world-war  comes  to  be  written,  one 
of  its  most  interesting  chapters  will  be  a  description  of  the  methods 
and  devices  which  were  used  by  the  armies  on  both  sides  to  destroy 
the  will  to  war  in  the  troops  and  among  the  peoples  behind  the  lines. 
If  the  application  of  modern  science  to  war  has  multiplied  the  engines 
of  destruction,  the  increase  of  communication  and  the  interpenetration 
of  peoples  has  given  war  among  civilized  peoples  the  character  of  an 
internal  and  internecine  struggle.  Under  these  circumstances  propa- 
ganda, in  the  sense  of  an  insidious  exploitation  of  the  sources  of 
dissension  and  unrest,  may  as  completely  change  the  character  of 
wars  of  peoples  as  they  were  once  changed  by  the  invention  of  gun- 
powder. 

In  this  field  there  is  room  for  investigation  and  study,  for  almost 
all  attempts  thus  far  made  to  put  advertising  on  a  scientific  basis 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  929 

have  been  made  by  students  of  individual  rather  than  social  psy- 
chology. 

4.    Revivals,  Religious  and  Linguistic 

For  something  more  than  a  hundred  years  Europe  has  experienced 
a  series  of  linguistic  and  literary  revivals,  that  is  to  say  revivals  of 
the  folk  languages  and  the  folk  cultures.  The  folk  languages  are  the 
speech  of  peoples  who  have  been  conquered  but  not  yet  culturally 
absorbed  by  the  dominant  language  group.  They  are  mostly  isolated 
rural  populations  who  have  remained  to  a  large  extent  outside  of  the 
cosmopolitan  cultures  of  the  cities.  These  people  while  not  wholly 
illiterate  have  never  had  enough  education  in  the  language  of  the 
dominant  peoples  of  the  cities  to  enable  them  to  use  this  alien  speech 
as  a  medium  of  education.  The  consequence  is  that,  except  for  a 
relatively  small  group  of  intellectuals,  they  have  been  cut  off  from  the 
main  current  of  European  life  and  culture.  These  linguistic  revivals 
have  not  been  confined  to  any  one  nation,  since  every  nation  in 
Europe  turns  out  upon  analysis  to  be  a  mosaic  of  minor  nationalities 
and  smaller  cultural  enclaves  in  which  the  languages  of  little  and  for- 
gotten peoples  have  been  preserved.  Linguistic  revivals  have,  in  fact, 
been  well-nigh  universal.  They  have  taken  place  in  France,  Spain, 
Norway,  Denmark,  in  most  of  the  Balkan  States,  including  Albania, 
the  most  isolated  of  them  all,  and  in  all  the  smaller  nationalities  along 
the  Slavic-German  border — Finland,  Esthonia,  Letvia,  Lithuania, 
Poland,  Bohemia,  Slovakia,  Roumania,  and  the  Ukraine.  Finally, 
among  the  Jews  of  Eastern  Europe,  there  has  been  the  Haskala 
Movement,  as  the  Jews  of  Eastern  Europe  call  their  period  of  enlight- 
enment, a  movement  that  has  quite  unintentionally  made  the  Judeo- 
German  dialect  (Yiddish)  a  literary  language. 

At  first  blush,  it  seems  strange  that  the  revivals  of  the  folk  speech 
should  have  come  at  a  time  when  the  locomotive  and  the  telegraph  were 
extending  commerce  and  communication  to  the  uttermost  limits  of  the 
earth,  when  all  barriers  were  breaking  down,  and  the  steady  expansion  of 
cosmopolitan  life  and  the  organization  of  the  Great  Society,  as  Graham 
Wallas  has  called  it,  seemed  destined  to  banish  all  the  minor  languages, 
dialects,  and  obsolescent  forms  of  speech,  the  last  props  of  an  international 
provincialism,  to  the  limbo  of  forgotten  things.  The  competition  of  the 
world-languages  was  already  keen;  all  the  little  and  forgotten  peoples  of 


930          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Europe — the  Finns,  Letts,  Ukrainians,  Russo-Carpathians,  Slovaks,  Slo- 
venians, Croatians,  the  Catalonians  of  eastern  Spain,  whose  language,  by 
the  way,  dates  back  to  a  period  before  the  Roman  Conquest,  the  Czechs, 
and  the  Poles — began  to  set  up  presses  and  establish  schools  to  revive  and 
perpetuate  their  several  racial  languages. 

To  those  who,  at  this  time,  were  looking  forward  to  world-organization 
and  a  universal  peace  through  the  medium  of  a  universal  language,  all  this 
agitation  had  the  appearance  of  an  anachronism,  not  to  say  a  heresy.  It 
seemed  a  deliberate  attempt  to  set  up  barriers,  where  progress  demanded 
that  they  should  be  torn  down.  The  success  of  such  a  movement,  it  seemed, 
must  be  to  bring  about  a  more  complete  isolation  of  the  peoples,  to  imprison 
them,  so  to  speak,  in  their  own  languages,  and  so  cut  them  off  from  the 
general  culture  of  Europe.1 

The  actual  effect  has  been  different  from  what  was  expected. 
It  is  difficult,  and  for  the  masses  of  the  people  impossible,  to  learn 
through  the  medium  of  a  language  that  they  do  not  speak.  The 
results  of  the  efforts  to  cultivate  Swedish  and  Russian  in  Finland, 
Polish  and  Russian  in  Lithuania,  Magyar  in  Slovakia  and  at  the  same 
time  to  prohibit  the  publication  of  books  and  newspapers  in  the 
mother-tongue  of  the  country  has  been,  in  the  first  place,  to  create 
an  artificial  illiteracy  and,  in  the  second,  to  create  in  the  minds  of 
native  peoples  a  sense  of  social  and  intellectual  inferiority  to  the 
alien  and  dominant  race. 

The  effect  of  the  literary  revival  of  the  spoken  language,  however, 
has  been  to  create,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  to  suppress  it,  a  vernacular 
press  which  opened  the  gates  of  western  culture  to  great  masses  of 
people  for  whom  it  did  not  previously  exist.  The  result  has  been 
a  great  cultural  awakening,  a  genuine  renaissance,  which  has  had 
profound  reverberations  on  the  political  and  social  life  of  Europe. 

The  literary  revival  of  the  folk  speech  in  Europe  has  invariably  been  a 
prelude  to  the  revival  of  the  national  spirit  in  subject  peoples.  The  senti- 
ment of  nationality  has  its  roots  in  memories  that  attach  to  the  common 
possessions  of  the  people,  the  land,  the  religion,  and  the  language,  but 
particularly  the  language. 

Bohemian  patriots  have  a  saying,  "As  long  as  the  language  lives,  the 
nation  is  not  dead."  In  an  address  in  1904  Jorgen  Levland,  who  was 
afterward  Premier  of  Norway,  in  a  plea  for  "freedom  with  self-government, 


the 


1  Robert  E.  Park,  Immigrant  Press  and  Its  Control,  chap,  ii,  "Background  of 
Immigrant  Press."     (New  York,  1921.    In  press.) 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  931 

home,  land,  and  our  own  language,"  made  this  statement:  "Political 
freedom  is  not  the  deepest  and  greatest.  Greater  is  it  for  a  nation  to 
preserve  her  intellectual  inheritance  in  her  native  tongue." 

The  revival  of  the  national  consciousness  in  the  subject  peoples  has 
invariably  been  connected  with  the  struggle  to  maintain  a  press  in  the 
native  language.  The  reason  is  that  it  was  through  the  medium  of  the 
national  press  that  the  literary  and  linguistic  revivals  took  place.  Con- 
versely, the  efforts  to  suppress  the  rising  national  consciousness  took  the 
form  of  an  effort  to  censor  or  suppress  the  national  press.  There  were 
nowhere  attempts  to  suppress  the  spoken  language  as  such.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  only  as  the  spoken  language  succeeded  in  becoming  a  medium 
of  literary  expression  that  it  was  possible  to  preserve  it  under  modern 
conditions  and  maintain  in  this  way  the  national  solidarity.  When  the 
Lithuanians,  for  example,  were  condemned  to  get  their  education  and  their 
culture  through  the  medium  of  a  language  not  their  own,  the  effect  was  to 
denationalize  the  literate  class  and  to  make  its  members  aliens  to  their 
own  people.  If  there  was  no  national  press,  there  could  be  no  national 
schools,  and,  indeed,  no  national  church.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  the 
struggle  to  maintain  the  national  language  and  the  national  culture  has 
always  been  a  struggle  to  maintain  a  national  press. 

European  nationalists,  seeking  to  revive  among  their  peoples  the 
national  consciousness,  have  invariably  sought  to  restore  the  national 
speech,  to  purge  it  of  foreign  idioms,  and  emphasize  every  mark  which 
serves  to  distinguish  it  from  the  languages  with  which  it  tended  to  fuse.1 

Investigation  of  these  linguistic  revivals  and  the  nationalist 
movement  that  has  grown  out  of  them  indicates  that  there  is  a  very 
intimate  relation  between  nationalist  and  religious  movements. 
Both  of  them  are  fundamentally  cultural  movements  with  incidental 
political  consequences.  The  movement  which  resulted  in  the  reorgani- 
zation of  rural  life  in  Denmark,  the  movement  that  found  expression 
in  so  unique  an  institution  as  the  rural  high  schools  of  Denmark,  was 
begun  by  Bishop  Grundtvig,  called  the  Luther  of  Denmark,  and  was 
at  once  a  religious  and  a  nationalist  movement.  The  rural  high 
schools  are  for  this  reason  not  like  anything  in  the  way  of  education 
with  which  people  outside  of  Denmark  are  familiar.  They  are  not 
technical  schools  but  cultural  institutions  in  the  narrowest,  or  broadest, 
sense  of  that  term.2  The  teaching  is  ''scientific,"  but  at  the  same 

1  Ibid. 

2  Anton  H.  Hollman,  Die  danische  V olkshochschule  und  ihrc  Bedeutung  fur 
die  Entwicklung  einer  wlkischen  Kultur  in  Danemark.     (Berlin,  1909.) 


932  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

time  "inspirational."  They  are  what  a  Sunday  school  might  be  if  it 
were  not  held  on  Sunday  and  was  organized  as  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  would 
organize  it  and  with  such  a  bible  as  he  would  like  to  have  someone 
write  for  us.1 

The  popular  accounts  which  we  have  of  religious  revivals  do  not 
at  first  suggest  any  very  definite  relations,  either  psychological  or 
sociological,  between  them  and  the  literary  revivals  to  which  reference 
has  just  been  made.  Religious  revivals,  particularly  as  described  by 
dispassionate  observers,  have  the  appearance  of  something  bizarre, 
fantastic,  and  wild,  as  indeed  they  often  are. 

What  must  strike  the  thoughtful  observer,  however,  is  the  marked 
similarity  of  these  collective  religious  excitements,  whether  among 
civilized  or  savage  peoples  and  at  places  and  periods  remote  in  time 
and  in  space.  Frederick  Morgan  Davenport,  who  has  collected  and 
compared  the  materials  in  this  field  from  contemporary  sources,  calls 
attention  in  the  title  of  his  volume,  Primitive  Trails  in  Religious 
Revivals,  to  this  fundamental  similarity  of  the  phenomena.  Whatever 
else  the  word  "primitive"  may  mean  in  this  connection  it  does  mean 
that  the  phenomena  of  religious  revivals  are  fundamentally  human. 

From  the  frantic  and  disheveled  dances  of  the  Bacchantes, 
following  a  wine  cart  through  an  ancient  Greek  village,  to  the  shouts 
and  groans  of  the  mourners'  bench  of  an  old-time  Methodist  camp- 
meeting,  religious  excitement  has  always  stirred  human  nature  more 
profoundly  than  any  other  emotion  except  that  of  passionate  love. 

In  the  volume  by  Jean  Pelissier,  The  Chief  Makers  of  the  National 
Lithuanian  Renaissance  (Les  Principaux  artisans  de  la  renaissance 
nationale  lituanienne) ,  there  is  a  paragraph  describing  the  conversion 
of  a  certain  Dr.  Kudirka,  a  Lithuanian  patriot,  to  the  cause  of  Lithu- 
anian nationality.  It  reads  like  a  chapter  from  William  James's 
The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience.3 

It  is  materials  like  this  that  indicate  how  close  and  intimate  are 
the  relations  between  cultural  movements,  whether  religious  or 
literary  and  national,  at  least  in  their  formal  expression.  The  ques- 
tion that  remains  to  be  answered  is:  In  what  ways  do  they  differ? 

*H.  G.  Wells,  The  Salvaging  of  Civilization,  chaps,  iv-v,  "The  Bible  of 
Civilization,"  pp.  97-140.  (New  York,  1921.) 

*  See  The  Immigrant  Press  and  Its  Control,  chap,  ii,  for  a  translation  of 
Dr.  Kudirka's  so-called  "Confession." 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  933 

5.    Fashion,  Reform  and  Revolution 

A  great  deal  has  been  written  in  recent  times  in  regard  to  fashion. 
It  has  been  studied,  for  example,  as  an  economic  phenomenon.  Som- 
bart  has  written  a  suggestive  little  monograph  on  the  subject.  It  is  in 
the  interest  of  machine  industry  that  fashions  should  be  standardized 
over  a  wide  area,  and  it  is  the  function  of  advertising  to  achieve  this 
result.  It  is  also  of  interest  to  commerce  that  fashions  should  change 
and  this  also  is  largely,  but  not  wholly,  a  matter  of  advertising. 
Tarde  distinguishes  between  custom  and  fashion  as  the  two  forms 
in  which  all  cultural  traits  are  transmitted.  "In  periods  when 
custom  is  in  the  ascendant,  men  are  more  infatuated  about  their 
country  than  about  their  time;  for  it  is  the  past  which  is  pre-eminently 
praised.  In  ages  when  fashion  rules,  men  are  prouder,  on  the  con- 
trary, of  their  time  than  of  their  country."1 

The  most  acute  analysis  that  has  been  made  of  fashion  is  con- 
tained in  the  observation  of  Sumner  in  Folkways.  Sumner  pointed 
out  that  fashion  though  differing  from,  is  intimately  related  to,  the 
mores.  Fashion  fixes  the  attention  of  the  community  at  a  given 
time  and  place  and  by  so  doing  determines  what  is  sometimes  called 
the  Spirit  of  the  Age,  the  Zeitgeist.  By  the  introduction  of  new 
fashions  the  leaders  of  society  gain  that  distinction  in  the  community 
by  which  they  are  able  to  maintain  their  prestige  and  so  maintain 
their  position  as  leaders.  But  in  doing  this,  they  too  are  influenced 
by  the  fashions  which  they  introduce.  Eventually  changes  in  fashion 
affect  the  mores.2 

Fashion  is  related  to  reform  and  to  revolution,  because  it  is  one 
of  the  fundamental  ways  in  which  social  changes  take  place  and 
because,  like  reform  and  revolution,  it  also  is  related  to  the  mores. 

Fashion  is  distinguished  from  reform  by  the  fact  that  the  changes 
it  introduces  are  wholly  irrational  if  not  at  the  same  time  wholly 
unpredictable.  Reform,  on  the  other  hand,  is  nothing  if  not  rational. 
It  achieves  its  ends  by  agitation  and  discussion.  Attempts  have 
been  made  to  introduce  fashions  by  agitation,  but  they  have  not 
succeeded.  On  the  other  hand,  reform  is  itself  a  fashion  and  has 

1  Gabriel  Tarde,  The  Laws  of  Imitation.    Translated  from  the  ad  French 
ed.  by  Elsie  Clews  Parsons,  p.  247.     (New  York,  1903.) 
1  Sumner,  Folkways,  pp.  200-201. 


934  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

largely  absorbed  in  recent  years  the  interest  that  was  formerly 
bestowed  on  party  politics. 

There  has  been  a  great  deal  written  about  reforms  but  almost 
nothing  about  reform.  It  js  a  definite  type  of  collective  behavior 
which  has  come  into  existence  and  gained  popularity  under  conditions 
of  modern  life.  The  reformer  and  the  agitator,  likewise,  are  definite, 
temperamental,  and  social  types.  Reform  tends  under  modern 
conditions  to  become  a  vocation  and  a  profession  like  that  of  the 
politician.  The  profession  of  the  reformer,  however,  is  social,  as 
distinguished  from  party  politics. 

Reform  is  not  revolution.  It  does  not  seek  to  change  the  mores 
but  rather  to  change  conditions  in  conformity  with  the  mores.  There 
have  been  revolutionary  reformers.  Joseph  II  of  Austria  and  Peter 
the  Great  of  Russia  were  reformers  of  that  type.  But  revolutionary 
reforms  have  usually  failed.  They  failed  lamentably  in  the  case  of 
Joseph  II  and  produced  many  very  dubious  results  under  Peter. 

A  revolution  is  a  mass  movement  which  seeks  to  change  the  mores 
by  destroying  the  existing  social  order.  Great  and  silent  revolu- 
tionary changes  have  frequently  taken  place  in  modern  times,  but  as 
these  changes  were  not  recognized  at  the  time  and  were  not  directly 
sought  by  any  party  they  are  not  usually  called  revolutions.  They 
might  properly  be  called  "historical  revolutions,"  since  they  are  not 
recognized  as  revolutions  until  they  are  history. 

There  is  probably  a  definite  revolutionary  process  but  it  has  not 
been  defined.  Le  Bon's  book  on  the  Psychology  of  Revolution,  which 
is  the  sequel  to  his  study  of  The  Crowd,  is,  to  be  sure,  an  attempt, 
but  the  best  that  one  can  say  of  it  is  that  it  is  suggestive.  Many 
attempts  have  been  made  to  describe  the  processes  of  revolution  as 
part  of  the  whole  historical  process.  This  literature  will  be  considered 
in  the  chapter  on  "Progress." 

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(i)  Cooley,  Charles  H.  Social  Organization.  Chap,  xxx,  "Formal- 
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COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  935 

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(5)  Lane-Poole,  S.     The  Mohammedan  Dynasties.     Charts  showing 
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(6)  Taine,  H.     The  Ancient  Regime.    Translated  from  the  French 
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(9)  Ferrero,    Guglielmo.     "The    Crisis   of   Western    Civilization," 
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(1)  Brooks,  John  Graham.     The  Social  Unrest.     Studies  in  labor 
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(5)  Janet,    Pierre.     The    Major    Symptoms    of   Hysteria.    Fifteen 
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(6)  Barr,  Martin  W.,  and  Maloney,  E.  F.     Types  of  Mental  Defec- 
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936  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(8)  Parker,   Carleton  H.     The  Casual  Laborer  and   Other  Essays. 
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Lyall.    London,  1910. 

(19)  Miinsterberg,  Hugo.    Social  Studies  of  Today.     Chap,  ii,  "The 
Educational  Unrest,"  pp.  25-57.     London,  1913. 

(20)  -      — .    American   Problems.     From   the   point   of  view   of  a 
psychologist.     Chap,  v,  "The  Intemperance  of  Women,"  pp.  103- 
13.    New  York,  1912. 

(21)  Corelli,  Marie.     "The  Great  Unrest,"  World  Today,  XXI  (1912), 
1954-59- 

(22)  Ferrero,  Guglielmo.     The  Women  of  the  Caesars.     New  York,  1911. 

(23)  Myerson,  Abraham.    The  Nervous  Housewife.-   Boston,  1920. 

(24)  Mensch,   Ella.    Bilderstiirmer  in  der  Berliner  Frauenbewegung. 
2d  ed.    Berlin,  1906. 

C.  Psychic  Epidemics 

(i)  Hecker,  J.  F.  C.  The  Black  Death  and  the  Dancing  Mania. 
Translated  from  the  German  by  B.  G.  Babington.  Cassell's 
National  Library.  New  York,  1888. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  937 

(2)  Stoll,  Otto.    Suggestion  und  Hypnotismus  in  der  Volker psychologic. 
2d  ed.    Leipzig,  1904. 

(3)  Friedmann,  Max.     Uber  Wahnideen  im  Volkerleben.    Wiesbaden, 
1901. 

(4)  Regnard,  P.     Les  maladies  fyidemiques  de  I'esprit.     Sorcellerie, 
magnetisme,  morphinisme,  delire  des  grandeurs.     Paris,  1886. 

(5)  Meyer,   J.   L.     Schwarmerische   Greuelscenen    oder  Kreuzigungs- 
geschichte  einer  religiosen  Schwarmerinn  in  Wildensbuch,  Canton 
Zurich.    Ein  merkwiirdiger  Beytrag  zur  Geschichte  des  religiosen 
Fanatismus.     2d  ed.     Zurich,  1824. 

(6)  Gowen,  B.  S.     "Some  Aspects  of  Pestilences  and  Other  Epi- 
demics," American  Journal  of  Psychology,  XVIII  (1907),  1-60. 

(7)  Weygandt,  W.    Beitrag  zur  Lehre  von  den  psychischen  Epidemien. 
Halle,  1905. 

(8)  Histoire  des  diables  de  Loudun.    Ou  de  la  possession  des  Religieuses 
Ursulines  et  de  la  condamnation  et  du  supplice  d'Urbain  Grandier, 
cure  de  la  meme  ville,  cruels  effets  de  la  vengeance  du  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu.    Amsterdam,  1740. 

(9)  Finsler,  G.     "Die  religiose  Erweckung  der  zehner  und  zwanziger 
Jahre  unseres  Jahrhunderts  in  der  deutschen  Schweiz,"  Ziiricher 
Taschenbuch  auf  das  Jahr  1890.     Zurich,  1890. 

(10)  Fauriel,  M.  C.     Histoire  de  la  croisade  contre  les  heretiques  Albi- 

geois.    Ecrite  en  vers  provencaux  par  un  po6te  contemporain. 

(Aiso  es  la  consos  de  la  crozada  contr  els  ereges  Dalbeges.) 

Paris,  1837. 
(n)  Mosiman,   Eddison.    Das   Zungenreden,   geschichtlich   und   psy- 

chologisch  untersucht.    Tubingen,  1911.     [Bibliography.] 

(12)  Vigouroux,  A.,  and  Juquelier,  P.    La  contagion  mentale.     Paris, 
1905. 

(13)  Kotik,    Dr.    Naum.     "Die    Emanation    der    psychophysischen 

Energie,"  Grenzfragen  des  N erven-  und  Seelenlebens.    Wiesbaden, 
1908. 

(14)  Aubry,  P.     "De  1'influence  contagieuse  de  la  publicite  des  faits 
criminels,"  Archives  d'anthropologie  criminette,  VIII  (1893),  565-80. 

(15)  Achelis,  T.     Die  Ekstase  in  ihrer  kulturellen  Bedeutung.     Kultur- 
probleme  der  Gegenwart.    Berlin,  1902. 

(16)  Cadiere,  L.     "  Sur  quelques  Faits  religieux  ou  magiques,  observes 
pendant  une  epidemic  de  cholera  en  Annam,"  Anthropos,  V  (1910), 
519-28,  1125-59. 

(17)  Hansen,    J.    Zauberwahn,    Inquisition    und    Hexenprozess    im 
Mittelalter    und    die    Entstehung    der    grossen    Hexenverfolgung. 
Munchen,  1900. 


938  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(18)  Hansen,  J.     Quellenund  Untersuchungen  zur  Geschichte  desHexen- 
ivahns  und  der  Hexenverfolgung  im  Mittelalter.     Bonn,  1901. 

(19)  Rossi,  P.     Psicologia  collettiva  morbosa.    Torino,  1001. 

(20)  Despine,  Prosper.    De  la  Contagion  morale.     Paris,  1870. 

(21)  Moreau  de  Tours.    De  la  Contagion  du  suicide  a    propos  de 
I'tpidemie  actuelle.    Paris,  1875. 

(22)  Aubry,  P.    La  Contagion  du    meutre.    Etude   d'anthropologie 
criminelle.    3d  ed.     Paris,  1896. 

(23)  Rambosson,  J.    Phenomenes  nerveux,  intellectuels  el  moraux,  leur 
transmission  par  contagion.     Paris,  1883. 

(24)  Dumas,    Georges.     "Contagion   mentale,    epidemics   mentales, 
folies  collectives,  folies  gr£gaires,"  Revue  philosophique,  LXXI 
(1911),  225-44,384-407. 

II.      MUSIC,   DANCE,   AND   RITUAL 

(1)  Wallaschek,  Richard.    Primitive  Music.    An  inquiry  into  the 
origin  and  development  of  music,  songs,  instruments,  dances,  and 
pantomimes  of  savage  races.     London,  1893. 

(2)  Combarieu,  J.    La  Musique  et  le  magic.     Etude  sur  les  origines 
populaires  de  1'art  musical;  son  influence  et  sa  fonction  dans  les 
societes.    Paris,  1908. 

(3)  Simmel,    Georg.     "  Psychologische   und   ethnologische    Studien 
iiber    Musik,"    Zeitschrift  fiir    Volker  psychologic    und    Sprach- 
wissenschaft,  XIII  (1882),  261-305. 

(4)  Boas,  F.  "Chinook  Songs,"  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  I 
(1888),  220-26. 

(5)  Densmore,  Frances.     "The  Music  of  the  Filipinos,"  American 
Anthropologist,  N.S.,  VIII  (1906),  611-32. 

(6)  Fletcher,  Alice  C.     Indian  Story  and  Song  from  North  America. 
Boston,  1906. 

(7)  "Indian  Songs  and  Music,"  Journal  of  American  Folk- 
Lore,  XI  (1898),  85-104. 

(8)  Grinnell,  G.  B.     "Notes  on  Cheyenne  Songs,  "American  A  nthro- 
pologist,  N.S.,  V  (1903),  312-22. 

(9)  Matthews,  W.     "Navaho  Gambling  Songs,"  American  Anthro- 
pologist, II  (1889),  1-20. 

(10)  Hearn,  Lafcadio.  "Three  Popular  Ballads,"  Transactions  of  the 
Asiatic  Society  of  Japan,  XXII  (1894),  285-336. 

(n)  Ellis,  Havelock.  "The  Philosophy  of  Dancing,"  Atlantic 
Monthly,  CXIII  (1914),  197-207. 

(12)  Hirn,Yrjo.  The  Origins  of  Art.  A  psychological  and  sociological 
inquiry.  Chap,  xvii,  "Erotic  Art,"  pp.  238-48.  London,  1900. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  939 

(13)  Pater,  Walter.    Greek  Studies.     A  series  of   essays.    London, 
1911. 

(14)  Grosse,  Ernst.     The  Beginnings  of  Art.     Chap,  viii, " The  Dance," 
pp.  207-31.    New  York,  1898. 

(15)  Biicher,  Karl.    Arbeit  und  Rhythmus.    3d  ed.    Leipzig,  1902. 

(16)  Lherisson,  E.    "La  Danse  du  vaudou,"  Semaine  medicate,  XIX 
(1899),  Ixxiv. 

(17)  Reed,  V.  Z.     "The  Ute  Bear  Dance,"  American  Anthropologist,  IX 
(1896)  237-44. 

(18)  Gummere,  F.  B.     The  Beginnings  of  Poetry.    New  York,  1901. 

(19)  Fawkes,  J.  W.     "The  Growth  of  the  Hopi  Ritual,"  Journal  oj 
American  Folk-Lore,  XI  (1898),  173-94. 

(20)  Cabrol,  F.     Les  origines  liturgiques.     Paris,  1906. 

(21)  Gennep,  A.  van.    Les  Rites  de  passage.     Paris,  1909. 

(22)  Pitre,  Giuseppe.    Feste  patronali  in  Sicilia.    Palermo,  1900. 

(23)  Murray,  W.  A.     "Organizations  of  Witches  in  Great  Britain," 
Folk-Lore,  XXVIII  (1917),  228-58. 

(24)  Taylor,  Thomas.     The  Eleusinian  and  Bacchic  Mysteries.    New 
York,  1891. 

(25)  Tippenhauer,  L.  G.    Die  Insel  Haiti.    Leipzig,  1893.     [Describes 
the  Voudou  Ritual.] 

(26)  Wuensch,  R.    Das  Fruhlingsfest  der  Insel  Malta.    Ein  Beitrag 
zur  Geschichte  der  antiken  Religion.     Leipzig,  1902. 

(27)  Loisy,  Alfred.    Les  mysteres  palens  et  le  myst&re  chretien.    Paris, 
1919. 

(28)  Lummis,  Charles  F.     The  Land  of  Poco  Tiempo.     Chap,  iv,  "The 
Penitent  Brothers,"  pp.  77-108.    New  York,  1893. 

(29)  "Los  Hermanos  Penitentes,"  El Palacio,  VIII  (1920),  3-20, 73-74. 

III.   THE  CROWD  AND  THE  PUBLIC 

A.  The  Crowd 

(1)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.     The  Crowd.    A  study  of  the  popular  mind. 
London,  1920. 

(2)  Tarde,  G.    L'Opinion  etlafoule.     Paris,  1901. 

(3)  Sighele,  S.    Psychologic  des  Aulaufs  und  der  Massenverbrechen. 
Translated  from  the  Italian  by  Hans  Kurella.    Leipzig,  1897. 

(4)  — • .  La  joule  criminelle.    Essai  de   psychologic  collective. 

2d  ed.,  entitlement  refondue.     Paris,  1901. 

(5)  Tarde,  Gabriel.     "Foules  et  sectes  au  point  de  vue  criminel," 
Revue  des  deux  mondes,  CXX  (1893),  349-87. 

(6)  Miceli,  V.     "La  Psicologia  della  folia,"  Rivista  italiana  di  soci- 
ologia,  III  (1899),  166-95. 


940  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(7)  Conway,  M.    The  Crowd  in  Peace  and  War.    New  York,  1915. 

(8)  Martin,  E.  D.     The  Behavior  of  Crowds.    New  York,  1920. 

(9)  Christensen,  A.    Politics  and  Crowd-Morality.    New  York,  1915. 
(10)  Park,  R.  E.    Masse  und  Publikum.    Bern,  1904. 

(n)  Clark,  H.    "The  Crowd."    "University  of  Illinois  Studies." 
Psychological  Monograph,  No.  92,  XXI  (1916),  26-36. 

(12)  Tawney,  G.  A.    "The  Nature  of  Crowds,"  Psychological  Bulletin, 

II  (1905),  329-33- 

(13)  Rossi,  P.    Lesuggesteur  ellafoule,  psychologic  du  meneur.    Paris, 
1904. 

(14)  .  I  suggestionatori  e  la  folia.    Torino,  1902. 

(15)  .    "Dell'Attenzione    collettiva    e    sociale,"    Manicomio, 

XXI  (1905),  248  ff. 

B.  Political  Psychology 

(1)  Beecher,  Franklin  A.    "National  Politics  in  Its  Psychological 
Aspect,"  Open  Court,  XXXIII  (1919),  653-61. 

(2)  Boutmy,  Emile.     The  English  People.    A  study  of  their  political 
psychology.    London,  1904. 

(3)  Palanti,  G.    "L'Esprit  de  corps.     (Remarques  sociologiques.)" 
Revue  philosophique,  XL VIII  (1899),  135-45. 

(4)  Gardner,  Chas.  S.    "Assemblies,"  A merican  Journal  of  Sociology 

XIX  (1914),  531-55- 

(5)  Bentham,  Jeremy.    Essay  on  Political  Tactics.     Containing  six 
of  the  principal  rules  proper  to  be  observed  by  a  political  assembly, 
in  the  process  of  forming  a  decision:  with  the  reasons  on  which 
they  are  grounded;  and  a  comparative  application  of  them  to 
British  and  French  practice.    London,  1791. 

(6)  Tonnies,    Ferdinand.     "Die    grosse    Menge   und    das    Volk," 
Schmollers    Jahrbuch,    XLIV    (1920),    317-45.    [Criticism    of 
Le  Bon's  conception  of  the  crowd.] 

(7)  Botsford,  George  W.    The  Roman  Assemblies.    From  their  origin 
to  the  end  of  the  Republic.    New  York,  1909. 

(8)  Crothers,T.D.    "A  Medical  Study  of  the  Jury  System,"  Popular 
Science  Monthly,  XLVII  (1895),  375-82. 

(9)  Coleman,  Charles  T.    "Origin  and  Development  of  Trial  by 
Jury,"  Virginia  Law  Review,  VI  (1919-20),  77-86. 

C.  Collective  Psychology  in  General 

(1)  Rossi,  P.    Sociologia  e  psicologia  collettiva.     2d  ed.    Roma,  1909. 

(2)  Stratic6,  A.    La  Psicologia  collettiva.     Palermo,  1905. 

(3)  Worms,   Rene.    "Psychologic   collective   et   psychologic   indi- 
viduelle,"  Revue  international  de  sociologie,  VII  (1899),  249-74. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  941 

(4)  Bronner,  W.    "Zur  Theorie  der  kollektiv-psychischen  Erschein- 
ungen,"  Zeitschrift  filr  Philosophic  und  philosophische   Kritik, 
CXLI  (1911),  1-40. 

(5)  Newell,  W.  W.     "Individual  and  Collective  Characteristics  in 
Folk-Lore,"  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  XIX  (1906),  1-15. 

(6)  Campeano,   M.    Essai  de  psychologic   tnilitaire   individuelle   et 
collective.    Avec  une  preface  de  M.  Th.  Ribot.     Paris,  1902. 

(7)  Hartenberg,  P.    "Les  emotions  de  Bourse.    (Notes  de  psychologic 
collective)."    Revue  philosophique,  LVIII  (1904),  163-70. 

(8)  Scalinger,  G.  M.    La  Psicologia  a  teatro.    Napoli,  1896. 

(9)  Burckhard,  M.     "Das  Theater."    Die  Gesellschaft.    Sammlung 
Sozial-Psychologische    Monographien,    18.    Frankfurt- am- Main, 
1907. 

(10)  Woolbert,  C.  H.  "The  Audience."  "University  of  Illinois 
Studies."  Psychological  Monograph,  No.  92,  XXI  (1916),  36-54. 

(n)  Howard,  G.  E.  "Social  Psychology  of  the  Spectator,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XVIII  (1912),  33-50. 

(12)  Peterson,  J.  "The  Functioning  of  Ideas  in  Social  Groups," 
Psychological  Review,  XXV  (1918),  214-26. 

IV.      MASS  MOVEMENTS 

(1)  Bryce,  James.     "Migrations  of  the  Races  of  Men  Considered 
Historically,"  Contemporary  Review,  LXII  (1892),  128-49. 

(2)  Mason,  Otis  T.     "Migration  and  the  Food  Quest :  A  Study  in  the 
Peopling  of  America,"  American   Anthropologist,    VII    (1894), 
275-92. 

(3)  Pflugk-Harttung,  Julius  von.     The  Great  Migrations.    Translated 
from  the  German  by  John  Henry  Wright.    Philadelphia,  1905. 

(4)  Bradley,  Henry.     The  Story  of  the  Goths.    From   the   earliest 
times  to  the  end  of  the  Gothic  dominion  in  Spain.    New  York, 
1888. 

(5)  Jordanes.     The  Origin  and  Deeds  of  the  Goths.    English  version 
by  Charles  C.  Mierow.    Princeton,  1908. 

(6)  Archer,  T.  A.,  and  Kingsford,  C.  L.     The  Crusades.    New  York, 
1894. 

(7)  Ireland,  W.  W.    "On  the  Psychology  of  the  Crusades,"  Journal 
of  Mental  Science,  LII  (1906),  745-55;  LIII  (1907),  322-41. 

(8)  Groves,  E.  R.    "Psychic  Causes  of  Rural  Migration,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XXI  (1916),  623-27. 

(9)  Woodson,  Carter  G.    A  Century  of  Negro  Migrations.    Washing- 
ton, 1918.    [Bibliography.] 


942  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(10)  Fleming,  Walter  L.  "  'Pap'  Singleton,  the  Moses  of  the  Colored 
Exodus,"  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XV  (1909-10),  61-82. 

(n)  Bancroft,  H.  H.  History  of  California.  Vol.  VI,  1848-59. 
Chaps,  ii-ix,  pp.  26-163.  San  Francisco,  1888.  [The  discovery 
of  gold  in  California.] 

(12)  Down,  T.  C.     "The  Rush  to  the  Klondike,"  Cornhill  Magazine, 
IV  (1898),  33-43- 

(13)  Ziegler,  T.    Die  gcistigen  und  socialen  Strdmungen  des  neunzehnten 
Jahrhunderls.     Berlin,  1899. 

(14)  Zeeb,  Frieda  B.     "Mobility  of  the  German  Woman,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XXI  (1915-16),  234-62. 

(15)  Anthony,  Katharine  S.    Feminism  in  Germany  and  Scandinavia. 
New  York,  1915.     [Bibliography.] 

(16)  Croly,  Jane  (Mrs.).     The  History  of  the  Woman's  Club  Movement 
in  America.    New  York,  1898. 

(17)  Taft,  Jessie.     The  Woman  Movement  from  the  Point  of  View  of 
Social  Consciousness.     Chicago,  1916. 

(18)  Harnack,  Adolf.     The  Mission  and  Expansion  of  Christianity  in 
the  First  Three  Centuries.    Translated  from  the  2d  rev.  German 
ed.  by  James  Moffatt.    New  York,  1908. 

(19)  Buck,  S.  J.     The  Agrarian  Crusade.    A  chronicle  of  the  farmer  in 
politics.    New  Haven,  1920. 

(20)  Labor  Movement.    The  last  six  volumes  of    The  Documentary 
History  of  American  Industrial  Society.     Vols.  V-VI,  1820-40, 
by  John  R.  Commons  and  Helen  L.  Sumner;    Vols.   VII-VIII, 
1840-60,  by  John  R.  Commons;  Vols.  IX-X,  1860-80,  by  John 
R.  Commons  and  John  B.  Andrews.     Cleveland,  1910. 

(21)  Begbie,    Harold.     The   Life   of  General    William    Booth.    The 
Founder  of  the  Salvation  Army.     2  vols.    New  York,  1920. 

(22)  Wittenmyer,  Annie  (Mrs.).    History  of  the  Woman's  Temperance 
Crusade.    A  complete  official  history  of  the  wonderful  uprising 
of  the  Christian  women  of  the  United  States  against  the  liquor 
traffic  which  culminated  in  the  Gospel  Temperance  Movement. 
Introduction  by  Frances  E.  Willard.    Philadelphia,  1878. 

(23)  Gordon,  Ernest.     The  Anti-alcohol  Movement  in  Europe.     New 
York,  1913. 

(24)  Cherrington,  Ernest  H.     The  Evolution  of  Prohibition  in  the 
United  States  of  America.     A  chronological  history  of  the  liquor 
problem  and  the  temperance  reform  in  the  United  States  from  the 
earliest  settlements  to  the  consummation  of  national  prohibition. 
Westerville,  Ohio,  1920. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  943 

(.25)  Woods,  Robert  A.    English  Social  Movements.    New  York,  1891. 
(26)  Zimand,  Savel.    Modern  Social  Movements.    Descriptive  sum- 
maries and  bibliographies.     New  York,  1921. 

V.      REVIVALS,   RELIGIOUS  AND   LINGUISTIC 

A.  Religious  Revivals  and  the  Origin  of  Sects 

(1)  Meader,  John  R.    Article  on  "Religious  Sects,"  Encyclopedia 
Americana,  XXIII,  355-61.     [List  of  nearly  300  denominations 
and  sects.] 

(2)  Articles  on  "Sects,"  Encyclopaedia  of  Religion  and  Ethics,  XI, 
307-47.     [The  subject  and  author  of  the  different  articles   are 
"Sects  (Buddhist),"  T.  W.  Rhys  Davids;    "Sects  (Chinese)," 
T.    Richard;    "Sects    (Christian),"    W.    T.    Whitley;     "Sects 
(Hindu),"  W.  Crooke;   "Sects  (Jewish),"  I.  Abrahams;    "Sects 
(Russian),"  K.  Grass    and    A.    von    Stromberg;    "Sects   (Sa- 
maritan),"   N.    Schmidt;     "Sects  (Zoroastrian),"  E.  Edwards. 
Bibliographies.] 

(3)  United  States  Bureau  of  the  Census.    Religious  Bodies,  1906. 
2  vols.    Washington,  1910. 

(4)  .    Religious  Bodies,  igi6.     2  vols.    Washington,  1919. 

(5)  Davenport,  Frederick  M.    Primitive  Traits  in  Religious  Revivals. 
A  study  in  mental  and  social  evolution.    New  York,  1905. 

(6)  Mooney,  James.     "The  Ghost-Dance  Religion  and  the  Sioux 
Outbreak  of  1890."    I4th  Annual  Report  of  the  Bureau  of  American 
Ethnology  (1892-93),  653-1136. 

(7)  Stalker,   James.    Article   on   "Revivals    of    Religion,"    Ency- 
clopaedia of  Religion  and  Ethics,  X,  753-57.     [Bibliography.] 

(8)  Burns,  J.     Revivals,  Their  Laws  and  Leaders.     London,  1909. 

(9)  Tracy,  J.     The  Great  Awakening.    A  history  of  the  revival    of 
religion  in  the  time  of  Edwards  and  Whitefield.    Boston,  1842. 

(10)  Finney,  C.  G.    Autobiography.    London,  1892. 
(u)  Hayes,  Samuel  P.     "An  Historical  Study  of  the   Edwardean 
Revivals,"  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  XIII  (1902),  550-74. 

(12)  Maxon,  C.  H.     The   Great  Awakening  in  the  Middle  Colonies. 
Chicago,  1920.     [Bibliography.] 

(13)  Gibson,    William.     Year    of   Grace.    Edinburgh,    1860.     [Irish 
revival,  1859.] 

(14)  Moody,  W.  R.     The  Life  of  Dwight  L.  Moody.    New  York,  1900. 

(15)  Bois,  Henri.    Le  Reveil  au  pays  de  Galles.    Paris,  1906.     [Welsh 
revival  of  1904-6.] 

(16)  .    Quelques  r (flexions  sur  la  psychologic  des  reveils.     Paris, 

1906. 


944          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(17)  Cartwright,  Peter.     Autobiography  of  Peter  Cartwright,  the  Back- 
woods Preacher.     Cincinnati,  1859. 

(18)  MacLean,  J.  P.     "The  Kentucky  Revival  and  Its  Influence  on 
the  Miami  Valley,"  Ohio  Archaeological  and  Historical  Publica- 
tions, XII  (1903),  242-86.    [Bibliography.] 

(19)  Cleveland,  Catharine  C.     The  Great  Revival  in  the  West,  1797- 
1805.     Chicago,  1916.     [Bibliography.] 

(20)  Rogers,  James  B.     The  Cane  Ridge  Meeting-House.    To  which  is 
appended  the  autobiography  of  B.  W.  Stone.     Cincinnati,  1910. 

(21)  Stchoukine,  Ivan.    Le  Suicide  collectif  dans  le  Raskol    russe. 
Paris,  1903. 

(22)  Bussell,  F.  W.    Religious  Thought  and  Heresy  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
London,  1918. 

(23)  Egli,   Emil.    Die   Zilricher   Wiederta'ufer   zur   Reformationszeit. 
Zurich,  1878. 

(24)  Bax,  Ernest  Belfort.    Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Anabaptists.    New 
York,  1903. 

(25)  Schechter,  S.    Documents  of  Jewish  Sectaries.     2  vols.     Cam- 
bridge, 1910. 

(26)  Graetz,  H.    History  of  the  Jews.    6  vols.     Philadelphia,  1891-98. 

(27)  Jost,  M.    Geschichte  des  Judenthums  und  seiner  Sekten.    3  vols. 
Leipzig,  1857-59. 

(28)  Farquhar,  J.  N.    Modern  Religious  Movements  in  India.    New 
York,  1915. 

(29)  Selbie,  W.  B.    English  Sects.    A  history   of   non-conformity. 
Home  University  Library.    New  York,  1912. 

(30)  Barclay,  Robert.     The  Inner  Life  of  the  Religious  Societies  of  the 
Commonwealth.    London,  1876.     [Bibliography.] 

(31)  Jones,  Rufus  M.    Studies  in  Mystical  Religion.    London,  1909. 

(32)  Braithwaite,  W.  C.    Beginnings  of  Quakerism.    London,  1912. 

(33)  Jones,  Rufus  M.     The  Quaker  sin  the  American  Colonies.    London, 
1911. 

(34)  Evans,  F.  W.    Shakers.     Compendium  of  the  origin,  history, 
principles,  rules  and  regulations,  government,  and  doctrines  of 
the  United  Society  of  Believers  in  Christ's  Second  Appearing. 
With  biographies  of  Ann  Lee,  William  Lee,  James  Whittaker, 
J.  Hocknell,  J.  Meacham,  and  Lucy  Wright.    New  York,  1859. 

(35)  Train,  J.     The  Buchanites  from  First  to  Last.    Edinburgh,  1846. 

(36)  Miller,  Edward.     The  History  and  Doctrines  of  Irvingism.    Or  of 
the  so-called  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Church.     2  vols.    London, 
1878. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  945 

(37)  Neatby,  W.Blair.    A  History  of  the  Plymouth  Brethren.    London, 
1901. 

(38)  Lockwood,  George  B.    The  New  Harmony  Movement.    "The 
Rappites."    Chaps,  ii-iv,  pp.  7-42.    [Bibliography.] 

(39)  James,  B.  B.    The  Labadist  Colony  of  Maryland.     Baltimore, 
1899. 

(40)  Dixon,  W.  H.    Spiritual  Wives.    2  vols.    London,  1868. 

(41)  Randall,  E.  O.    History  of  the  Zoar  Society  from  Its  Commence- 
ment to  Its  Conclusion.    Columbus,  1899. 

(42)  Loughborough,  J.  N.     The  Great  Second  Advent  Movement.    Its 
rise  and  progress.    Nashville,  Term.,  1905.    [Adventists.] 

(43)  Harlan,  Rolvix.    John  Alexander  Dowie  and  the  Christian  Catholic 
Apostolic  Church  in  Zion.    Evansville,  Wis.,  1906. 

(44)  Smith,  Henry  C.    Mennonites  of  America.    Mennonite   Pub- 
lishing House,  Scotdale,  Pa.,  1909.    [Bibliography.] 

(45)  La  Rue,  William.    The  Foundations  of  Mormonism.    A  study  of 
the  fundamental  facts  in  the  history  and  doctrines  of  the  Mormons 
from  original  sources.    With  introduction  by  Alfred  Williams 
Anthony.    New  York,  1919.    [Bibliography.] 

B.  Language  Revivals  and  Nationalism 

(1)  Dominian,  Leon.    Frontiers  of  Language   and  Nationality  in 
Europe.    New  York,  1917. 

(2)  Bourgoing,  P.  de.    Les  Guerres  d'idiome  et  de  nationality.    Paris, 
1849. 

(3)  Meillet,  A.    "Les  Langues  et  les  nationalites,"  Scientia,  XVIII 
(1915),  192-201. 

(4)  Rhys,  John,  and  Brynmor-Jones,  David.     The  Welsh  People. 
Chap,  xii,  "Language  and  Literature  of  Wales,"  pp.   501-50. 
London,  1900. 

(5)  Dinneen,  P.  S.    Lectures  on  the  Irish  Language  Movement.     Deliv- 
ered under  the  auspices  of  various  branches  of  the  Gaelic  League. 
London,  1904. 

(6)  Montgomery,  K.  L.    "Some  Writers  of  the  Celtic  Renaissance," 
Fortnightly  Review,  XCVI  (1911),  545-61. 

(7)  '• — .    "Ireland's  Psychology:  a  Study  of  Facts,"  Fortnightly 

Review,  CXII  (1919),  572-88. 

(8)  Dubois,  L.  Paul.    Contemporary  Ireland.    With  an  introduction 
by  T.  M.  Kettle,  M.  P.    London,  1908. 

(9)  The  Teaching  of  Gaelic  in  Highland  Schools.    Published  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Highland  Association.    London,  1907. 


946  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(10)  Fedortchouk,  Y.  "La  Question  des  nationalites  en  Autriche- 
Hongrie:  les  Ruthenes  de  Hongrie,"  Annales  des  nationality, 
VIII  (1915),  52-56. 

(u)  Seton- Watson,  R.  W.  [Scotus  Viator,  pseud]  Racial  Problems 
in  Hungary,  London,  1908.  [Bibliography.] 

(12)  Samassa,    P.    "Deutsche    und    Windische    in    Sudosterreich," 
Deutsche  Erde,  II  (1903),  39-41. 

(13)  Wace,A.J.B.,  and  Thompson,  M.S.     The  Nomads  of  the  Balkans. 
London,  1914. 

(14)  Tabbe,  P.    La  vivante  Roumanie.    Paris,  1913. 

(15)  Louis- Jarau,  G.    L'Albanie  inconnue.    Paris,  1913. 

(16)  Brancoff,  D.  M.    La   Macedoine  et  sa  population  Chrttienne. 
Paris,  1005. 

(17)  Fedortchouk,  Y.    Memorandum  on  the  Ukrainian  Question  in  Its 
National  Aspect.    London,  1914. 

(18)  Vellay,  Charles.     "L'Irredentisme  hellenique,"  La  Revue  de  Paris, 
XX  (Juillet-Aout,  1913),  884-86. 

(19)  Sands,  B.     The  Ukraine.    London,  1914. 

(20)  Auerbach,  B.     "La  Germanization  de  la  Pologne  Prussienne. 
La  loi  d 'expropriation,"  Revue  Polilique  et  Parlementaire,  LVII 
(1908),  109-125. 

(21)  Bernhard,  L.    Das  polnische  Gemeinwesen  im  preussischen  Slaal. 
Die  Polenfrage.    Leipzig,  1910. 

(22)  Henry,  R.    "La  Fronttere  linguistique  en  Alsace-Lorraine,"  Les 
Marches  de  I'Est,  1911-1912,  pp.  60-71. 

(23)  Nitsch,  C.     "Dialectology  of  Polish  Languages,"  Polish  Encyclo- 
paedia, Vol.  III.     Cracow,  1915. 

(24)  Witte,   H.     "Wendische   Bevolkerungsreste  in   Mecklenburg," 
Forschungen  zur  deutschen  Landes-  und  Volkskunde,  XVI  (1905), 
1-124. 

(25)  Kaupas,    A.      "L'figlise    et    les    Lituaniens    aux    fitats-Unis 
d'Amerique,"  Annales  des  Nationalitis,  II  (1913),  233  ff. 

(26)  Pelissier,  Jean.    Les  Principaux  artisans  de  la  renaissance  nationale 
liluanienne.    Homines  et  choses  de  Lituanie.    Lausanne,  1918. 

(27)  Jakstas,  A.     "Lituaniens  et  Polonais."    Annales  des  nationality, 
VIII  (1915),  219  ff. 

(28)  Headlam,  Cecil.     Provence  and  Languedoc.     Chap,  v,  "Frederic 
Mistral  and  the  Felibres."    London,  1912. 

(29)  Belisle,  A.    Histoire  de  la  presse  franco-amer icaine.     Comprenant 
1'historique  de  1'emigration  des  Canadiens-Francais  aux  fitats- 
Unis,  leur  developpement,  et  ieur  progres.    Worcester,  Mass., 
1911. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  947 

VI.      ECONOMIC  CRISES 

(1)  Wirth,  M.    Geschichte  der  Handelskrisen.     Frankfurt-am-Main, 
1890. 

(2)  Jones,  Edward  D.    Economic  Crises.    New  York,  1900. 

(3)  Gibson,   Thomas.     The    Cycles   of  Speculation.     2d   ed.    New 
York,  1909. 

(4)  Bellet,  Daniel.  Crises  economiques.  Crises  commerciales.  Crises  de 
guerre.    Leurs  caractSres,  leurs  indices,  leurs  effets.    Paris,  1918. 

(5)  Clough,H.  W.     "Synchronous  Variations  in  Solar  and  Terrestrial 
Phenomena,"  Astrophysical  Journal,  XXII  (1905),  42-75. 

(6)  Clayton,   H.   H.     "Influence   of  Rainfall   on   Commerce   and 
Politics,"  Popular  Science  Monthly,  LX  (1901-2),  158-65. 

(7)  Mitchell,  Wesley  C.    Business  Cycles.    Berkeley,  Cal.,  1913. 

(8)  Moore,  Henry  L.     Economic  Cycles:  Their  Law  and  Cause.    New 
York,  1914. 

(9)  Hurry,  Jamieson  B.     Vicious  Circles  in  Sociology  and   Their 
Treatment.    London,  1915. 

(10)  Thiers,  Adolphe.  The  Mississippi  Bubble.  A  memoir  of  John 
Law.  To  which  are  added  authentic  accounts  of  the  Darien 
expedition  and  the  South  Sea  scheme.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  F.  S.  Fiske.  New  York,  1859. 

(n)  Wiston-Glynn,  A.  W.  John  Law  of  Lauriston.  Financier  and 
statesman,  founder  of  the  Bank  of  France,  originator  of  the 
Mississippi  scheme,  etc.  London,  1907. 

(12)  Mackay,  Charles.  Memoirs  of  Extraordinary  Popular  Delusions 
and  the  Madness  of  Crowds.  2  vols.  in  one.  London,  1859. 
[Vol.  I,  the  Mississippi  scheme,  the  South  Sea  bubble,  the  tulip- 
omania,  the  alchymists,  modern  prophecies,  fortune-telling,  the 
magnetisers,  influence  of  politics  and  religion  on  the  hair  and 
beard.  Vol.  II,  the  crusades,  the  witch  mania,  the  slow  prisoners, 
haunted  houses,  popular  follies  of  great  cities,  popular  admiration 
of  great  thieves,  duels  and  ordeals,  relics.] 

VII.      FASHION,   REFORM,   AND   REVOLUTION 

A.  Fashion 

(1)  Spencer,  Herbert.    Principles  of  Sociology.     Part  IV,  chap,  xi, 
"Fashion,"  II,  205-10.     London,  1893. 

(2)  Tarde,   Gabriel.     Laws  of  Imitation.     Translated  from  the  2d 
French  ed.  by  Elsie  Clews  Parsons.     Chap,  vii,  "Custom  and 
Fashion,"  pp.  244-365.     New  York,  1903. 

(3)  Simmel,  G.    Philosophic  der  Mode.    Berlin,  1905. 

(4)  — — — .     "The  Attraction  of  Fashion,"  International  Quarterly, 
X  (1904),  I30-5S- 


948  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(5)  Sumner,  W.  G.    Folkways.     "Fashion,"  pp.  184-220.    Boston, 
1006. 

(6)  Sombart,  Werner.     "Wirtschaft  und  Mode,"  Grenzfragen  des 
Nerven-  und  Seelenlebens.     Wiesbaden,  1902. 

(7)  Clerget,  Pierre.     "The  Economic  and  Social  R61e  of  Fashion." 
Annual  Report  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  1913,  pp.  755-65. 
Washington,  1914. 

(8)  Squillace,  Fausto.    LaModa.    L'abito  e  1'uomo.    Milano,  1912. 

(9)  Shaler,  N.  S.     "The  Law  of  Fashion,"  Atlantic  Monthly,  LXI 
(1888),  386-98. 

(10)  Patrick,  G.  T.  W.     "  The  Psychology  of  Crazes,"  Popular  Science 

Monthly,  LVII  (1900),  285-94. 
(u)  Linton,  E.  L.     "The  Tyranny  of  Fashion,"  Forum,  III  (1887), 

59-68. 

(12)  Bigg,   Ada   H.     "What    is    'Fashion'?"    Nineteenth    Century, 
XXXIII  (1893),  235-48. 

(13)  Foley,  Caroline  A.     "Fashion,"  Economic  Journal,  III  (1893), 

458-74- 

(14)  Aria,   E.     "Fashion,  Its  Survivals  and  Revivals,"  Fortnightly 
Review,  CIV  (1915),  93°~37- 

(15)  Thomas,  W.  I.     "The  Psychology  of  Woman's  Dress,"  American 
Magazine,  LXVII  (1908-9),  66-72. 

(16)  Schurtz,    Heinrich.    Grundziige    einer   Philosophic   der    Tracht. 
Stuttgart,  1871. 

(17)  Wechsler,  Alfred.    Psychologic  der  Mode.    Berlin,  1904. 

(18)  Stratz,  Carl  H.    Die  Frauenkleidung  und  ihre  natiirliche  Entwick- 
lung.     Stuttgart,  1904. 

(19)  Holmes,  William  H.     "Origin  and  Development  of  Form   and 
Ornament  in  Ceramic  Art,"  Fourth  Annual  Report  of  the   U.S. 
Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  1882-83,  pp.  437-65.     Wash- 
ington, 1886. 

(20)  Kroeber,  A.  L.     "On  the  Principle  of  Order  in  Civilization  as 
Exemplified  by  Changes  of  Fashion,"  American  Anthropologist, 
N.  S.,  XXI  (1919),  235-63. 

B.  Reform 

(1)  Sumner,    W.    G.    Folkways.     "Reform   and   Revolution,"    pp. 
86-95.    Boston,  1906. 

(2)  Patrick,   G.  T.   W.     The  Psychology   of  Social  Reconstruction. 
Chaps,  i-ii,  "Psychological  Factors  in  Social  Reconstruction," 
pp.  27-118.    Boston,  1920. 

(3)  Jevons,  William  S.    Methods  of  Social  Reform.    And  other  papers. 
London, 1883. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  949 

(4)  Pearson,  Karl.    Social  Problems.    Their  treatment,  past,  present, 
and  future.    London,  1912. 

(5)  Mallock,  W.  H.    Social  Reform  as  Related  to  Realities  and  Delu- 
sions.   An  examination  of  the  increase  and  distribution  of  wealth 
from  1801  to  1910.    New  York,  1915. 

(6)  Matthews,  Brander.     "Reform  and  Reformers,"  North  American, . 
CLXXXIII  (1906),  461-73. 

(7)  Miller,  J.  D.     "Futilities  of  Reformers,"  Arena,  XXVI  (1901), 
481-89. 

(8)  Lippmann,  Walter.    A  Preface  to  Politics.     Chap,  v,  "Well  Mean- 
ing but  Unmeaning:    The  Chicago  Vice  Report,"  pp.  122-58. 
New  York,  1913. 

(9)  Stanton,  Henry  B.    Sketches  of  Reforms  and  Reformers,  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland.     26.  rev.  ed.    New  York,  1850. 

(10)  Stoughton,  John.     William  Wilberforce.    London,  1880. 
(n)  Field,  J.     The  Life  of  John  Howard.    With  comments  on  his 
character  and  philanthropic  labours.    London,  1850. 

(12)  Hodder,  Edwin.     The  Seventh  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  K.  G.,  as  Social 
Reformer.    New  York,  1898. 

(13)  Atkinson,  Charles  M.    Jeremy  Bentham,  His  Life  and  Work. 
London,  1905. 

(14)  Morley,  John.     The  Life  of  Richard  Cobden.    Boston,  1890. 

(15)  Bartlett,   David  W.    Modern  Agitators.    Or  pen  portraits  of 
living  American  reformers.    New  York,  1855. 

(16)  Greeley,  Horace.    Hints  toward  Reforms.    In  lectures,  addresses, 
and  other  writing.    New  York,  1850. 

(17)  Austin,  George  L.     The  Life  and  Times  of  Wendell  Phillips.    New 
ed.    Boston,  1901. 

(18)  Hill,  Georgiana.     Women  in  English  Life.    From  medieval  to 
modern   tunes.    Period   III,   chap,   v,   "The   Philanthropists," 
Vol.  II,  pp.  59-74;  Period  IV,  chap,  xi,  "The  Modern  Humani- 
tarian Movement,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  227-36.     2  vols.    London,  1896. 

(19)  Yonge,  Charlotte  M.    Hannah  More.     Famous  women.    Boston, 
1888. 

(20)  Besant,  Annie.    An  Autobiography.     26.  ed.    London,  1908. 

(21)  Harper,  Ida  H.     The  Life  and  Work  of 'Susan  B.Anthony.    Includ- 
ing public  addresses,  her  own  lectures  and  many  from  her  con- 
temporaries during  fifty  years.    A  story  of  the  evolution  of  the 
status  of  woman.     3  vols.     Indianapolis,  1898-1908. 

(22)  Whiting,    Lilian.     Women    Who    Have    Ennobled    Life.     Phila- 
delphia, 1915. 


95°  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(23)  Willard,  Frances  E.     Woman  and  Temperance.     Or  the  work  and 
workers  of  the  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union.    3d  ed. 
Hartford,  Conn.,  1883. 

(24)  Gordon,  Anna  A.     The  Beautiful  Life  of  Frances  E.  Willard.    A 
memorial    volume.    Introduction    by    Lady    Henry    Somerset. 
Chicago,  1898. 

C.  Revolution 

(1)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.    The  Psychology  of  Revolution.    Translated 
from  the  French  by  Bernard  Miall.    New  York,  1913. 

(2)  Petrie,  W.  M.  F.     The  Revolutions  of  Civilisation.    London,  1912. 

(3)  Hyndman,  Henry  M.     The  Evolution  of  Revolution.    London, 
1920. 

(4)  Adams,  Brooks.     The  Theory  of  Social  Revolutions.    New  York, 


(5)  Landauer,   G.    Die  Revolution.     "Die  Gesellschaft,   Sammlung 
sozial-psychologischer      Monographien."       Frankfurt-am-Main, 
1907. 

(6)  Thomas,  W.  I.    Source  Book  for  Social  Origins.     "Crisis  and 
Control,"  pp.  13-22.     Chicago,  1009. 

(7)  Ellwood,  Charles  A.     "A  Psychological  Theory  of  Revolutions," 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XI  (1905-6),  49-59. 

(8)  -  .    Introduction  to  Social  Psychology.     Chap,  viii,  "Social 
Change  under  Abnormal  Conditions,"  pp.  170-87.    New  York, 
1917. 

(9)  King,  Irving.     "The  Influence  of  the  Form  of  Social  Change 
upon  the  Emotional  Life  of  a  People,"  American  Journal  of 
Sociology,  IX  (1903-4),  124-35. 

(10)  Toynbee,  Arnold.  Lectures  on  the  Industrial  Revolution  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century  in  England.  New  ed.  London,  1908. 

(n)  Knowles,  L.  C.  A.  The  Industrial  and  Commercial  Revolutions  in 
Great  Britain  during  the  Nineteenth  Century.  London,  1921. 

(12)  Taine,   H.   A.     The  French   Revolution.    Translated   from   the 
French  by  John  Durand.    3  vols.    New  York,  1878-85. 

(13)  Olgin,  Moissaye  J.     The  Soul  of  the  Russian  Revolution.    Intro- 
duction by  Vladimir  G.  Simkhovitch.    New  York,  1917. 

(14)  Spargo,  John.     The  Psychology  of  Bolshevism.    New  York,  1919. 

(15)  Khoras,  P.     "La  Psychologic  de  la  revolution  chinoise,"  Revue 
des  deux  mondes,  VIII  (1912),  295-331. 

(16)  Le  Bon,  Gustave.     The  World  in  Revolt.    A  psychological  study 
of  our  times.    Translated  from  the  French  by  Bernard  Miall. 
New  York,  1921. 


COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR  951 

(17)  Lombroso,   Cesare.    Le   Crime   politique   el  les  revolutions   par 
rapport  au  droit,  a  I'anthropologie  criminelle  el  a  science  du  gou- 
•vernement.     Translated  by  A.  Bouchard.     Paris,  1912. 

(18)  Prince,  Samuel  H.     Catastrophe  and  Social  Change.    Based  upon 
a  sociological  study  of  the  Halifax  disaster.     "Columbia  Univer- 
sity Studies  in  Political  Science."    New  York,  1920. 

TOPICS  FOR  "WRITTEN  THEMES 

1.  Collective  Behavior  and  Social  Control 

2.  Unrest  in  the  Person  and  Unrest  in  the  Group 

3.  The  Agitator  as  a  Type  of  the  Restless  Person 

4.  A  Study  of  Adolescent  Unrest:  the  Runaway  Boy  and  the  Girl  Who 
Goes  Wrong 

5.  A  Comparison  of  Physical  Epidemics  with  Social  Contagion 

6.  Case  Studies  of  Psychic  Epidemics:    the  Mississippi   Bubble,   Gold 
Fever,  War-Time  Psychosis,  the  Dancing  Mania  in  Modern  Times,  etc. 

7.  Propaganda  as  Social  Contagion:   an  Analysis  of  a  Selected  Case 

8.  A  Description  and  Interpretation  of  Crowd  Behavior:    the  Orgy,  the 
Cult,  the  Mob,  the  Organized  Crowd 

9.  The  "Animal"  Crowd:  the  Flock,  the  Herd,  the  Pack 

10.  A  Description  of  Crowd  Behavior  on  Armistice  Day 

11.  The  Criminal  Crowd 

12.  The  Jury,  the  Congenial  Group,  the  Committee,  the  Legislature,  the 
Mass  Meeting,  etc.,  as  Types  of  Collective  Behavior 

13.  Crowd  Excitements  and  Mass  Movements 

14.  A  Study  of  Mass  Migrations:   the  Barbarian  Invasions,  the  Settlement 
of  Oklahoma,  the  Migrations  of  the  Mennonnites,  the  Treks  of  the 
Boers,  the  Rise  of  Mohammedanism,  the  Mormon  Migrations,  etc. 

15.  Crusades  and  Reforms:   the  Crusades,  the  Abolition  Movement,  Pro- 
hibition, the  Woman's  Temperance  Crusades,  Moving-Picture  Censor- 
ship, etc. 

1 6.  Fashions,  Revivals,  and  Revolutions 

17.  The  Social  Laws  of  Fashions 

1 8.  Linguistic  Revivals  and  the  Nationalist  Movements 

19.  Religious  Revivals  and  the  Origin  of  Sects 

20.  Social  Unrest,  Social  Movements,  and  Changes  in  Mores  and  Insti- 
tutions 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

1 .  What  do  you  understand  by  collective  behavior  ? 

2.  Interpret  the  incident  in  a  Lancashire  cotton  factory  in  terms  of 
sympathy,  imitation,  and  suggestion. 


952  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

3.  What  simple  forms  of  social  contagion  have  you  observed? 

4.  In  what  sense  may  the  dancing  mania  of  the  Middle  Ages  be  compared 
to  an  epidemic  ? 

5.  Why  may  propaganda  be  interpreted  as  social  contagion?    Describe 
a  concrete  instance  of  propaganda  and  analyze  its  modus  operandi. 

6.  What  are  the  differences  in  behavior  of  the  flock,  the  pack,  and  the 
herd? 

••    Ts  it  accurate  to  speak  of  these  animal  groups  as  "crowds"  ? 

8.  What  do  you  understand  Le  Bon  to  mean  by  "the  mental  unity  of 
crowds  "  ? 

9.  Describe  and  analyze  the  behavior  of  crowds  which  you  have  observed. 

10.  "The  crowd  is  always  intellectually  inferior  to  the  isolated  individual." 
"The  crowd  may  be  better  or  worse  than  the  individual."    Are  these 
statements  consistent  ?    Elaborate  your  position. 

11.  In  what  sense  may  we  speak  of  sects,  castes,  and  classes  as  crowds  ? 

12.  What  do  you  mean  by  a  social  movement  ? 

13.  What  is  the  significance  of  a  movement  ? 

14.  Why  is  movement  to  be  regarded  as  the  fundamental  form  of  freedom  ? 

15.  How  does  crowd  excitement  lead  to  mass  movements? 

16.  What  were  the  differences  in  the  characteristics  of  mass  movements 
in  the  Klondike  Rush,  the  Woman's  Crusade,  Methodism,  and  bol- 
shevism  ? 

17.  What  are  the  causes  of  social  unrest? 

18.  What  is  the  relation  of  social  unrest  to  social  organization? 

19.  How  does  Le  Bon  explain  the  mental  anarchy  at  the  time  of  the  French 
Revolution  ? 

20.  What  was  the  nature  of  this  mental  anarchy  in  the  different  social 
classes  ?    Are  revolutions  always  preceded  by  mental  anarchy  ? 

21.  What  was  the  relative  importance  of  belief  and  of  reason  in  the  French 
Revolution  ? 

22.  What  are  the  likenesses  and  differences  between  the  origin  and  develop- 
ment of  bolshevism  and  of  the  French  Revolution  ? 

23.  Do  you  agree  with  Spargo's  interpretation  of  the  psychology  (a)  of 
the  intellectual  Bolshevists,  and  (b)  of  the  I.W.W.  ? 

24.  Are  mass  movements  organizing  or  disorganizing  factors  in  society? 
Illustrate  by  reference  to  Methodism,  the  French  Revolution,  and 
bolshevism. 

25.  Under  what  conditions  will  a  mass  movement  (a)  become  organized, 
and  (b)  become  an  institution  ? 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PROGRESS 

I.    INTRODUCTION 
i.    Popular  Conceptions  of  Progress 

It  seems  incredible  that  there  should  have  been  a  time  when 
mankind  had  no  conception  of  progress.  Ever  since  men  first  con- 
sciously united  their  common  efforts  to  improve  and  conserve  their 
common  life,  it  would  seem  there  must  have  been  some  recognition 
that  life  had  not  always  been  as  they  found  it  and  that  it  could  not 
be  in  the  future  what  it  then  was.  Nevertheless,  it  has  been  said  that 
the  notion  of  progress  was  unknown  in  the  oriental  world,  that  the 
opposite  conception  of  deterioration  pervaded  all  ancient  Asiatic 
thought.  In  India  the  prevailing  notion  was  that  of  vast  cycles  of 
time  "  through  which  the  universe  and  its  inhabitants  must  pass  from 
perfection  to  destruction,  from  strength  and  innocence  to  weakness 
and  depravity  until  a  new  maha-yuga  begins."1 

The  Greeks  conceived  the  course  of  history  in  various  ways, 
as  progress  and  as  deterioration,  but  in  general  they  thought  of  it  as 
a  cycle.  The  first  clear  description  of  the  history  of  mankind  as  a 
progression  by  various  stages,  from  a  condition  of  primitive  savagery 
to  civilization,  is  in  Lucretius'  great  poem  De  Rerum  Natura.  But 
Lucretius  does  not  conceive  this  progress  will  continue.  On  the 
contrary  he  recognizes  that  the  world  has  grown  old  and  already 
shows  signs  of  decrepitude  which  foreshadow  its  ultimate  destruction. 

It  is  only  in  comparatively  recent  times  that  the  world  has  sought 
to  define  progress  philosophically,  as  part  of  the  cosmic  process,  and 
has  thought  of  it  abstractly  as  something  to  be  desired  for  its  own 
sake.  Today  the  word  progress  is  in  everyone's  mouth;  still  there  is 
no  general  agreement  as  to  what  progress  is,  and  particularly  in  recent 
years,  with  all  the  commonly  accepted  evidences  of  progress  about 

1  Robert  Flint,  The  Philosophy  of  History  in  Europe,  I,  29-30.  (London, 
1874.) 

953 


954  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

them,  skeptics  have  appeared,  who,  like  the  farmer  who  saw  for  the 
first  time  a  camel  with  two  humps,  insisted  "there's  no  such  animal." 

The  reason  there  is  no  general  understanding  in  regard  to  the 
meaning  of  progress,  as  it  has  been  denned  by  the  philosophers,  is  not 
because  there  is  no  progress  in  detail,  but  because  the  conception  of 
progress  in  general  involves  a  balancing  of  the  goods  against  the  ills 
of  life.  It  raises  the  question  whether  the  gains  which  society  makes 
as  a  whole  are  compensation  for  the  individual  defeats  and  losses 
which  progress  inevitably  involves.  One  reason  why  we  believe  in 
progress,  perhaps,  is  that  history  is  invariably  written  by  the  survivors. 

In  certain  aspects  and  with  people  of  a  certain  temperament,  what 
we  ordinarily  call  progress,  considering  what  it  costs,  will  always 
seem  a  very  dubious  matter.  William  Ralph  Inge,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  London,  seems  to  be  the  most  eminent  modern  example 
of  the  skeptic. 

Human  nature  has  not  been  changed  by  civilization.  It  has  neither 
been  leveled  up  nor  leveled  down  to  an  average  mediocrity.  Beneath  the 
dingy  uniformity  of  international  fashions  in  dress,  man  remains  what 
he  has  always  been — a  splendid  fighting  animal,  a  self-sacrificing  hero, 
and  a  bloodthirsty  savage.  Human  nature  is  at  once  sublime  and  horrible, 
holy  and  satanic.  Apart  from  the  accumulation  of  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence, which  are  external  and  precarious  acquisitions,  there  is  no  proof  that 
we  have  changed  much  since  the  first  stone  age.1 

It  must  be  remembered  in  this  connection  that  progress,  in  so  far 
as  it  makes  the  world  more  comfortable,  makes  it  more  complicated. 
Every  new  mechanical  device,  every  advance  in  business  organization 
or  in  science,  which  makes  the  world  more  tolerable  for  most  of  us, 
makes  it  impossible  for  others.  Not  all  the  world  is  able  to  keep  pace 
with  the  general  progress  of  the  world.  Most  of  the  primitive  races 
have  been  exterminated  by  the  advance  of  civilization,  and  it  is  still 
uncertain  where,  and  upon  what  terms,  the  civilized  man  will  let  the 
remnant  of  the  primitive  peoples  live. 

It  has  been  estimated  that,  in  the  complicated  lif e  of  modern  cities, 
at  least  one-tenth  of  the  population  is  not  competent  to  maintain  an 
independent,  economic  existence,  but  requires  an  increasing  amount 

1 W.  R.  Inge,  Outspoken  Essays,  i, "  Our  Present  Discontents,"  p.  2.  (London, 
1919.) 


PROGRESS  955 

of  care  and  assistance  from  the  other  nine-tenths.1  To  the  inferior, 
incompetent,  and  unfortunate,  unable  to  keep  pace  with  progress,  the 
more  rapid  advance  of  the  world  means  disease,  despair,  and  death. 
In  medicine  and  surgery  alone  does  progress  seem  wholly  beneficent, 
but  the  eugenists  are  even  now  warning  us  that  our  indiscriminate 
efforts  to  protect  the  weak  and  preserve  the  incompetent  are  increasing 
the  burdens  of  the  superior  and  competent,  who  are  alone  fit  to  live. 

On  the  other  hand,  every  new  invention  is  a  response  to  some 
specific  need.  Every  new  form  of  social  control  is  intended  to  correct 
some  existing  evil.  So  far  as  they  are  successful  they  represent 
progress.  Progress  in  the  concrete  has  reference  to  recognized  social 
values.  Values,  as  Cooley  points  out,  have  no  meaning  except  with 
reference  to  an  organism. 

"The  organism  is  necessary  to  give  meaning  to  the  idea  [value]; 
there  must  be  worth  to  something.  It  need  not  be  a  person;  a  group, 
an  institution,  a  doctrine,  any  organized  form  of  life  will  do;  and  that 
it  be  conscious  of  the  values  that  motivate  it  is  not  at  all  essential."2 

Any  change  or  adaptation  to  an  existing  environment  that  makes 
it  easier  for  a  person,  group,  institution,  or  other  "organized  form  of 
lif  e  "  to  live  may  be  said  to  represent  progress.  Whether  the  invention 
is  a  new  plow  or  a  new  six-inch  gun  we  accept  it  as  an  evidence  of 
progress  if  it  does  the  work  for  which  it  is  intended  more  efficiently 
than  any  previous  device.  In  no  region  of  human  life  have  we  made 
greater  progress  than  in  the  manufacture  of  weapons  of  destruction. 

Not  everyone  would  be  willing  to  admit  that  progress  in  weapons 
of  warfare  represents  "real"  progress.  That  is  because  some  people 
do  not  admit  the  necessity  of  war.  Once  admit  that  necessity,  then 
every  improvement  is  an  evidence  of  progress,  at  least  in  that  particular 
field.  It  is  more  easy  to  recognize  progress  in  those  matters  where 
there  is  no  conflict  in  regard  to  the  social  values.  The  following 
excerpt  from  Charles  Zueblin's  preface  to  his  book  on  American 
progress  is  a  concrete  indication  of  what  students  of  society  usually 
recognize  as  progress. 

Already  this  century  has  witnessed  the  first  municipalized  street 
railways  and  telephones  in  American  cities;  a  national  epidemic  of  street 

1  Charles  Booth,  Labour  and  Life  of  the  People,  1, 154-55,  598.  2d  ed.  (Lon- 
don, 1889.) 

1  Charles  Cooley,  The  Social  Process,  p.  284.     (New  York,  1918.) 


956  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

paving  and  cleaning;  the  quadrupling  of  electric  lighting  service  and  the 
national  appropriation  of  display  lighting;  a  successful  crusade  against  dirt 
of  all  kinds — smoke,  flies,  germs, — and  the  diffusion  of  constructive  pro- 
visions for  health  like  baths,  laundries,  comfort  stations,  milk  stations,  school 
nurses  and  open  air  schools;  fire  prevention;  the  humanizing  of  the  police 
and  the  advent  of  the  policewomen;  the  transforming  of  some  municipal 
courts  into  institutions  for  the  prevention  of  crime  and  the  cure  of  offenders; 
the  elaboration  of  the  school  curriculum  to  give  every  child  a  complete 
education  from  the  kindergarten  to  the  vocational  course  in  school  or 
university  or  shop;  municipal  reference  libraries;  the  completion  of  park 
systems  in  most  large  cities  and  the  acceptance  of  the  principle  that  the 
smallest  city  without  a  park  and  playground  is  not  quite  civilized;  the 
modern  playground  movement  giving  organized  and  directed  play  to  young 
and  old;  the  social  center;  the  democratic  art  museum;  municipal  tEeaters; 
the  commission  form  of  government;  the  city  manager;  home  rule  for 
cities;  direct  legislation — a  greater  advance  than  the  whole  nineteenth 
century  compassed.1 

2.    The  Problem  of  Progress 

Sociology  inherited  its  conception  of  progress  from  the  philosophy 
of  history.  That  problem  seems  to  have  had  its  origin  in  the  paradox 
that  progress  at  retail  does  not  insure  progress  at  wholesale.  The 
progress  of  the  community  as  individuals  or  in  specific  directions  may, 
for  example,  bring  about  conditions  which  mean  the  eventual  destruc- 
tion of  the  community  as  a  whole.  This  is  what  we  mean  by  saying 
that  civilizations  are  born,  grow,  and  decay.  We  may  see  the  phe- 
nomenon in  its  simplest  form  in  the  plant  community,  where  the  very 
growth  of  the  community  creates  a  soil  in  which  the  community  is  no 
longer  able  to  exist.  But  the  decay  and  death  of  one  community 
creates  a  soil  in  which  another  community  will  live  and  grow.  This 
gives  us  the  interesting  phenomenon  of  what  the  ecologists  call 
"succession."  So  individuals  build  their  homes,  communities  are 
formed,  and  eventually  there  comes  into  existence  a  great  city.  But 
the  very  existence  of  a  great  city  creates  problems  of  health,  of  family 
life,  and  social  control  which  did  not  exist  when  men  lived  in  the  open, 
or  in  villages.  Just  as  the  human  body  generates  the  poisons  that 
eventually  destroy  it,  so  the  communal  life,  in  the  very  process  of 

1  Charles  Zueblin,  American  Municipal  Progress,  pp.  ri-xn.  New  and  rev.  ed. 
(New  York,  1916.) 


PROGRESS  957 

growth  and  as  a  result  of  its  efforts  to  meet  the  changes  that  its  growth 
involves,  creates  diseases  and  vices  which  tend  to  destroy  the  com- 
munity. This  raises  the  problem  in  another  form.  Communities 
may  and  do  grow  old  and  die,  but  new  communities  profiting  by  the 
experience  of  their  predecessors  are  enabled  to  create  social  organiza- 
tions, more  adequate  and  better  able  to  resist  social  diseases  and 
corrupting  vices.  But  in  order  to  do  this,  succeeding  communities 
have  had  to  accumulate  more  experience,  exercise  more  forethought, 
employ  more  special  knowledge  and  a  greater  division  of  labor.  In 
the  meantime,  life  is  becoming  constantly  more  complex.  In  place  of 
the  simple  spontaneous  modes  of  behavior  which  enable  the  lower 
animals  to  live  without  education  and  without  anxiety,  men  are 
compelled  to  supplement  original  nature  with  special  training  and 
with  more  and  more  elaborate  machinery,  until  life,  losing  its  sponta- 
neity, seems  in  danger  of  losing  all  its  joy. 

Knowledge  accumulates  apace  and  its  applications  threaten  the  very 
existence  of  civilized  man.  The  production  of  the  flying  machine  repre- 
sented a  considerable  advance  in  mechanical  knowledge;  but  I  am  unaware 
of  any  respect  in  which  human  welfare  has  been  increased  by  its  existence; 
whereas  it  has  not  only  intensified  enormously  the  horrors  of  war,  and,  by 
furnishing  criminal  and  other  undesirable  characters  with  a  convenient 
means  of  rapid  and  secret  movement,  markedly  diminished  social  security, 
but  it  threatens,  by  its  inevitable  advance  in  construction,  to  make  any 
future  conflict  virtually  equivalent  to  the  extermination  of  civilized  man. 
And  the  maleficent  change  in  the  conditions  of  human  life  which  the 
flying  machine  has  produced  from  the  air,  the  submarine  parallels  from  the 
depths  of  the  sea;  indeed,  the  perception  of  this  truth  has  led  to  the  very 
doubtfully  practicable  suggestion  that  the  building  of  submarines  be  made 
illegal 

Moreover  if  life  itself  is  more  secure,  there  is  at  the  present  moment 
a  distinct  tendency  towards  a  diminution  of  personal  liberty.  The  increas- 
ing control  by  the  state  over  the  conduct  and  activities  of  the  individual; 
the  management  of  his  children,  the  details  of  his  diet  and  the  conduct  of 
his  ordinary  affairs;  tend  more  and  more  to  limit  his  personal  freedom. 
But  the  restriction  of  his  liberty  amounts  to  a  reduction  of  his  avail- 
able life  just  as  complete  loss  of  liberty  differs  little  from  complete  loss 
of  life.1 

1  R.  Austin  Freeman,  Social  Decay  and  Regeneration.  With  an  introduction 
by  Havelock  Ellis.  Pp.  16-17.  (Boston,  1921.) 


958  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

It  is  this  condition  which,  in  spite  of  progress  in  details,  has  raised 
in  men's  minds  a  question  whether  there  is  progress  in  general,  and 
if  there  is,  whether  the  mass  of  mankind  is  better  or  worse  because 

of  it. 

3.     History  of  the  Concept  of  Progress 

The  great  task  of  mankind  has  been  to  create  an  organization 
which  would  enable  men  to  realize  their  wishes.  This  organization 
we  call  civilization.  In  achieving  this  result  man  has  very  slowly  at 
first,  but  more  rapidly  in  recent  times,  established  his  control  over 
external  nature  and  over  himself.  He  has  done  this  in  order  that  he 
might  remake  the  world  as  he  found  it  more  after  his  own  heart. 

But  the  world  which  man  has  thuc  remade  has  in  turn  reacted 
back  upon  man  and  in  doing  so  has  made  him  human.  Men  build 
houses  to  protect  them  from  the  weather  and  as  places  of  refuge. 
In  the  end  these  houses  have  become  homes,  and  man  has  become  a 
domesticated  animal,  endowed  with  the  sentiments,  virtues,  and 
lasting  affections  that  the  home  inevitably  cultivates  and  maintains. 

Men  made  for  themselves  clothing  for  ornament  and  for  comfort, 
and  men's,  and  especially  women's,  clothes  have  become  so  much  a 
part  of  their  personalities  that  without  them  they  cease  to  be  persons 
and  have  no  status  in  human  society.  Except  under  very  exceptional 
circumstances  a  man  who  appeared  without  clothing  would  be  treated 
as  a  madman,  and  hunted  like  a  wild  animal. 

Men  have  built  cities  for  security  and  for  trade,  and  cities  have 
made  necessary  and  possible  a  division  of  labor  and  an  economic 
organization.  This  economic  organization,  on  the  other  hand,  has 
been  the  basis  of  a  society  and  a  social  order  which  imposes  standards 
of  conduct  and  enforces  minute  regulations  of  the  individual  life. 
Out  of  the  conditions  of  this  common  life  there  has  grown  a  body  of 
general  and  ruling  ideas:  liberty,  equality,  democracy,  fate,  provi- 
dence, personal  immortality,  and  progress. 

J.  B.  Bury,  who  has  written  a  history  of  the  idea  of  progress,  says 
that  progress  is  "  the  animating  and  controlling  idea  of  western  civili- 
zation." But  in  denning  progress  he  makes  a  distinction  between 
ideas  like  progress,  providence,  and  fate  and  ideas  like  liberty,  tolera- 
tion, and  socialism.  The  latter  are  approved  or  condemned  because 
they  are  good  or  bad.  The  former  are  not  approved  or  condemned. 
They  are  matters  of  fact,  they  are  true  or  false.  He  says: 


PROGRESS  959 

When  we  say  that  ideas  rule  the  world,  or  exercise  a  decisive  power  in 
history,  we  are  generally  thinking  of  those  ideas  which  express  human  aims 
and  depend  for  their  realisation  on  the  human  will,  such  as  liberty,  tolera- 
tion, equality  of  opportunity,  socialism.  Some  of  these  have  been  partly 
realised,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  any  of  them  should  not  be  fully  realised, 
in  a  society  or  in  the  world,  if  it  were  the  united  purpose  of  a  society  or  of 
the  world  to  realise  it.  They  are  approved  or  condemned  because  they  are 
held  to  be  good  or  bad,  not  because  they  are  true  or  false.  But  there  is 
another  order  of  ideas  that  play  a  great  part  in  determining  and  directing 
the  course  of  man's  conduct  but  do  not  depend  on  his  will — ideas  which  bear 
upon  the  mystery  of  life,  such  as  Fate,  Providence,  or  personal  immortality. 
Such  ideas  may  operate  in  important  ways  on  the  forms  of  social  action, 
but  they  involve  a  question  of  fact  and  they  are  accepted  or  rejected  not 
because  they  are  believed  to  be  useful  or  injurious,  but  because  they  are 
believed  to  be  true  or  false. 

The  idea  of  the  progress  of  humanity  is  an  idea  of  this  kind,  and  it 
is  important  to  be  quite  clear  on  the  point.1 

All  of  the  ideas  mentioned  are  of  such  a  general  nature,  embody 
so  much  of  the  hopes,  the  strivings,  and  the  sentiments  of  the  modern 
world,  that  they  have,  or  did  have  until  very  recently,  something  of 
the  sanctity  and  authority  of  religious  dogmas.  All  are  expressions 
of  wishes,  but  there  is  this  difference:  ideas,  like  liberty,  toleration, 
etc.,  reflect  the  will  of  the  people  who  accept  them;  ideas  like  provi- 
dence and  progress,  on  the  contrary,  represent  their  hopes.  The 
question  of  the  progress  of  humanity  like  that  of  personal  immortality 
is,  as  Bury  points  out,  a  question  of  fact.  "It  is  true  or  false  but  it 
cannot  be  proved  whether  true  or  false.  Belief  in  it  is  an  act  of  faith." 
When  we  hypostatize  our  hopes  and  wishes  and  treat  them  as  matters 
of  fact,  even  though  they  cannot  be  proved  to  be  either  true  or  false, 
they  assume  a  form  which  Sorel  describes  as  myth.  The  progress 
of  humanity,  as  Herbert  Spencer  and  the  other  Victorians  understood 
it,  is  such  a  myth.  Dean  Inge  calls  it  a  "superstition"  and  adds: 
"  To  become  a  popular  religion,  it  is  only  necessary  for  a  superstition 
to  enslave  a  philosophy.  The  superstition  of  progress  had  the  singular 
good  fortune  to  enslave  at  least  three  philosophies — those  of  Hegel, 
of  Comte,  and  of  Darwin."2 

1  J.  B.  Bury,  The  Idea  of  Progress.  An  inquiry  into  its  origin  and  growth, 
p.  i.  (London,  1921.) 

aW.  R.  Inge,  The  Idea  of  Progress,  p.  9.  The  Romanes  Lecture,  1920. 
(Oxford,  1920.) 


QOO  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

The  conception  of  progress,  if  a  superstition,  is  one  of  recent 
origin.  It  was  not  until  the  eighteenth  century  that  it  gained  general 
acceptance  and  became  part  of  what  Inge  describes  as  the  popular 
religion.  The  conception  which  it  replaced  was  that  of  providence. 
But  the  Greeks  and  Romans  knew  nothing  of  providence.  They 
were  under  the  influence  of  another  idea  of  a  different  character,  the 
idea,  namely,  of  nemesis  and  fate.  And  before  them  there  were  more 
primitive  peoples  who  had  no  conception  of  man's  destiny  at  all.  In  a 
paper,  not  yet  published,  Ellsworth  Faris  has  sketched  the  natural  his- 
tory of  the  idea  of  progress  and  its  predecessors  and  of  a  new  concep- 
tion, control,  that  is  perhaps  destined  to  take  its  place. 

The  idea  of  progress  which  has  been  so  influential  in  modern  times  is 
not  a  very  old  conception.  In  its  distinctive  form  it  came  into  existence 
in  the  rationalistic  period  which  accompanied  the  Renaissance.  Progress, 
in  this  sense,  means  a  theory  as  to  the  way  in  which  the  whole  cosmic  process 
is  developing.  It  is  the  belief  that  the  world  as  a  whole  is  growing  better 
through  definite  stages,  and  is  moving  "to  one  far-off  divine  event." 

The  stages  preceding  this  idea  may  be  thought  of  under  several  heads. 
The  first  may  be  called  "cosmic  anarchy,"  in  which  we  find  "primitive 
people"  now  living.  It  is  a  world  of  chaos,  without  meaning,  and  with- 
out purpose.  There  is  no  direction  in  which  human  life  is  thought  of  as 
developing.  Death  and  misfortune  are  for  the  most  part  due  to  witchcraft 
and  the  evil  designs  of  enemies;  good  luck  and  bad  luck  are  the  forces  which 
make  a  rational  existence  hopeless. 

Another  stage  of  thinking  is  that  which  was  found  among  the  Greeks, 
the  conception  of  the  cosmic  process  as  proceeding  in  cycles.  The  golden 
age  of  the  Greeks  lay  in  the  past,  the  universe  was  considered  to  be  follow- 
ing a  set  course,  and  the  whole  round  of  human  experience  was  governed 
and  controlled  by  an  inexorable  fate  that  was  totally  indifferent  to  human 
wishes.  The  formula  which  finally  arose  to  meet  this  situation  was  "con- 
formity to  nature,"  a  submission  to  the  iron  laws  of  the  world  which  it 
was  vain  to  attempt  to  change. 

This  idea  was  succeeded  in  medieval  Europe  by  the  idea  of  providence, 
in  which  the  world  was  thought  of  as  a  theater  on  which  the  drama  of 
human  redemption  was  enacted.  God  has  created  man  free,  but  man  was 
corrupted  by  the  fall,  given  an  opportunity  to  be  redeemed  by  the  gospel, 
and  the  world  was  soon  to  know  the  final  triumph  and  happiness  of  the 
saved.  Most  of  the  early  church  fathers  expected  the  end  of  the  world 
very  soon,  many  of  them  in  their  own  lifetime.  This  is  distinctly  different 
from  the  preceding  two  ideas.  All  life  had  meaning  to  them,  for  the  evil 


PROGRESS  961 

in  the  world  was  but  God's  way  to  accomplish  his  good  purposes.  It  was 
man's  duty  to  submit,  but  submission  was  to  take  the  form  of  faith  in  an 
all-wise  beneficent  and  perfect  power,  who  was  governing  the  world  and 
who  would  make  everything  for  the  best. 

The  idea  of  progress  arose  on  the  ruins  of  this  concept  of  providence. 
In  the  fourteenth  century,  progress  did  not  mean  merely  the  satisfaction 
of  all  human  desires  either  individual  or  collective.  The  idea  meant  far 
more  than  that.  It  was  the  conviction  that  the  world  as  a  whole  was 
proceeding  onward  indefinitely  to  greater  and  greater  perfection.  The 
atmosphere  of  progress  was  congenial  to  the  construction  of  Utopias  and 
schemes  of  perfection  which  were  believed  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  nature 
of  the  world  itself.  The  atmosphere  of  progress  produced  also  optimists 
who  were  quite  sure  everything  was  in  the  long  run  to  be  for  the  best,  and 
that  every  temporary  evil  was  sure  to  be  overcome  by  an  ultimate  good. 

The  difficulty  in  demonstrating  the  fact  of  progress  has  become  very 
real  as  the  problem  has  been  presented  to  modern  minds.  It  is  possible 
to  prove  that  the  world  has  become  more  complex.  It  is  hardly  pos- 
sible to  prove  that  it  has  become  better,  and  quite  impossible  to  prove 
that  it  will  continue  to  do  so.  From  the  standpoint  of  the  Mohammedan 
Turks,  the  last  two  hundred  years  of  the  world's  history  have  not  been 
years  of  marked  progress;  from  the  standpoint  of  their  enemies,  the  reverse 
statement  is  obviously  true. 

The  conception  which  seems  to  be  superseding  the  idea  of  progress  in 
our  day  is  that  of  control.  Each  problem  whether  personal  or  social  is 
thought  of  as  a  separate  enterprise.  Poverty,  disease,  crime,  vice,  intemper- 
ance, or  war,  these  are  definite  situations  which  challenge  human  effort  and 
human  ingenuity.  Many  problems  are  unsolved;  many  failures  are 
recorded.  The  future  is  a  challenge  to  creative  intelligence  and  collective 
heroism.  The  future  is  thought  of  as  still  to  be  made.  And  there  is  no 
assurance  that  progress  will  take  place.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that  progress  will  not  take  place  unless  men  are  able  by 
their  skill  and  devotion  to  find  solutions  for  their  present  problems,  and 
for  the  newer  ones  that  shall  arise. 

The  modern  man  finds  this  idea  quite  as  stimulating  to  him  as  the  idea 
of  progress  was  to  his  ancestor  of  the  Renaissance  or  the  idea  of  providence 
to  his  medieval  forebears.  For  while  he  does  not  blindly  believe  nor  feel 
optimistically  certain  things  will  come  about  all  right,  yet  he  is  nerved  to 
square  his  shoulders,  to  think,  to  contrive,  and  to  exert  himself  to  the  utmost 
in  his  effort  to  conquer  the  difficulties  ahead,  and  to  control  the  forces  of 
nature  and  man.  The  idea  of  providence  was  not  merely  a  generalisation 
on  lif e,  it  was  a  force  that  inspired  hope.  The  idea  of  progress  was  likewise 


962  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

not  merely  a  concept,  it  was  also  an  energizing  influence  in  a  time  of 
great  intellectual  activity.  The  idea  that  the  forces  of  nature  can  be 
controlled  in  the  service  of  man,  differs  from  the  others,  but  is  also  a  dynamic 
potency  that  seems  to  be  equally  well  adapted  to  the  twentieth  century. 

The  conception  that  man's  fate  lies  somehow  in  his  own  hands,  if 
it  gains  general  acceptance,  will  still  be,  so  far  as  it  inspires  men  to 
work  and  strive,  an  article  of  faith,  and  the  image  in  which  he  pictures 
the  future  of  mankind,  toward  which  he  directs  his  efforts,  will  still 
have  the  character  of  myth.  That  is  the  function  of  myths.  It  is 
this  that  lends  an  interest  to  those  ideal  states  in  which  men  at 
different  times  have  sought  to  visualize  the  world  of  their  hopes  and 
dreams. 

4.     Classification  of  the  Materials 

The  purpose  of  the  materials  in  this  chapter  is  to  exhibit  the 
variety  and  diversity  of  men's  thought  with  reference  to  the  concept 
of  progress.  What  they  show  is  that  there  is  as  yet  no  general  agree- 
ment in  regard  to  the  meaning  of  the  term.  In  all  the  special  fields 
of  social  reform  there  are  relatively  definite  conceptions  of  what  is 
desirable  and  what  is  not  desirable.  In  the  matter  of  progress  in 
general  there  is  no  such  definition.  Except  for  philosophical  specula- 
tion there  is  no  such  thing  as  "progress  in  general."  In  practice, 
progress  turns  out  to  be  a  number  of  special  tasks. 

The  "progress  of  civilization"  is,  to  be  sure,  a  concept  in  good 
standing  in  history.  It  is,  however,  a  concept  of  appreciation  rather 
than  one  of  description.  If  history  has  to  be  rewritten  for  every  new 
generation  of  men,  it  is  due  not  merely  to  the  discovery  of  new  histo- 
rical materials,  but  just  to  the  fact  that  there  is  a  new  generation. 
Every  generation  has  its  own  notion  of  the  values  of  life,  and  every 
generation  has  to  have  its  own  interpretation  of  the  facts  of  life. 

It  is  incredible  that  Strachey's  Life  of  Queen  Victoria  could  have 
been  written  forty  years  ago.  It  is  incredible  that  the  mass  of  men 
should  have  been  able  to  see  the  Victorian  Age,  as  it  is  here  presented, 
while  they  were  living  it. 

The  materials  in  this  chapter  fall  under  three  heads:  (a)  the 
concept  of  progress,  (b)  progress  and  science,  (c)  progress  and  human 
nature. 

a)  The  concept  of  progress. — The  first  difficulty  in  the  study  of 
progress  is  one  of  definition.  What  are  the  signs  and  symptoms,  the 


PROGRESS  963 

criteria  of  progress  ?  Until  we  have  framed  some  sort  of  a  definition 
we  cannot  know.  Herbert  Spencer  identified  progress  with  evolution. 
The  law  of  organic  progress  is  the  law  of  all  progress.  Intelligence, 
if  we  understand  by  that  the  mere  accumulations  of  knowledge,  does 
not  represent  progress.  Rather  it  consists  in  "  those  internal  modifica- 
tions of  which  this  larger  knowledge  is  an  expression."  In  so  far, 
Spencer's  conception  is  that  of  the  eugenists.  Real  progress  is  in  the 
breed — in  the  germ  plasm.  For  men  like  Galton,  Karl  Pearson,  and 
Madison  Grant,1  what  we  call  civilization  is  merely  the  efflorescence 
of  race.  Civilizations  may  pass  away,  but  if  the  racial  stock  is 
preserved,  civilization  will  reproduce  itself.  In  recent  years,  a  school 
of  political  philosophy  has  sprung  up  in  Europe  and  in  the  United 
States,  which  is  seeking  to  define  our  social  policy  toward  the  "inner 
enemies, "  the  dependents,  the  defectives,  and  the  delinquents,  and  a 
foreign  policy  toward  immigrant  races  and  foreign  peoples,  on  the 
general  conception  that  the  chief  aim  of  society  and  the  state  is  to 
preserve  the  germ  plasm  of  the  Nordic  race.2  For  Spencer,  however, 
the  conception  that  all  values  were  in  the  organism  was  modified  by 
the  conviction  that  all  life  was  involved  in  an  irreversible  process 
called  evolution  which  would  eventually  purge  the  race  and  society 
of  the  weak,  the  wicked,  and  the  unfit. 

In  contrast,  both  with  the  views  of  Spencer  and  of  the  eugenists, 
Hobhouse,  voicing  a  conviction  that  was  first  expressed  by  Huxley, 
believes  that  man  is  bound  to  intervene  in  the  beneficent  law  of 
natural  selection.  He  insists,  in  fact,  that  social  development  is 
something  quite  distinct  and  relatively  independent  of  the  organic 
changes  in  the  individual.  It  is,  in  other  words,  a  sociological  rather 
than  a  biological  product.  It  is  an  effect  of  the  interaction  of  indi- 
viduals and  is  best  represented  by  organized  society  and  by  the  social 
tradition  in  which  that  organization  is  handed  on  from  earlier  to 
later  generations. 

1  Author  of  The  Passing  of  a  Great  Race,  or  the  Racial  Basis  of  European  History. 
(New  York,  1916.) 

3  See  Lothrop  Stoddard,  The  Rising  Tide  of  Color  against  White  World- 
Supremacy  (New  York,  1920);  and  William  McDougall,  Is  America  Safe  for 
Democracy?  (New  York,  1921.) 

*  Thomas  H.  Huxley,  Evolution  and  Ethics  and  Other  Lectures,  Lecture  ii 
pp.  46-116.     (New  York,  1894.) 


964  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

b)  Progress  and  science. — In  contrast  with  other  conceptions  of 
progress  is  that  of  Dewey,  who  emphasizes  science  and  social  control, 
or,  as  he  puts  it,  the  "problem  of  discovering  the  needs  and  capacities 
of  collective  human  nature  as  we  find  it  aggregated  in  racial  or  national 
groups  on  the  surface  of  the  globe."    The  distinction  between  Hob- 
house  and  Dewey  is  less  in  substance  than  in  point  of  view.    Hobhouse, 
looking  backward,  is  interested  in  progress  itself  rather  than  in  its 
methods  and  processes.     Dewey,  on  the  other  hand,  looking  forward, 
is  interested  in  a  present  program  and  in  the  application  of  scientific 
method  to  the  problems  of  social  welfare  and  world-organization. 

Arthur  James  Balfour,  the  most  intellectual  of  the  elder  statesmen 
of  England,  looking  at  progress  through  the  experience  of  a  politician, 
speaks  in  a  less  prophetic  and  authoritative  tone,  but  with  a  wisdom 
born  of  long  experience  with  men.  For  him,  as  for  many  other 
thoughtful  minds,  the  future  of  the  race  is  "  encompassed  with  dark- 
ness," and  the  wise  man  is  he  who  is  content  to  act  in  "a  sober  and  a 
cautious  spirit,"  seeking  to  deal  with  problems  as  they  arise. 

c)  Progress  and  human  nature. — Progress,  which  is  much  a  matter 
of  interpretation,  is  also  very  largely  a  matter  of  temperament.    The 
purpose  of  the  material  upon  human  nature  and  progress  is  to  call 
attention  to  this  fact.    Progress  is  with  most  people  an  article  of 
faith,  and  men's  faiths,  as  to  their  content,  at  least,  are  matters  of 
temperament.    The  conservative  who  perhaps  takes  a  mild  interest 
in  progress  is  usually  "a  sober  and  cautious"  person,  fairly  content 
with  the  present  and  not  very  sure  about  the  future.    The  radical, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  usually  a  naturally  hopeful  and  enthusiastic 
individual,  profoundly  pessimistic  about  the  present,  but  with  a 
boundless  confidence  in  even  the  most  impossible  future. 

Philosophy,  like  literature,  is,  in  the  final  analysis,  the  expression 
of  a  temperament,  more  or  less  modified  by  experience.  The  selec- 
tions from  Schopenhauer  and  Bergson  may  be  regarded,  therefore, 
as  the  characteristic  reactions  of  two  strikingly  different  tempera- 
ments to  the  conception  of  progress  and  to  life.  The  descriptions 
which  they  give  of  the  cosmic  process  are,  considered  formally,  not 
unlike.  Their  interpretations  and  the  practical  bearings  of  these 
interpretations  are  profoundly  different. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  the  students  of  sociology  to  discuss  the 
merits  of  these  different  doctrines.  We  may  accept  them  as  human 


PROGRESS  965 

documents.  They  throw  light,  at  any  rate,  upon  the  idea  of  progress, 
and  upon  all  the  other  fundamental  ideas  in  which  men  have  sought 
to  formulate  their  common  hopes  and  guide  their  common  life. 

II.    MATERIALS 

A.      THE  CONCEPT  OF  PROGRESS 
I.    The  Earliest  Conception  of  Progress1 

The  word  "progress,"  like  the  word  "humanity,"  is  one  of  the 
most  significant.  It  is  a  Latin  word,  not  used  in  its  current  abstract 
sense  until  after  the  Roman  incorporation  of  the  Mediterranean  world. 
The  first  writer  who  expounds  the  notion  with  sufficient  breadth  of 
view  and  sufficiently  accurate  and  concrete  observation  to  provide  a 
preliminary  sketch  was  the  great  Roman  poet,  Lucretius. 

He  begins  by  describing  a  struggle  for  existence  in  which  the  less 
well-adapted  creatures  died  off,  those  who  wanted  either  the  power  to 
protect  themselves  or  the  means  of  adapting  themselves  to  the  pur- 
poses of  man.  In  this  stage,  however,  man  was  a  hardier  creature 
than  he  afterward  became.  H>  lived  like  the  beasts  of  the  field  and 
was  ignorant  of  tillage  or  fire  or  ciothes  or  houses.  He  had  no  laws 
or  government  or  marriage  and,  though  he  did  not  fear  the  dark,  he 
feared  the  real  danger  of  fiercer  beasts.  Men  often  died  a  miserable 
death,  but  not  in  multitudes  on  a  single  day  as  they  do  now  by 
battle  or  shipwreck. 

The  next  stage  sees  huts  and  skins  and  fire  which  softened  their 
bodies,  and  marriage  and  the  ties  of  family  which  softened  their 
tempers.  And  tribes  began  to  make  treaties  of  alliance  with  other 
tribes.  Speech  arose  from  the  need  which  all  creatures  feel  to  exercise 
their  natural  powers,  just  as  the  calf  will  butt  before  his  horns  pro- 
trude. Men  began  to  apply  different  sounds  to  denote  different 
things,  just  as  brute  beasts  will  do  to  express  different  passions,  as 
anyone  must  have  noticed  in  the  cases  of  dogs  and  horses  and  birds. 
No  one  man  set  out  to  invent  speech. 

Fire  was  first  learned  from  lightning  and  the  friction  of  trees,  and 
cooking  from  the  softening  and  ripening  of  things  by  the  sun.  Then 
men  of  genius  invented  improved  methods  of  life,  the  building  of 

1  Adapted  from  F.  S.  Marvin,  Progress  and  History,  pp.  8-10.  (Oxford  Uni- 
versity Press,  1916.) 


966  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

cities  and  private  property  in  lands  and  cattle.  But  gold  gave 
power  to  the  wealthy  and  destroyed  the  sense  of  contentment  in 
simple  happiness.  It  must  always  be  so  whenever  men  allow  them- 
selves to  become  the  slaves  of  things  which  should  be  their  dependents 
and  instruments. 

They  began  to  believe  in  and  worship  gods,  because  they  saw  in 
dreams  shapes  of  preterhuman  strength  and  beauty  and  deemed  them 
immortal;  and  as  they  noted  the  changes  of  the  seasons  and  all  the 
wonders  of  the  heavens  they  placed  their  gods  there  and  feared  them 
when  they  spoke  in  the  thunder. 

Metals  were  discovered  through  the  burning  of  the  woods,  which 
caused  the  ores  to  run.  Copper  and  brass  came  first  and  were  rated 
above  gold  and  silver.  And  then  the  metals  took  the  place  of  hands, 
nails,  teeth,  and  clubs,  which  had  been  men's  earliest  arms  and  tools. 
Weaving  followed  the  discovery  of  the  use  of  iron.  Sowing,  planting, 
and  grafting  were  learned  from  nature  herself,  and  gradually  the 
cultivation  of  the  soil  was  carried  farther  and  farther  up  the  hills. 

Men  learned  to  sing  from  the  birds,  and  to  blow  on  pipes  from  the 
whistling  of  the  zephyr  through  the  reeds;  and  those  simple  tunes 
gave  as  much  rustic  jollity  as  our  more  elaborate  tunes  do  now. 

Then,  in  a  summary  passage  at  the  end,  Lucretius  enumerates 
all  the  chief  discoveries  which  men  have  made  in  the  age-long  process — 
ships,  agriculture,  walled  cities,  laws,  roads,  clothes,  songs,  pictures, 
statues,  and  all  the  pleasures  of  life — and  adds,  "These  things  practice 
and  the  experience  of  the  unresting  mind  have  taught  mankind 
gradually  as  they  have  progressed  from  point  to  point." 

It  is  the  first  definition  and  use  of  the  word  in  literature. 

2.    Progress  and  Organization1 

The  current  conception  of  progress  is  shifting  and  indefinite. 
Sometimes  it  comprehends  little  more  than  simple  growth — as  of  a 
nation  in  the  number  of  its  members  and  the  extent  of  territory  over 
which  it  spreads.  Sometimes  it  has  reference  to  quantity  of  material 
products — as  when  the  advance  of  agriculture  and  manufactures 
is  the  topic.  Sometimes  the  superior  quality  of  these  products  is 
contemplated;  and  sometimes  the  new  or  improved  appliances  by 
which  they  are  produced.  When,  again,  we  speak  of  moral  or  intel- 

1  Adapted  from  Herbert  Spencer,  Essays,  1, 8-10.     (D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1899.) 


PROGRESS  967 

lectual  progress,  we  refer  to  states  of  the  individual  or  people  exhibiting 
it;  while,  when  the  progress  of  science  or  art  is  commented  upon,  we 
have  in  view  certain  abstract  results  of  human  thought  and  action. 

Not  only,  however,  is  the  current  conception  of  progress  more  or 
less  vague,  but  it  is  in  great  measure  erroneous.  It  takes  in  not  so 
much  the  reality  of  progress  as  its  accompaniments — not  so  much 
the  substance  as  the  shadow.  That  progress  in  intelligence  seen 
during  the  growth  of  the  child  into  the  man,  or  the  savage  into  the 
philosopher,  is  commonly  regarded  as  consisting  in  the  greater  number 
of  facts  known  and  laws  understood;  whereas  the  actual  progress 
consists  in  those  internal  modifications  of  which  this  larger  knowledge 
is  the  expression.  Social  progress  is  supposed  to  consist  in  the  making 
of  a  greater  quantity  and  variety  of  the  articles  required  for  satisfying 
men's  wants;  in  the  increasing  security  of  person  and  property; 
in  widening  freedom  of  action;  whereas,  rightly  understood,  social 
progress  consists  in  those  changes  of  structure  in  the  social  organism 
which  have  entailed  these  consequences.  The  current  conception 
is  a  teleological  one.  The  phenomena  are  contemplated  solely  as 
bearing  on  human  happiness.  Only  those  changes  are  held  to  con- 
stitute progress  which  directly  or  indirectly  tend  to  heighten  human 
happiness;  and  they  are  thought  to  constitute  progress  simply 
because  they  tend  to  heighten  human  happiness.  But  rightly  to 
understand  progress,  we  must  learn  the  nature  of  these  changes, 
considered  apart  from  our  interests.  Ceasing,  for  example,  to  regard 
the  successive  geological  modifications  that  have  taken  place  in  the 
earth  as  modifications  that  have  gradually  fitted  it  for  the  habitation 
of  man,  and  as  therefore  constituting  geological  progress,  we  must 
ascertain  the  character  common  to  these  modifications — the  law  to 
which  they  all  conform.  And  similarly  in  every  other  case.  Leaving 
out  of  sight  concomitants  and  beneficial  consequences,  let  us  ask 
what  progress  is  hi  itself. 

In  respect  to  that  progress  which  individual  organisms  display 
in  the  course  of  their  evolution,  this  question  has  been  answered  by 
the  Germans.  The  investigations  of  Wolff,  Goethe,  and  von  Baer 
have  established  the  truth  that  the  series  of  changes  gone  through 
during  the  development  of  a  seed  into  a  tree,  or  an  ovum  into  an  ani- 
mal, constitute  an  advance  from  homogeneity  of  structure  to  hetero- 
geneity of  structure.  In  its  primary  stage,  every  germ  consists  of  a 


968          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

substance  that  is  uniform  throughout,  both  in  texture  and  chemical 
composition.  The  first  step  is  the  appearance  of  a  difference  between 
two  parts  of  this  substance;  or,  as  the  phenomenon  is  called  in 
physiological  language,  a  differentiation.  Each  of  these  differentiated 
divisions  presently  begins  itself  to  exhibit  some  contrast  of  parts; 
and  by  and  by  these  secondary  differentiations  become  as  definite 
as  the  original  one.  This  process  is  continuously  repeated — is 
simultaneously  going  on  in  all  parts  of  the  growing  embryo;  and  by 
endless  differentiations  of  this  sort  there  is  finally  produced  that 
complex  combination  of  tissues  and  organs  constituting  the  adult 
animal  or  plant.  This  is  the  history  of  all  organisms  whatever. 
It  is  settled  beyond  dispute  that  organic  progress  consists  hi  a  change 
from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous. 

Now,  we  propose  to  show  that  this  law  of  organic  progress  is  the 
law  of  all  progress.  Whether  it  be  in  the  development  of  the  earth, 
in  the  development  of  life  upon  its  surface,  in  the  development  of 
society,  of  government,  of  manufactures,  of  commerce,  of  language, 
literature,  science,  art — this  same  evolution  of  the  simple  into  the 
complex,  through  successive  differentiations,  holds  throughout. 
From  the  earliest  traceable  cosmic  changes  down  to  the  latest  results 
of  civilization,  we  shall  find  that  the  transformation  of  the  homoge- 
neous into  the  heterogeneous  is  that  hi  which  progress  essentially 
consists. 

3.    The  Stages  of  Progress1 

If  we  regard  the  course  of  human  development  from  the  highest 
scientific  point  of  view,  we  shall  perceive  that  it  consists  in  educing 
more  and  more  the  characteristic  faculties  of  humanity,  in  com- 
parison with  those  of  animality;  and  especially  with  those  which 
man  has  in  common  with  the  whole  organic  kingdom.  It  is  in  this 
philosophical  sense  that  the  most  eminent  civilization  must  be  pro- 
nounced to  be  fully  accordant  with  nature,  since  it  is,  in  fact,  only  a 
more  marked  manifestation  of  the  chief  properties  of  our  species, 
properties  which,  latent  at  first,  can  come  into  play  only  hi  that 
advanced  state  of  social  life  for  which  they  are  exclusively  destined. 
The  whole  system  of  biological  philosophy  indicates  the  natural 
progression.  We  have  seen  how,  in  the  brute  kingdom,  the  superiority 

'Adapted  from  Auguste  Comte,  Positive  Philosophy,  II,  124.  (Triibner  & 
Co.,  1875.) 


PROGRESS  969 

of  each  race  is  determined  by  the  degree  of  preponderance  of  the 
animal  life  over  the  organic.  In  like  manner  we  see  that  our  social 
evolution  is  only  the  final  term  of  a  progression  which  has  continued 
from  the  simplest  vegetables  and  most  insignificant  animals,  up 
through  the  higher  reptiles  to  the  birds  and  the  mammifers,  and 
still  on  to  the  carnivorous  animals  and  monkeys,  the  organic  charac- 
teristics retiring  and  the  animal  prevailing  more  and  more,  till  the 
intellectual  and  moral  tend  toward  the  ascendancy  which  can  never 
be  fully  obtained,  even  in  the  highest  state  of  human  perfection  that 
we  can  conceive  of.  This  comparative  estimate  affords  us  the 
scientific  view  of  human  progression,  connected,  as  we  see  it  is,  with 
the  whole  course  of  animal  advancement,  of  which  it  is  itself  the 
highest  degree.  The  analysis  of  our  social  progress  proves  indeed 
that,  while  the  radical  dispositions  of  our  nature  are  necessarily 
invariable,  the  highest  of  them  are  in  a  continuous  state  of  relative 
development,  by  which  they  rise  to  be  preponderant  powers  of  human 
existence,  though  the  inversion  of  the  primitive  economy  can  never 
be  absolutely  complete.  We  have  seen  that  this  is  the  essential 
character  of  the  social  organism  in  a  statical  view;  but  it  becomes 
much  more  marked  when  we  study  its  variations  in  their  gradual 
succession. 

4.    Progress  and  the  Historical  Process1 

The  conclusion  which  these  reflections  suggest  is  that  the  un- 
critical application  of  biological  principles  to  social  progress  results 
in  an  insuperable  contradiction.  The  factors  which  determine  the 
survival  of  physical  organism,  if  applied  as  rules  for  the  furtherance 
of  social  progress,  appear  to  conflict  with  all  that  social  progress 
means.  A  sense  of  this  conflict  is  no  doubt  responsible  for  the  further 
reconstruction  which  the  biological  view  has  in  recent  years  under- 
gone. Biologists  now  begin  to  inquire  seriously  whether  "natural" 
selection  may  not  be  replaced  by  a  rational  selection  in  which  "fitness 
for  survival"  would  at  length  achieve  its  legitimate  meaning,  and  the 
development  of  the  race  might  be  guided  by  reasoned  conceptions  of 
social  value.  This  is  a  fundamental  change  of  attitude,  and  the  new 
doctrine  of  eugenics  to  which  it  has  given  rise  requires  careful  exami- 
nation. Before  proceeding  to  this  examination,  however,  it  will  be  well 

1  Adapted  from  Leonard  T.  Hobhouse,  Social  Evolution  and  Political  Theory, 
pp.  29-39.  (The  Columbia  University  Press,  1911.) 


970          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

to  inquire  into  the  causes  of  the  contrast  on  which  we  have  insisted 
between  biological  evolution  and  social  progress.  Faced  by  this 
contradiction,  we  ask  ourselves  whether  social  development  may  not 
be  something  quite  distinct  from  the  organic  changes  known  to  biology, 
and  whether  the  life  of  society  may  not  depend  upon  forces  which 
never  appear  in  the  individual  when  he  is  examined  merely  as  an 
individual  or  merely  as  a  member  of  a  race. 

Take  the  latter  point  first.  It  is  easily  seen  in  the  arguments  of 
biologists  that  they  conceive  social  progress  as  consisting  essentially 
in  an  improvement  of  the  stock  to  which  individuals  belong.  This 
is  a  way  of  looking  at  the  matter  intelligible  enough  in  itself.  Society 
consists  of  so  many  thousand  or  so  many  million  individuals,  and  if, 
comparing  any  given  generation  with  its  ancestors,  we  could  estab- 
lish an  average  improvement  in  physical,  mental,  or  moral  faculty, 
we  should  certainly  have  cause  to  rejoice.  There  is  progress  so  far. 
But  there  is  another  point  of  view  which  we  may  take  up.  Society 
consists  of  individual  persons  and  nothing  but  individual  persons, 
just  as  the  body  consists  of  cells  and  the  product  of  cells.  But  though 
the  body  may  consist  exclusively  of  cells,  we  should  never  under- 
stand its  life  by  examining  the  lives  of  each  of  its  cells  as  a  separate 
unit.  We  must  equally  take  into  account  that  organic  interconnec- 
tion whereby  the  living  processes  of  each  separate  cell  co-operate 
together  to  maintain  the  health  of  the  organism  which  contains  them 
all.  So,  again,  to  understand  the  social  order  we  have  to  take  into 
account  not  only  the  individuals  with  their  capabilities  and  achieve- 
ments but  the  social  organization  in  virtue  of  which  these  individuals 
act  upon  one  another  and  jointly  produce  what  we  call  social  results; 
and  whatever  may  be  true  of  the  physical  organism,  we  can  see  that 
in  society  it  is  possible  that  individuals  of  the  very  same  potentialities 
may,  with  good  organization,  produce  good  results,  and,  with  bad 
organization,  results  which  are  greatly  inferior. 

The  social  phenomenon,  in  short,  is  not  something  which  occurs 
hi  one  individual,  or  even  in  several  individuals  taken  severally.  It 
is  essentially  an  interaction  of  individuals,  and  as  the  capabilities  of 
any  given  individual  are  extraordinarily  various  and  are  only  called 
out,  each  by  appropriate  circumstances,  it  will  be  readily  seen  that 
the  nature  of  the  interaction  may  itself  bring  forth  new  and  perhaps 
unexpected  capacities,  and  elicit  from  the  individuals  contributing  to 


PROGRESS  971 

it  forces  which,  but  for  this  particular  opportunity,  might  possibly 
remain  forever  dormant.  If  this  is  so,  sociology  as  a  science  is  not 
the  same  thing  as  either  biology  or  psychology.  It  deals  neither  with 
the  physical  capacities  of  individuals  as  such  nor  with  their  psycho- 
logical capacities  as  such.  It  deals  rather  with  results  produced  by 
the  play  of  these  forces  upon  one  another,  by  the  interaction  of 
individuals  under  the  conditions  imposed  by  their  physical  environ- 
ment. The  nature  of  the  forces  and  the  point  of  these  distinctions 
may  be  made  clear  by  a  very  simple  instance. 

The  interplay  of  human  motives  and  the  interaction  of  human 
beings  is  the  fundamental  fact  of  social  life,  and  the  permanent 
results  which  this  interaction  achieves  and  the  influence  which  it 
exercises  upon  the  individuals  who  take  part  in  it  constitute  the 
fundamental  fact  of  social  evolution.  These  results  are  embodied  in 
what  may  be  called,  generically,  tradition.  So  understood,  tradition 
— its  growth  and  establishment,  its  reaction  upon  the  very  indi- 
viduals who  contribute  to  building  it  up,  and  its  modifications  by 
subsequent  interactions — constitutes  the  main  subject  of  sociological 
inquiry. 

Tradition  is,  hi  the  development  of  society,  what  heredity  is  in 
the  physical  growth  of  the  stock.  It  is  the  link  between  past  and 
future,  it  is  that  in  which  the  effects  of  the  past  are  consolidated  and 
on  the  basis  of  which  subsequent  modifications  are  built  up.  We 
might  push  the  analogy  a  little  further,  for  the  ideas  and  customs 
which  it  maintains  and  furnishes  to  each  new  generation  as  guides 
for  their  behavior  hi  life  are  analogous  to  the  determinate  methods  of 
reaction,  the  inherited  impulses,  reflexes,  and  instincts  with  which 
heredity  furnishes  the  individual.  The  tradition  of  the  elders  is,  as 
it  were,  the  instinct  of  society.  It  furnishes  the  prescribed  rule  for 
dealing  with  the  ordinary  occasions  of  life,  which  is  for  the  most  part 
accepted  without  inquiry  and  applied  without  reflection.  It  fur- 
nishes the  appropriate  institution  for  providing  for  each  class  of  social 
needs,  for  meeting  common  dangers,  for  satisfying  social  wants,  for 
regulating  social  relations.  It  constitutes,  hi  short,  the  framework 
of  society's  life  which  to  each  new  generation  is  a  part  of  its  hereditary 
outfit. 

But  of  course  hi  speaking  of  tradition  as  a  kind  of  inheritance  we 
conceive  of  it  as  propagated  by  quite  other  than  biological  methods. 


972  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

In  a  sense  its  propagation  is  psychological,  it  is  handed  on  from 
mind  to  mind,  and  even  though  social  institutions  may  in  a  sense  be 
actually  incorporated  in  material  things,  in  buildings,  in  books,  in 
coronation  robes,  or  in  flags,  still  it  need  not  be  said  that  these  things 
are  nothing  but  for  the  continuity  of  thought  which  maintains  and 
develops  their  significance.  Yet  the  forces  at  work  in  tradition  are 
not  purely  psychological;  at  least  they  are  not  to  be  understood  in 
terms  of  individual  psychology  alone.  What  is  handed  on  is  not 
merely  a  set  of  ideas  but  the  whole  social  environment;  not  merely 
certain  ways  of  thinking  or  of  acting  but  the  conditions  which  prescribe 
to  individuals  the  necessity  for  thinking  or  acting  in  certain  specific 
ways  if  they  are  to  achieve  their  own  desires.  The  point  is  worth 
dwelling  on,  because  some  writers  have  thought  to  simplify  the 
working  of  tradition  by  reducing  it  to  some  apparently  simple  psy- 
chological phenomenon  like  that  of  imitation.  In  this  there  is  more 
than  one  element  of  fallacy. 

Now  the  growth  of  tradition  will  in  a  sense  gravely  modify  the 
individual  members  of  the  society  which  maintains  it.  To  any  given 
set  of  institutions  a  certain  assemblage  of  qualities,  mental  and 
physical,  will  be  most  appropriate,  and  these  may  differ  as  much  as 
the  qualities  necessary  for  war  differ  from  those  of  peaceful  industry. 
Any  tradition  will  obviously  call  forth  from  human  beings  the  qualities 
appropriate  to  it,  and  it  will  in  a  sense  select  the  individuals  in  which 
those  qualities  are  the  best  developed  and  will  tend  to  bring  them  to 
the  top  of  the  social  fabric,  but  this  is  not  to  say  that  it  will  assert 
the  same  modification  upon  the  stock  that  would  be  accomplished  by 
the  working  of  heredity.  The  hereditary  qualities  of  the  race  may 
remain  the  same,  though  the  traditions  have  changed  and  though 
by  them  one  set  of  qualities  is  kept  permanently  in  abeyance, 
while  the  other  is  continually  brought  by  exercise  to  the  highest 
point  of  efficiency. 

We  are  not  to  conclude  that  physical  heredity  is  of  no  importance 
to  the  social  order;  it  must  be  obvious  that  the  better  the  qualities 
of  the  individuals  constituting  a  race,  the  more  easily  they  will  fit 
themselves  into  good  social  traditions,  the  more  readily  they  will 
advance  those  traditions  to  a  still  higher  point  of  excellence,  and 
the  more  stoutly  they  would  resist  deterioration.  The  qualities  upon 
which  the  social  fabric  calls  must  be  there,  and  the  more  readily  they 


PROGRESS  973 

are  forthcoming,  the  more  easily  the  social  machine  will  work.  Hence 
social  progress  necessarily  implies  a  certain  level  of  racial  development, 
and  its  advance  may  always  be  checked  by  the  limitations  of  the  racial 
type.  Nevertheless,  if  we  look  at  human  history  as  a  whole,  we  are 
impressed  with  the  stability  of  the  great  fundamental  characteristics 
of  human  nature  and  the  relatively  sweeping  character  and  often 
rapid  development  of  social  change. 

In  view  of  this  contrast  we  must  hesitate  to  attribute  any  sub- 
stantial share  in  human  development  to  biological  factors,  and  our 
hesitation  is  increased  when  we  consider  the  factors  on  which  social 
change  depends.  It  is  in  the  department  of  knowledge  and  industry 
that  advance  is  most  rapid  and  certain,  and  the  reason  is  perfectly 
clear.  It  is  that  on  this  side  each  generation  can  build  on  the  work 
of  its  predecessors.  A  man  of  very  moderate  mathematical  capacity 
today  can  solve  problems  which  puzzled  Newton,  because  he  has 
available  the  work  of  Newton  and  of  many  another  since  Newton's 
time.  In  the  department  of  ethics  the  case  is  different.  Each  man's 
character  has  to  be  formed  anew,  and  though  teaching  goes  for  much, 
it  is  not  everything.  The  individual  in  the  end  works  out  his  own 
salvation.  Where  there  is  true  ethical  progress  is  in  the  advance  of 
ethical  conceptions  and  principles  which  can  be  handed  on;  of  laws 
and  institutions  which  can  be  built  up,  maintained,  and  improved. 
That  is  to  say,  there  is  progress  just  where  the  factor  of  social  tradition 
comes  into  play  and  just  so  far  as  its  influence  extends.  If  the 
tradition  is  broken,  the  race  begins  again  where  it  stood  before  the 
tradition  was  formed.  We  may  infer  that,  while  the  race  has  been 
relatively  stagnant,  society  has  rapidly  developed,  and  we  must  con- 
clude that,  whether  for  good  or  for  evil,  social  changes  are  mainly 
determined,  not  by  alterations  of  racial  type,  but  by  modifications 
of  tradition  due  to  the  interactions  of  social  causes.  Progress  is  not 
racial  but  social. 

B.      PROGRESS  AND   SCIENCE 
i.    Progress  and  Happiness1 

Human  progress  may  be  properly  denned  as  that  which  secures 
the  increase  of  human  happiness.  Unless  it  do  this,  no  matter  how 
great  a  civilization  may  be,  it  is  not  progressive.  If  a  nation  rise, 

1  From  Lester  F.  Ward,  Dynamic  Sociology,  II,  174-77.  (D.  Appleton  &  Co., 
1893.) 


974  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  extend  its  sway  over  a  vast  territory,  astonishing  the  world  with 
its  power,  its  culture,  and  its  wealth,  this  alone  does  not  constitute 
progress.  It  must  first  be  shown  that  its  people  are  happier  than 
they  would  otherwise  have  been.  If  a  people  be  seized  with  a  rage  for 
art,  and,  hi  obedience  to  their  impulses  or  to  national  decrees,  the 
wealth  of  that  people  be  laid  out  in  the  cultivation  of  the  fine  arts, 
the  employment  of  master  artists,  the  decoration  of  temples,  public 
and  private  buildings,  and  the  embellishment  of  streets  and  grounds, 
no  matter  to  what  degree  of  perfection  this  purpose  be  carried  out, 
it  is  not  to  progress  unless  greater  satisfaction  be  derived  therefrom 
than  was  sacrificed  in  the  deprivations  which  such  a  course  must 
occasion.  To  be  progressive  in  the  true  sense,  it  must  work  an 
increase  hi  the  sum  total  of  human  enjoyment.  When  we  survey  the 
history  of  civilization,  we  should  keep  this  truth  hi  view,  and  not 
allow  ourselves  to  be  dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  pageantry,  the 
glory  of  heraldry,  or  the  beauty  of  art,  literature,  philosophy,  or 
religion,  but  should  assign  to  each  its  true  place  as  measured  by  this 
standard. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  civilization,  by  the  many  false  practices 
which  it  has  introduced,  by  the  facilities  which  its  very  complexity 
affords  to  the  concealment  of  crime,  and  by  the  monstrous  systems 
of  corruption  which  fashion,  caste,  and  conventionality  are  enabled 
to  shelter,  is  the  direct  means  of  rendering  many  individuals  miserable 
in  the  extreme;  but  these  are  the  necessary  incidents  to  its  struggles 
to  advance  under  the  dominion  of  natural  forces  alone. 

It  would  involve  a  great  fallacy  to  deduce  from  this  the  conclusion 
that  civilization  begets  misery  or  reduces  the  happiness  of  mankind. 
Against  this  gross  but  popular  mistake  may  be  cited  the  principle 
before  introduced,  which  is  unanimously  accepted  by  biologists, 
that  an  organism  is  perfect  hi  proportion  as  its  organs  are  numerous 
and  varied.  This  is  because,  the  more  organs  there  are,  the  greater 
is  the  capacity  for  enjoyment.  For  this  enjoyment  is  quantitative  as 
well  as  qualitative,  and  the  greater  the  number  of  faculties,  the 
greater  is  the  possible  enjoyment  derivable  from  their  normal  exercise. 
To  say  that  primitive  man  is  happier  than  enlightened  man,  is 
equivalent  to  saying  that  an  oyster  or  a  polyp  enjoys  more  than  an 
eagle  or  an  antelope.  This  could  be  true  only  on  the  ground  that 
the  latter,  in  consequence  of  their  sensitive  organisms,  suffer  more 


PROGRESS  975 

than  they  enjoy;  but  if  to  be  happy  is  to  escape  from  all  feeling,  then 
it  were  better  to  be  stones  or  clods,  and  destitute  of  conscious  sensi- 
bility. If  this  be  the  happiness  which  men  should  seek,  then  is  the 
Buddhist  in  the  highest  degree  consistent  when  he  prays  for  the 
promised  Nirvdna,  or  annihilation.  But  this  is  not  happiness — it 
is  only  the  absence  of  it.  For  happiness  can  only  be  increased  by 
increasing  the  capacity  for  feeling,  or  emotion,  and,  when  this  is 
increased,  the  capacity  for  suffering  is  likewise  necessarily  increased, 
and  suffering  must  be  endured  unless  sufficient  sagacity  accompanies 
it  to  prevent  this  consequence.  And  that  is  the  truest  progress  which, 
while  it  indefinitely  multiplies  and  increases  the  facilities  for  enjoy- 
ment, furnishes  at  the  same  time  the  most  effective  means  of  prevent- 
ing discomfort,  and,  as  nearly  all  suffering  is  occasioned  by  the  viola- 
tion of  natural  laws  through  ignorance  of  or  error  respecting  those 
laws,  therefore  that  is  the  truest  progress  which  succeeds  hi  over- 
coming ignorance  and  error. 

Therefore,  we  may  enunciate  the  principle  that  progress  is  in 
proportion  to  the  opportunities  or  facilities  for  exercising  the  faculties 
and  satisfying  desire. 

2.    Progress  and  Prevision1 

We  have  confused  rapidity  of  change  with  progress.  We  have 
confused  the  breaking  down  of  barriers  by  which  advance  is  made 
possible  with  advance  itself. 

We  had  been  told  that  the  development  of  industry  and  commerce 
had  brought  about  such  an  interdependence  of  peoples  that  war  was 
henceforth  out  of  the  question — at  least  upon  a  vast  scale.  But  it  is 
now  clear  that  commerce  also  creates  jealousies  and  rivalries  and 
suspicions  which  are  potent  for  war.  We  were  told  that  nations 
could  not  long  finance  a  war  under  modern  conditions;  economists 
had  demonstrated  that  to  the  satisfaction  of  themselves  and  others. 
We  see  now  that  they  had  underrated  both  the  production  of  wealth 
and  the  extent  to  which  it  could  be  mobilized  for  destructive  purposes. 
We  were  told  that  the  advance  oi  science  had  made  war  practically 
impossible.  We  now  know  that  science  has  not  only  rendered  the 
machinery  of  war  more  deadly  but  has  also  increased  the  powers  of 

'Adapted  from  John  Dewey,  "Progress,"  in  the  International  Journal  of 
Ethics,  XXVI  (1916),  312-18. 


976          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

resistance  and  endurance  when  war  comes.  If  all  this  does  not 
demonstrate  that  the  forces  which  have  brought  about  complicated 
and  extensive  changes  in  the  fabric  of  society  do  not  of  themselves 
generate  progress,  I  do  not  know  what  a  demonstration  would  be. 
Has  man  subjugated  physical  nature  only  to  release  forces  beyond 
his  control  ? 

The  doctrine  of  evolution  has  been  popularly  used  to  give  a  kind 
of  cosmic  sanction  to  the  notion  of  an  automatic  and  wholesale 
progress  in  human  affairs.  Our  part,  the  human  part,  was  simply  to 
enjoy  the  usufruct.  Evolution  inherited  all  the  goods  of  divine 
Providence  and  had  the  advantage  of  being  in  fashion.  Even  a 
great  and  devastating  war  is  not  too  great  a  price  to  pay  for  an 
awakening  from  such  an  infantile  and  selfish  dream.  Progress  is  not 
automatic;  it  depends  upon  human  intent  and  aim  and  upon  accept- 
ance of  responsibility  for  its  production.  It  is  not  a  wholesale  matter, 
but  a  retail  job,  to  be  contracted  for  and  executed  in  sections. 

Spite  of  the  dogma  which  measures  progress  by  increase  in 
altruism,  kindliness,  peaceful  feelings,  there  is  no  reason  that  I  know 
of  to  suppose  that  the  basic  fund  of  these  emotions  has  increased 
appreciably  in  thousands  and  thousands  of  years.  Man  is  equipped 
with  these  feelings  at  birth,  as  well  as  with  emotions  of  fear,  anger, 
emulation,  and  resentment.  What  appears  to  be  an  increase  in  one 
set  and  a  decrease  in  the  other  set  is,  in  reality,  a  change  in  their 
social  occasions  and  social  channels.  Civilized  man  has  not  a  better 
endowment  of  ear  and  eye  than  savage  man;  but  his  social  surround- 
ings give  him  more  important  things  to  see  and  hear  than  the  savage 
has,  and  he  has  the  wit  to  devise  instruments  to  reinforce  his  eye 
and  ear — the  telegraph  and  telephone,  the  microscope  and  telescope. 
But  there  is  no  reason  for  thinking  that  he  has  less  natural  aggres- 
siveness or  more  natural  altruism — or  will  ever  have — than  the 
barbarian.  But  he  may  live  in  social  conditions  that  create  a  rela- 
tively greater  demand  for  the  display  of  kindliness  and  which  turn 
his  aggressive  instincts  into  less  destructive  channels. 

There  is  at  any  time  a  sufficient  amount  of  kindly  impulses 
possessed  by  man  to  enable  him  to  live  in  amicable  peace  with  all 
his  fellows;  and  there  is  at  any  time  a  sufficient  equipment  of  bellicose 
impulses  to  keep  him  in  trouble  with  his  fellows.  An  intensification 
of  the  exhibition  of  one  may  accompany  an  intensification  of  the 
display  of  the  other,  the  only  difference  being  that  social  arrangements 


PROGRESS  977 

cause  the  kindly  feelings  to  be  displayed  toward  one  set  of  fellows 
and  the  hostile  impulses  toward  another  set.  Thus,  as  everybody 
knows,  the  hatred  toward  the  foreigner  characterizing  peoples  now 
at  war  is  attended  by  an  unusual  manifestation  of  mutual  affection 
and  love  within  each  warring  group.  So  characteristic  is  this  fact 
that  that  man  was  a  good  psychologist  who  said  that  he  wished  that 
this  planet  might  get  into  war  with  another  planet,  as  that  was  the 
only  effective  way  he  saw  of  developing  a  world-wide  community  of 
interest  in  this  globe's  population. 

The  indispensable  preliminary  condition  of  progress  has  been 
supplied  by  the  conversion  of  scientific  discoveries  into  inventions 
which  turn  physical  energy,  the  energy  of  sun,  coal,  and  iron,  to 
account.  Neither  the  discoveries  nor  the  inventions  were  the  product 
of  unconscious  physical  nature.  They  were  the  product  of  human 
devotion  and  application,  of  human  desire,  patience,  ingenuity, 
and  mother-wit.  The  problem  which  now  confronts  us,  the  problem 
of  progress,  is  the  same  in  kind,  differing  in  subject-matter.  It  is  a 
problem  of  discovering  the  needs  and  capacities  of  collective  human 
nature  as  we  find  it  aggregated  in  racial  or  national  groups  on  the 
surface  of  the  globe,  and  of  inventing  the  social  machinery  which  will 
set  available  powers  operating  for  the  satisfaction  of  those  needs. 

We  are  living  still  under  the  dominion  of  a  laissez  faire  philosophy. 
I  do  not  mean  by  this  an  individualistic,  as  against  a  socialistic, 
philosophy.  I  mean  by  it  a  philosophy  which  trusts  the  direction  of 
human  affairs  to  nature,  or  Providence,  or  evolution,  or  manifest 
destiny — that  is  to  say,  to  accident — rather  than  to  a  contriving  and 
constructive  intelligence.  To  put  our  faith  in  the  collective  state 
instead  of  in  individual  activity  is  quite  as  laissez  faire  a  proceeding 
as  to  put  it  in  the  results  of  voluntary  private  enterprise.  The 
only  genuine  opposite  to  a  go-as-you-please,  let-alone  philosophy 
is  a  philosophy  which  studies  specific  social  needs  and  evils  with  a 
view  to  constructing  the  special  social  machinery  for  which  they  call. 

3.    Progress  and  the  Limits  of  Scientific  Prevision1 

Movement,  whether  of  progress  or  of  retrogression,  can  commonly 
be  brought  about  only  when  the  sentiments  opposing  it  have  been 
designedly  weakened  or  have  suffered  a  natural  decay.  In  this 

1  From  The  Mind  of  Arthur  James  Balfour,  by  Wilfrid  M.  Short,  pp.  293-97. 
(Copyright  1918.  George  H.  Doran  Company,  publishers.) 


978          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

destructive  process,  and  in  any  constructive  process  by  which  it  may 
be  followed,  reasoning,  often  very  bad  reasoning,  bears,  at  least  in 
western  communities,  a  large  share  as  cause,  a  still  larger  share  as 
symptom;  so  that  the  clatter  of  contending  argumentation  is  often 
the  most  striking  accompaniment  of  interesting  social  changes.  Its 
position,  therefore,  and  its  functions  in  the  social  organism  are  fre- 
quently misunderstood.  People  fall  instinctively  into  the  habit  of 
supposing  that,  as  it  plays  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  improvement  or 
deterioration  of  human  institutions,  it  therefore  supplies  the  very  basis 
on  which  they  may  be  made  to  rest,  the  very  mold  to  which  they  ought 
to  conform;  and  they  naturally  conclude  that  we  have  only  got  to 
reason  more  and  to  reason  better  in  order  speedily  to  perfect  the 
whole  machinery  by  which  human  felicity  is  to  be  secured. 

Surely  this  is  a  great  delusion.  A  community  founded  upon 
argument  would  soon  be  a  community  no  longer.  It  would  dissolve 
into  its  constituent  elements.  Think  of  the  thousand  ties  most  subtly 
woven  out  of  common  sentiments,  common  tastes,  common  beliefs, 
nay,  common  prejudices,  by  which  from  our  very  earliest  childhood 
we  are  all  bound  unconsciously  but  indissolubly  together  into  a  com- 
pacted whole.  Imagine  these  to  be  suddenly  loosed  and  their  places 
taken  by  some  judicious  piece  of  reasoning  on  the  balance  of  advan- 
tage, which,  after  taking  all  proper  deductions,  still  remains  to  the 
credit  of  social  life.  These  things  we  may  indeed  imagine  if  we 
please.  Fortunately,  we  shall  never  see  them.  Society  is  founded 
— and  from  the  nature  of  the  human  beings  which  constitute  it,  must, 
in  the  main,  be  always  founded — not  upon  criticism  but  upon  feelings 
and  beliefs,  and  upon  the  customs  and  codes  by  which  feelings  and 
beliefs  are,  as  it  were,  fixed  and  rendered  stable.  And  even  where 
these  harmonize,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  with  sound  reason,  they  are 
in  many  cases  not  consciously  based  on  reasoning;  nor  is  their  fate 
necessarily  bound  up  with  that  of  the  extremely  indifferent  arguments 
by  which,  from  time  to  time,  philosophers,  politicians,  and,  I  will 
add,  divines  have  thought  fit  to  support  them. 

We  habitually  talk  as  if  a  self-governing  or  free  community  was 
one  which  managed  its  own  affairs.  In  strictness,  no  community 
manages  its  own  affairs,  or  by  any  possibility  could  manage  them. 
It  manages  but  a  narrow  fringe  of  its  affairs,  and  that  in  the  main  by 
deputy.  It  is  only  the  thinnest  surface  layer  of  law  and  custom, 
belief  and  sentiment,  which  can  either  be  successfully  subjected  to 


PROGRESS  979 

destructive  treatment,  or  become  the  nucleus  of  any  new  growth — a 
fact  which  explains  the  apparent  paradox  that  so  many  of  our  most 
famous  advances  in  political  wisdom  are  nothing  more  than  the 
formal  recognition  of  our  political  impotence. 

As  our  expectations  of  limitless  progress  for  the  race  cannot 
depend  upon  the  blind  operation  of  the  laws  of  heredity,  so  neither 
can  they  depend  upon  the  deliberate  action  of  national  governments. 
Such  examination  as  we  can  make  of  the  changes  which  have  taken 
place  during  the  relatively  minute  fraction  of  history  with  respect  to 
which  we  have  fairly  full  information  shows  that  they  have  been 
caused  by  a  multitude  of  variations,  often  extremely  small,  made  in 
their  surroundings  by  individuals  whose  objects,  though  not  neces- 
sarily selfish,  have  often  had  no  intentional  reference  to  the  advance- 
ment of  the  community  at  large.  But  we  have  no  scientific  ground 
for  suspecting  that  the  stimulus  to  these  individual  efforts  must 
necessarily  continue;  we  know  of  no  law  by  which,  if  they  do  con- 
tinue, they  must  needs  be  co-ordinated  for  a  common  purpose  or 
pressed  into  the  service  of  a  common  good.  We  cannot  estimate 
their  remoter  consequences;  neither  can  we  tell  how  they  will  act 
and  react  upon  one  another,  nor  how  they  will  in  the  long  run  affect 
morality,  religion,  and  other  fundamental  elements  of  human  society. 
The  future  of  the  race  is  thus  encompassed  with  darkness;  no  faculty 
of  calculation  that  we  possess,  no  instrument  that  we  are  likely  to 
invent,  will  enable  us  to  map  out  its  course,  or  penetrate  the  secret 
of  its  destiny.  It  is  easy,  no  doubt,  to  find  in  the  clouds  which 
obscure  our  paths  what  shapes  we  please :  to  see  in  them  the  promise 
of  some  millennial  paradise,  or  the  threat  of  endless  and  unmeaning 
travel  through  waste  and  perilous  places.  But  in  such  visions  the 
wise  man  will  put  but  little  confidence,  content,  in  a  sober  and  cautious 
spirit,  with  a  full  consciousness  of  his  feeble  powers  of  foresight  and 
the  narrow  limits  of  his  activity,  to  deal  as  they  arise  with  the  problems 
of  his  own  generation. 

4.    Eugenics  as  a  Science  of  Progress1 

Eugenics  is  the  science  which  deals  with  all  influences  that  improve 
the  inborn  qualities  of  a  race;  also  with  those  that  develop  them  to 
the  utmost  advantage. 

1  From  Francis  Galton,  "Eugenics:  Its  Definition,  Scope,  and  Aims,"  in  the 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  X  (1904-5),  1-6. 


980  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

What  is  meant  by  improvement?  There  is  considerable  differ- 
ence between  goodness  in  the  several  qualities  and  in  that  of  the 
character  as  a  whole.  The  character  depends  largely  on  the  proportion 
between  qualities  whose  balance  may  be  much  influenced  by  educa- 
tion. We  must  therefore  leave  morals  as  far  as  possible  out  of  the 
discussion,  not  entangling  ourselves  with  the  almost  hopeless  diffi- 
culties they  raise  as  to  whether  a  character  as  a  whole  is  good  or  bad. 
Moreover,  the  goodness  or  badness  of  character  is  not  absolute,  but 
relative  to  the  current  form  of  civilisation.  A  fable  will  best  explain 
what  is  meant.  Let  the  scene  be  the  Zoological  Gardens  in  the  quiet 
hours  of  the  night,  and  suppose  that,  as  in  old  fables,  the  animals 
are  able  to  converse,  and  that  some  very  wise  creature  who  had  easy 
access  to  all  the  cages,  say  a  philosophic  sparrow  or  rat,  was  engaged 
in  collecting  the  opinions  of  all  sorts  of  animals  with  a  view  of  elaborat- 
ing a  system  of  absolute  morality.  It  is  needless  to  enlarge  on  the  con- 
trariety of  ideals  between  the  beasts  that  prey  and  those  they  prey 
upon,  between  those  of  the  animals  that  have  to  work  hard  for  their 
food  and  the  sedentary  parasites  that  cling  to  their  bodies  and  suck 
their  blood  and  so  forth.  A  large  number  of  suffrages  in  favour  of 
maternal  affection  would  be  obtained,  but  most  species  of  fish  would 
repudiate  it,  while  among  the  voices  of  birds  would  be  heard  the 
musical  protest  of  the  cuckoo.  Though  no  agreement  could  be 
reached  as  to  absolute  morality,  the  essentials  of  Eugenics  may  be 
easily  defined.  All  creatures  would  agree  that  it  was  better  to  be 
healthy  than  sick,  vigorous  than  weak,  well  fitted  than  ill  fitted  for  their 
part  in  life.  In  short,  that  it  was  better  to  be  good  rather  than  bad 
specimens  of  their  kind,  whatever  that  kind  might  be.  So  with  men. 
There  are  a  vast  number  of  conflicting  ideals  of  alternative  characters, 
of  incompatible  civilisations;  but  all  are  wanted  to  give  fulness  and 
interest  to  life.  Society  would  be  very  dull  if  every  man  resembled  the 
highly  estimable  Marcus  Aurelius  or  Adam  Bede.  The  aim  of  Eugenics 
is  to  represent  each  class  or  sect  by  its  best  specimens;  that  done,  to 
leave  them  to  work  out  their  common  civilisation  in  their  own  way. 

The  aim  of  Eugenics  is  to  bring  as  many  influences  as  can  be 
reasonably  employed,  to  cause  the  useful  classes  in  the  community  to 
contribute  more  than  their  proportion  to  the  next  generation. 

The  course  of  procedure  that  lies  within  the  functions  of  a  learned 
and  active  Society  such  as  the  Sociological  may  become,  would  be 
somewhat  as  follows: 


PROGRESS  981 

1.  Dissemination  of  a  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  heredity  so  far  as 
they  are  surely  known,  and  promotion  of  their  further  study.     Few 
seem  to  be  aware  how  greatly  the  knowledge  of  what  may  be  termed 
the  actuarial  side  of  heredity  has  advanced  in  recent  years.     The 
average  closeness  of  kinship  in  each  degree  now  admits  of  exact 
definition  and  of  being  treated  mathematically,  like  birth-  and  death- 
rates,  and  the  other  topics  with  which  actuaries  are  concerned. 

2.  Historical  inquiry  into  the  rates  with  which  the  various  classes 
of  society  (classified  according  to  civic  usefulness)  have  contributed 
to  the  population  at  various  times,  in  ancient  and  modern  nations. 
There  is  strong  reason  for  believing  that  national  rise  and  decline  is 
closely  connected  with  this  influence.    It  seems  to  be  the  tendency 
of  high  civilisation  to  check  fertility  in  the  upper  classes,  through 
numerous  causes,  some  of  which  are  well  known,  others  are  inferred, 
and  others  again  are  wholly  obscure.    The  latter  class  are  apparently 
analogous  to  those  which  bar  the  fertility  of  most  species  of  wild 
animals  in  zoological  gardens.    Out  of  the  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  species  that  have  been  tamed,  very  few  indeed  are  fertile  when 
their  liberty  is  restricted  and  their  struggles  for  livelihood  are  abol- 
ished; those  which  are  so  and  are  otherwise  useful  to  man  becoming 
domesticated.    There   is   perhaps   some   connection   between   this 
obscure  action  and  the  disappearance  of  most  savage  races  when 
brought  into  contact  with  high  civilisation,  though  there  are  other 
and  well-known  concomitant  causes.    But  while  most  barbarous 
races  disappear,  some,  like  the  Negro,  do  not.    It  may  therefore 
be  expected  that  types  of  our  race  will  be  found  to  exist  which  can 
be  highly  civilised  without  losing  fertility;   nay,  they  may  become 
more  fertile  under  artificial  conditions,  as  is  the  case  with  many 
domestic  animals. 

3.  Systematic  collection  of  facts  showing  the  circumstances  under 
which  large  and  thriving  families  have  most  frequently  originated; 
in  other  words,  the  conditions  of  Eugenics.     The  names  of  the  thriving 
families  in  England  have  yet  to  be  learnt,  and  the  conditions  under 
which  they  have  arisen.     We  cannot  hope  to  make  much  advance  in 
the  science  of  Eugenics  without  a  careful  study  of  facts  that  are  now 
accessible  with  difficulty,  if  at  all.     The  definition  of  a  thriving  family, 
such  as  will  pass  muster  for  the  moment  at  least,  is  one  in  which  the 
children  have  gained  distinctly  superior  positions  to  those  who  were 
their  classmates  in  early  life.    Families  may  be  considered  "large" 


982          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

that  contain  not  less  than  three  adult  male  children.  The  point  to  be 
ascertained  is  the  status  of  the  two  parents  at  the  time  of  their  mar- 
riage, whence  its  more  or  less  eugenic  character  might  have  been  pre- 
dicted, if  the  larger  knowledge  that  we  now  hope  to  obtain  had  then 
existed.  Some  account  would,  of  course,  be  wanted  of  their  race,  pro- 
fession, and  residence;  also  of  their  own  respective  parentages,  and 
of  their  brothers  and  sisters.  Finally,  the  reasons  would  be  required 
why  the  children  deserved  to  be  entitled  a  "thriving"  family,  to 
distinguish  worthy  from  unworthy  success.  This  manuscript  col- 
lection might  hereafter  develop  into  a  "golden  book"  of  thriving 
families.  The  Chinese,  whose  customs  have  often  much  sound 
sense,  make  their  honours  retrospective.  We  might  learn  from  them 
to  show  that  respect  to  the  parents  of  noteworthy  children,  which 
the  contributors  of  such  valuable  assets  to  the  national  wealth  richly 
deserve. 

4.  Influences  affecting  Marriage.    The  passion  of  love  seems  so 
overpowering  that  it  may  be  thought  folly  to  try  to  direct  its  course. 
But  plain  facts  do  not  confirm  this  view.     Social  influences  of  all 
kinds  have  immense  power  in  the  end,  and  they  are  very  various. 
If  unsuitable  marriages  from  the  eugenic  point  of  view  were  banned 
socially,  or  even  regarded  with  the  unreasonable  disfavour  which 
some  attach  to  cousin  marriages,  very  few  would  be  made.    The 
multitude  of  marriage  restrictions  that  have  proved  prohibitive 
among  uncivilised  people  would  require  a  volume  to  describe. 

5.  Persistence  in  setting  forth  the  national  importance  of  Eugen- 
ics.   There  are  three  stages  to  be  passed  through.    Firstly,  it  must  be 
made  familiar  as  an  academic  question,  until  its  exact  importance 
has  been  understood  and  accepted  as  a  fact;   secondly,  it  must  be 
recognised  as  a  subject  whose  practical  development  deserves  serious 
consideration;  and  thirdly,  it  must  be  introduced  into  the  national 
conscience,  like  a  new  religion.    It  has,  indeed,  strong  claims  to 
become  an  orthodox  religious  tenet  of  the  future,  for  Eugenics  co- 
operates with  the  workings  of  Nature  by  securing  that  humanity 
shall  be  represented  by  the  fittest  races.    What  Nature  does  blindly, 
slowly,  and  ruthlessly,  man  may  do  providently,  quickly,  and  kindly. 
I  see  no  impossibility  in  Eugenics  becoming  a  religious  dogma  among 
mankind,  but  its  details  must  first  be  worked  out  sedulously  in  the 
study.    The  first  and  main  point  is  to  secure  the  general  intellectual 
acceptance  of  Eugenics  as  a  hopeful  and  most  important  study.    Then 


PROGRESS  983 

let  its  principles  work  into  the  heart  of  the  nation,  who  will  gradually 
give  practical  effect  to  them  in  ways  that  we  may  not  wholly  foresee. 

C.      PROGRESS  AND  HUMAN   NATURE 
i.    The  Nature  of  Man1 

Man  is  certainly  an  animal  that,  when  he  lives  at  all,  lives  for 
ideals.  Something  must  be  found  to  occupy  his  imagination,  to 
raise  pleasure  and  pain  into  love  and  hatred,  and  change  the  prosaic 
alternative  between  comfort  and  discomfort  into  the  tragic  one 
between  happiness  and  sorrow.  Now  that  the  hue  of  daily  adventure 
is  so  dull,  when  religion  for  the  most  part  is  so  vague  and  accommo- 
dating, when  even  war  is  a  vast  impersonal  business,  nationality  seems 
to  have  slipped  into  the  place  of  honor.  It  has  become  the  one  elo- 
quent, public,  intrepid  illusion — illusion,  I  mean,  when  it  is  taken  for 
an  ultimate  good  or  a  mystical  essence,  for  of  course  nationality  is  a 
fact.  It  is  natural  for  a  man  to  like  to  live  at  home,  and  to  live  long 
elsewhere  without  a  sense  of  exile  is  not  good  for  his  moral  integrity. 
It  is  right  to  feel  a  greater  kinship  and  affection  for  what  lies  nearest 
to  one's  self.  But  this  necessary  fact  and  even  duty  of  nationality  is 
accidental;  like  age  or  sex  it  is  a  physical  fatality  which  can  be  made 
the  basis  of  specific  and  comely  virtues;  but  it  is  not  an  end  to  pur- 
sue or  a  flag  to  flaunt  or  a  privilege  not  balanced  by  a  thousand 
incapacities.  Yet  of  this  distinction  our  contemporaries  tend  to 
make  an  idol,  perhaps  because  it  is  the  only  distinction  they  feel  they 
have  left. 

Everywhere  in  the  nineteenth  century  we  find  a  double  preoccu- 
pation with  the  past  and  with  the  future,  a  longing  to  know  what  all 
experience  might  have  been  hitherto,  and  on  the  other  hand  to  hasten 
to  some  wholly  different  experience,  to  be  contrived  immediately 
with  a  beating  heart  and  with  flying  banners.  The  imagination  of 
the  age  was  intent  on  history;  its  conscience  was  intent  on  reform. 

2.    Progress  and  the  Mores1 

What  now  are  some  of  the  leading  features  hi  the  mores  of  civi- 
lized society  at  the  present  tune  ?  Undoubtedly  they  are  monogamy, 

1  Adapted  from  G.  Santayana,  Winds  of  Doctrine,  pp.  6-8.  (Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  1913.) 

*  Adapted  from  W.  G.  Sumner,"The  Mores  of  the  Present  and  the  Future," 
in  the  Yale  Review,  XV 111  (1909-10),  235-36.  (Quoted  by  special  permission  of 
the  Yale  Review.') 


984  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

anti-slavery,  and  democracy.  All  people  now  are  more  nervous  than 
anybody  used  to  be.  Social  ambition  is  great  and  is  prevalent  in  all 
classes.  The  idea  of  class  is  unpopular  and  is  not  understood.  There 
is  a  superstitious  yearning  for  equality.  There  is  a  decided  prefer- 
ence for  city  life,  and  a  stream  of  population  from  the  country  into 
big  cities.  These  are  facts  of  the  mores  of  the  time.  Our  societies 
are  almost  unanimous  hi  their  response  if  there  is  any  question  raised 
on  these  matters. 

Medieval  people  conceived  of  society  under  forms  of  status  as 
generally  as  we  think  of  it  under  forms  of  individual  liberty.  The 
mores  of  the  Orient  and  Occident  differ  from  each  other  now,  as  they 
apparently  always  have  differed.  The  Orient  is  a  region  where  time, 
faith,  tradition,  and  patience  rule.  The  Occident  forms  ideals  and 
plans,  and  spends  energy  and  enterprise  to  make  new  things  with 
thoughts  of  progress.  All  details  of  life  follow  the  leading  ways  of 
thought  of  each  group.  We  can  compare  and  judge  ours  and  theirs, 
but  independent  judgment  of  our  own,  without  comparison  with 
other  times  or  other  places,  is  possible  only  within  narrow  limits. 

Let  us  first  take  up  the  nervous  desire  and  exertion  which  mark 
the  men  of  our  time  in  the  western  civilized  societies.  There  is  a 
wide  popular  belief  in  what  is  called  progress.  The  masses  hi  all 
civilized  states  strain  toward  success  in  some  adopted  line.  Strug- 
gling and  striving  are  passionate  tendencies  which  take  possession  of 
groups  from  time  to  time.  The  newspapers,  the  popular  literature, 
and  the  popular  speakers  show  this  current  and  popular  tendency. 
This  is  what  makes  the  mores. 

3.    War  and  Progress1 

Let  us  see  what  progress  means.  It  is  a  term  which  covers 
several  quite  different  things. 

There  is  material  progress,  by  which  I  understand  an  increase  in 
wealth,  that  is,  in  the  commodities  useful  to  man,  which  give  him 
health,  strength,  and  longer  life,  and  make  his  life  easier,  providing 
more  comfort  and  more  leisure,  and  thus  enabling  him  to  be  more 
physically  efficient,  and  to  escape  from  that  pressure  of  want  which 
hampers  the  development  of  his  whole  nature. 

1  Adapted  from  James  Bryce,  Essays  and  Addresses  in  War  Time,  pp.  84-102. 
(Published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.,  1918.  Reprinted  by  permission.) 


PROGRESS  985 

There  is  intellectual  progress — an  increase  in  knowledge,  a  greater 
abundance  of  ideas,  the  training  to  think,  and  to  think  correctly,  the 
growth  in  capacity  for  dealing  with  practical  problems,  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  power  to  enjoy  the  exercise  of  thought  and  the  pleasures 
of  letters  and  art. 

There  is  moral  progress — a  thing  harder  to  define,  but  which 
includes  the  development  of  those  emotions  and  habits  which  make 
for  happiness — contentment  and  tranquility  of  mind;  the  absence  of 
the  more  purely  animal  and  therefore  degrading  vices  (such  as 
intemperance  and  sensuality  in  all  its  other  forms);  the  control  of 
the  violent  passions;  good  will  and  kindliness  toward  others — all  the 
things  which  fall  within  the  philosophical  conception  of  a  life  guided 
by  right  reason.  People  have  different  ideas  of  what  constitutes 
happiness  and  virtue,  but  these  things  are  at  any  rate  included  in 
every  such  conception. 

A  further  preliminary  question  arises.  Is  human  progress  to  be 
estimated  in  respect  to  the  point  to  which  it  raises  the  few  who  have 
high  mental  gifts  and  the  opportunity  of  obtaining  an  education 
fitting  them  for  intellectual  enjoyment  and  intellectual  vocations,  or 
is  it  to  be  measured  by  the  amount  of  its  extension  to  and  diffusion 
through  each  nation,  meaning  the  nation  as  a  whole — the  average 
man  as  well  as  the  superior  spirits?  You  may  sacrifice  either  the 
many  to  the  few — as  was  done  by  slavery — or  the  few  to  the  many, 
or  the  advance  may  be  general  and  proportionate  in  all  classes. 

Again,  when  we  think  of  progress,  are  we  to  think  of  the  world 
as  a  whole,  or  only  of  the  stronger  and  more  capable  races  and 
states  ?  If  the  stronger  rise  upon  the  prostrate  bodies  of  the  weaker, 
is  this  clear  gain  to  the  world,  because  the  stronger  will  ultimately 
do  more  for  the  world,  or  is  the  loss  and  suffering  of  the  weaker  to 
be  brought  into  the  account?  I  do  not  attempt  to  discuss  these 
questions;  it  is  enough  to  note  them  as  fit  to  be  remembered;  for 
perhaps  all  three  kinds  of  progress  ought  to  be  differently  judged  if 
a  few  leading  nations  only  are  to  be  regarded,  or  if  we  are  to  think 
of  all  mankind. 

It  is  undeniable  that  war  has  often  been  accompanied  by  an 
advance  in  civilization.  If  we  were  to  look  for  progress  only  in  time 
of  peace  there  would  have  been  little  progress  to  discover,  for  mankind 
has  lived  in  a  state  of  practically  permanent  warfare.  The  Egyptian 


986  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  Assyrian  monarchs  were  always  fighting.  The  author  of  the 
Book  of  Kings  speaks  of  spring  as  the  time  when  kings  go  forth  to 
war,  much  as  we  should  speak  of  autumn  as  the  time  when  men  go 
forth  to  shoot  deer.  "War  is  the  natural  relation  of  states  to  one 
another, "  said  Plato.  The  fact  has  been  hardly  less  true  since  his  day, 
though  latterly  men  have  become  accustomed  to  think  of  peace  as 
the  normal,  war  as  the  abnormal  or  exceptional,  relation  of  states  to 
one  another.  In  the  ancient  world,  as  late  as  the  days  of  Roman 
conquest,  a  state  of  peace  was  the  rare  exception  among  civilized 
states  as  well  as  barbarous  tribes.  But  Carthage,  like  her  Phoenician 
mother-city,  went  on  building  up  a  mighty  commerce  till  Rome  smote 
her  down,  and  the  Hellenic  people,  in  its  many  warring  cities,  went 
on  producing  noble  poems  and  profound  philosophical  speculations, 
and  rearing  majestic  temples  and  adorning  them  with  incomparable 
works  of  sculpture,  in  the  intervals  of  their  fighting  with  their  neigh- 
bors of  the  same  or  other  races.  The  case  of  the  Greeks  proves  that 
war  and  progress  are  compatible. 

The  capital  instance  of  the  association  of  war  with  the  growth 
and  greatness  of  a  state  is  found  in  Prussia.  One  may  say  that  her 
history  is  the  source  of  the  whole  thesis  and  the  basis  of  the  whole 
argument.  It  is  a  case  of  what,  in  the  days  when  I  learned  logic 
at  the  University  of  Oxford,  we  used  to  call  the  induction  from  a 
single  instance.  Prussia,  then  a  small  state,  began  her  upward  march 
under  the  warlike  and  successful  prince  whom  her  people  call  the 
Great  Elector.  Her  next  long  step  to  greatness  was  taken  by 
Frederick  II,  again  by  favor  of  successful  warfare,  though  doubtless 
also  by  means  of  a  highly  organized,  and  for  those  days  very  efficient, 
administration.  Voltaire  said  of  Frederick's  Prussia  that  its  trade 
was  war.  Another  war  added  to  her  territory  in  1814-15.  Three 
successful  wars — those  of  1864,  1866,  and  1870-71 — made  her  the 
nucleus  of  a  united  German  nation  and  the  leading  military  power 
of  the  Old  World. 

Ever  since  those  victories  her  industrial  production,  her  commerce, 
and  her  wealth  have  rapidly  increased,  while  at  the  same  time 
scientific  research  has  been  prosecuted  with  the  greatest  vigor  and 
on  a  scale  unprecedentedly  large.  These  things  were  no  doubt 
achieved  during  a  peace  of  forty-three  years.  But  it  was  what  one 
may  call  a  belligerent  peace,  full  of  thoughts  of  war  and  preparations 


PROGRESS  987 

for  war.  There  is  no  denying  that  the  national  spirit  has  been 
carried  to  a  high  point  of  pride,  energy,  and  self-confidence,  which 
have  stimulated  effort  in  all  directions  and  secured  extraordinary 
efficiency  in  civil  as  well  as  in  military  administration.  Here,  then, 
is  an  instance  in  which  a  state  has  grown  by  war  and  a  people  has 
been  energized  by  war. 

Next,  let  us  take  the  cases  which  show  that  there  have  been  in 
many  countries  long  periods  of  incessant  war  with  no  corresponding 
progress  in  the  things  that  make  civilization.  I  will  not  speak  of 
semi-barbarous  tribes,  among  the  more  advanced  of  which  may  be 
placed  the  Albanians  and  the  Pathans  and  the  Turkomans,  while 
among  the  more  backward  were  the  North  American  Indians  and  the 
Zulus.  But  one  may  cite  the  case  of  the  civilized  regions  of  Asia 
under  the  successors  of  Alexander,  when  civilized  peoples,  distracted 
by  incessant  strife,  did  little  for  the  progress  of  arts  or  letters  or 
government,  from  the  death  of  the  great  conqueror  till  they  were 
united  under  the  dominion  of  Rome  and  received  from  her  a  time  of 
comparative  tranquillity. 

The  Thirty  Years'  War  is  an  example  of  long-continued  fighting 
which,  far  from  bringing  progress  in  its  train,  inflicted  injuries  on 
Germany  from  which  she  did  not  recover  for  nearly  two  centuries. 
In  recent  tunes  there  has  been  more  fighting  in  South  and  Central 
America,  since  the  wars  of  independence,  than  in  any  other  civilized 
countries.  Yet  can  anyone  say  that  anything  has  been  gained  by 
the  unending  civil  wars  and  revolutions,  or  those  scarcely  less  frequent 
wars  between  the  several  republics,  like  that  terrible  one  thirty 
years  ago  in  which  Peru  was  overcome  by  Chile  ?  Or  look  at  Mexico. 
Except  during  the  years  when  the  stern  dictatorship  of  Porfirio 
Diaz  kept  order  and  equipped  the  country  with  roads  and  railways, 
her  people  have  made  no  perceptible  advance  and  stand  hardly 
higher  today  than  when  they  were  left  to  work  out  their  own  salvation 
a  hundred  years  ago.  Social  and  economic  conditions  have  doubtless 
been  against  her.  All  that  need  be  remembered  is  that  warfare 
has  not  bettered  those  conditions  or  improved  the  national  character. 

If  this  hasty  historical  survey  has,  as  I  frankly  admit,  given  us 
few  positive  and  definite  results,  the  reason  is  plain.  Human  progress 
is  affected  by  so  many  conditions  besides  the  presence  or  absence  of 
fighting  that  it  is  impossible  hi  any  given  case  to  pronounce  that  it 
has  been  chiefly  due  either  to  war  or  to  peace.  Two  conclusions, 


988  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

however,  we  may  claim  to  have  reached,  though  they  are  rather 
negative  than  positive.  One  is  that  war  does  not  necessarily  arrest 
progress.  Peoples  may  advance  in  thought,  literature,  and  art 
while  they  are  fighting.  The  other  is  that  war  cannot  be  shown  to 
have  been  a  cause  of  progress  in  anything  except  the  wealth  or  power 
of  a  state  which  extends  its  dominions  by  conquest  or  draws  tribute 
from  the  vanquished. 

What,  then,  are  the  causes  to  which  the  progress  of  mankind 
is  due  ?  It  is  due  partly,  no  doubt,  if  not  to  strife,  to  competition. 
But  chiefly  to  thought,  which  is  more  often  hindered  than  helped 
by  war.  It  is  the  races  that  know  how  to  think,  rather  than  the  far 
more  numerous  races  that  excel  in  fighting  rather  than  in  thinking, 
that  have  led  the  world.  Thought,  in  the  form  of  invention  and 
inquiry,  has  given  us  those  improvements  in  the  arts  of  life  and  in 
the  knowledge  of  nature  by  which  material  progress  and  comfort 
have  been  obtained.  Thought  has  produced  literature,  philosophy, 
art,  and  (when  intensified  by  emotion)  religion — all  the  things  that 
make  life  worth  living.  Now  the  thought  of  any  people  is  most 
active  when  it  is  brought  into  contact  with  the  thought  of  another, 
because  each  is  apt  to  lose  its  variety  and  freedom  of  play  when  it 
has  worked  too  long  upon  familiar  lines  and  flowed  too  long  in  the 
channels  it  has  deepened.  Hence  isolation  retards  progress,  while 
intercourse  quickens  it. 

The  great  creative  epochs  have  been  those  in  which  one  people 
of  natural  vigor  received  an  intellectual  impulse  from  the  ideas  of 
another,  as  happened  when  Greek  culture  began  to  penetrate  Italy, 
and  thirteen  centuries  later,  when  the  literature  of  the  ancients 
began  to  work  on  the  nations  of  the  medieval  world. 

Such  contact,  with  the  process  of  learning  which  follows  from  it, 
may  happen  in  or  through  war,  but  it  happens  far  oftener  in  peace; 
and  it  is  in  peace  that  men  have  the  time  and  the  taste  to  profit  fully 
by  it.  A  study  of  history  will  show  that  we  may,  with  an  easy 
conscience,  dismiss  the  theory  of  Treitschke — that  war  is  a  health- 
giving  tonic  which  Providence  must  be  expected  constantly  to  offer 
to  the  human  race  for  its  own  good. 

The  future  progress  of  mankind  is  to  be  sought,  not  through  the 
strifes  and  hatreds  of  the  nations,  but  rather  by  their  friendly  co- 
operation in  the  healing  and  enlightening  works  of  peace  and  in  the 


PROGRESS  989 

growth  of  a  spirit  of  friendship  and  mutual  confidence  which  may 
remove  the  causes  of  war. 

4.     Progress  and  the  Cosmic  Urge 
a.     The  "Elan  Vitale"1 

All  life,  animal  and  vegetable,  seems  in  its  essence  like  an  effort 
to  accumulate  energy  and  then  to  let  it  flow  into  flexible  channels, 
changeable  in  shape,  at  the  end  of  which  it  will  accomplish  infinitely 
varied  kinds  of  work.  That  is  what  the  vital  impetus,  passing  through 
matter,  would  fain  do  all  at  once.  It  would  succeed,  no  doubt,  if  its 
power  were  unlimited,  or  if  some  reinforcement  could  come  to  it  from 
without.  But  the  impetus  is  finite,  and  it  has  been  given  once  for  all. 
It  cannot  overcome  all  obstacles.  The  movement  it  starts  is  some- 
times turned  aside,  sometimes  divided,  always  opposed;  and  the 
evolution  of  the  organized  world  is  the  unrolling  of  this  conflict. 
The  first  great  scission  that  had  to  be  effected  was  that  of  the  two 
kingdoms,  vegetable  and  animal,  which  thus  happen  to  be  mutually 
complementary,  without,  however,  any  agreement  having  been 
made  between  them.  To  this  scission  there  succeeded  many  others. 
Hence  the  diverging  lines  of  evolution,  at  least  what  is  essential  in 
them.  But  we  must  take  into  account  retrogressions,  arrests,  acci- 
dents of  every  kind.  And  we  must  remember,  above  all,  that  each 
species  behaves  as  if  the  general  movement  of  life  stopped  at  it  instead 
of  passing  through  it.  It  thinks  only  of  itself,  it  lives  only  for  itself. 
Hence  the  numberless  struggles  that  we  behold  in  nature.  Hence  a 
discord,  striking  and  terrible,  but  for  which  the  original  principle  of 
life  must  not  be  held  responsible. 

It  is  therefore  conceivable  that  life  might  have  assumed  a  totally 
different  outward  appearance  and  designed  forms  very  different  from 
those  we  know.  With  another  chemical  substratum,  in  other  physi- 
cal conditions,  the  impulsion  would  have  remained  the  same,  but  it 
would  have  split  up  very  differently  hi  course  of  progress;  and  the 
whole  would  have  traveled  another  road — whether  shorter  or  longer 
who  can  tell  ?  In  any  case,  in  the  entire  series  of  living  beings  no 
term  would  have  been  what  it  now  is. 

1  From  Henri  Bergson,  Creative  Evolution,  translated  by  Arthur  Mitchell, 
PP-  253-71-  (Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1913.) 


990          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

There  are  numerous  cases  in  which  nature  seems  to  hesitate 
between  the  two  forms,  and  to  ask  herself  if  she  shall  make  a  society 
or  an  individual.  The  slightest  push  is  enough,  then,  to  make  the 
balance  weigh  on  one  side  or  the  other.  If  we  take  an  infusorian 
sufficiently  large,  such  as  the  Stentor,  and  cut  it  into  two  halves  each 
containing  a  part  of  the  nucleus,  each  of  the  two  halves  will  generate 
an  independent  Stentor;  but  if  we  divide  it  incompletely,  so  that  a 
protoplasmic  communication  is  left  between  the  two  halves,  we  shall 
see  them  execute,  each  from  its  side,  corresponding  movements; 
so  that  in  this  case  it  is  enough  that  a  thread  should  be  maintained  or 
cut  in  order  that  life  should  affect  the  social  or  the  individual  form. 
Thus,  in  rudimentary  organisms  consisting  of  a  single  cell,  we  already 
find  that  the  apparent  individuality  of  the  whole  is  the  composition 
of  an  undefined  number  of  potential  individualities  potentially  asso- 
ciated. But,  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  series  of  living  beings,  the 
same  law  is  manifested.  And  it  is  this  that  we  express  when  we  say 
that  unity  and  multiplicity  are  categories  of  inert  matter,  that  the 
vital  impetus  is  neither  pure  unity  nor  pure  multiplicity,  and  that  if 
the  matter  to  which  it  communicates  itself  compels  it  to  choose  one  of 
the  two,  its  choice  will  never  be  definitive:  it  will  leap  from  one  to  the 
othei  indefinitely.  The  evolution  of  life  in  the  double  direction  of 
individuality  and  association  has  therefore  nothing  accidental  about 
it:  it  is  due  to  the  very  nature  of  life. 

Essential  also  is  the  progress  to  reflexion.  If  our  analysis  is 
correct,  it  is  consciousness,  or  rather  supra-consciousness,  that  is  at 
the  origin  of  life.  Consciousness,  or  supra-consciousness,  is  the  name 
for  the  rocket  whose  extinguished  fragments  fall  back  as  matter;  con- 
sciousness, again,  is  the  name  for  that  which  subsists  of  the  rocket 
itself,  passing  through  the  fragments  and  lighting  them  up  into 
organisms.  But  this  consciousness,  which  is  a  need  of  creation,  is 
made  manifest  to  itself  only  where  creation  is  possible.  It  lies 
dormant  when  life  is  condemned  to  automatism;  it  wakens  as  soon 
as  the  possibility  of  a  choice  is  restored.  That  is  why,  in  organisms 
unprovided  with  a  nervous  system,  it  varies  according  to  the  power  of 
locomotion  and  of  deformation  of  which  the  organism  disposes.  And 
in  animals  with  a  nervous  system,  it  is  proportional  to  the  complexity 
of  the  switchboard  on  which  the  paths  called  sensory  and  the  paths 
called  motor  intersect — that  is,  of  the  brain. 


PROGRESS  991 

Consciousness  corresponds  exactly  to  the  living  being's  power  of 
choice;  it  is  coextensive  with  the  fringe  of  possible  action  that  sur- 
rounds the  real  action:  consciousness  is  synonymous  with  invention 
and  with  freedom.  Now,  in  the  animal,  invention  is  never  anything 
but  a  variation  on  the  theme  of  routine.  Shut  up  in  the  habits  of  the 
species,  it  succeeds,  no  doubt,  hi  enlarging  them  by  its  individual 
initiative;  but  it  escapes  automatism  only  for  an  instant,  for  just 
the  time  to  create  a  new  automatism.  The  gates  of  its  prison  close 
as  soon  as  they  are  opened;  by  pulling  at  its  chain  it  succeeds  only  in 
stretching  it.  With  man,  consciousness  breaks  the  chain.  In  man, 
and  in  man  alone,  it  sets  itself  free.  The  whole  history  of  life  until 
man  has  been  that  of  the  effort  of  consciousness  to  raise  matter,  and 
of  the  more  or  less  complete  overwhelming  of  consciousness  by  the 
matter  which  has  fallen  back  on  it.  The  enterprise  was  paradoxical, 
if,  indeed,  we  may  speak  here  otherwise  than  by  metaphor  of  enter- 
prise and  of  effort.  It  was  to  create  with  matter,  which  is  necessity 
itself,  an  instrument  of  freedom,  to  make  a  machine  which  should 
triumph  over  mechanism,  and  to  use  determinism  of  nature  to  pass 
through  the  meshes  of  the  net  which  this  very  determinism  had 
spread.  But,  everywhere  except  in  man,  consciousness  has  let 
itself  be  caught  in  the  net  whose  meshes  it  tried  to  pass  through:  it 
has  remained  the  captive  of  the  mechanisms  it  has  set  up.  Automa- 
tism, which  it  tries  to  draw  hi  the  direction  of  freedom,  winds 
about  it  and  drags  it  down.  It  has  not  the  power  to  escape,  because 
the  energy  it  has  provided  for  acts  is  almost  all  employed  in  maintain- 
ing the  infinitely  subtle  and  essentially  unstable  equilibrium  into 
which  it  has  brought  matter.  But  man  not  only  main  tains  his 
machine,  he  succeeds  in  using  it  as  he  pleases.  Doubtless  he  owes  this 
to  the  superiority  of  his  brain,  which  enables  him  to  build  an  unlimited 
number  of  motor  mechanisms,  to  oppose  new  habits  to  the  old  ones 
unceasingly,  and,  by  dividing  automatism  against  itself,  to  rule  it. 
He  owes  it  to  his  language,  which  furnishes  consciousness  with  an 
immaterial  body  in  which  to  incarnate  itself  and  thus  exempts  it 
from  dwelling  exclusively  on  material  bodies,  whose  flux  would  soon 
drag  it  along  and  finally  swallow  it  up.  He  owes  it  to  social  life,  which 
stores  and  preserves  efforts  as  language  stores  thought,  fixes  thereby  a 
mean  level  to  which  individuals  must  raise  themselves  at  the  outset,  and 
by  this  initial  stimulation  prevents  the  average  man  from  slumbering 


992  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

and  drives  the  superior  man  to  mount  still  higher.  But  our  brain, 
our  society,  and  our  language  are  only  the  external  and  various 
signs  of  one  and  the  same  internal  superiority.  They  tell,  each 
after  its  manner,  the  unique,  exceptional  success  which  life  has  won 
at  a  given  moment  of  its  evolution.  They  express  the  difference  of 
kind,  and  not  only  of  degree,  which  separates  man  from  the  rest  of 
the  animal  world.  They  let  us  guess  that,  while  at  the  end  of  the 
vast  springboard  from  which  life  has  taken  its  leap,  all  the  others 
have  stepped  down,  finding  the  cord  stretched  too  high,  man  alone 
has  cleared  the  obstacle. 

It  is  in  this  quite  special  sense  that  man  is  the  "term"  and  the 
"end"  of  evolution.  Life,  we  have  said,  transcends  finality  as  it 
transcends  the  other  categories.  It  is  essentially  a  current  sent 
through  matter,  drawing  from  it  what  it  can.  There  has  not,  there- 
fore, properly  speaking,  been  any  project  or  plan.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  is  abundantly  evident  that  the  rest  of  nature  is  not  for  the  sake  of 
man:  we  struggle  like  the  other  species,  we  have  struggled  against 
other  species.  Moreover,  if  the  evolution  of  life  had  encountered 
other  accidents  in  its  course,  if,  thereby,  the  current  of  life  had  been 
otherwise  divided,  we  should  have  been,  physically  and  morally,  far 
different  from  what  we  are.  For  these  various  reasons  it  would  be 
wrong  to  regard  humanity,  such  as  we  have  it  before  our  eyes,  as  pre- 
figured in  the  evolutionary  movement.  It  cannot  even  be  said  to 
be  the  outcome  of  the  whole  of  evolution,  for  evolution  hasbeen  accom- 
plished on  several  divergent  lines,  and  while  the  human  species  is  at 
the  end  of  one  of  them,  other  lines  have  been  followed  with  other 
species  at  their  end.  It  is  in  a  quite  different  sense  that  we  hold 
humanity  to  be  the  ground  of  evolution. 

From  our  point  of  view,  life  appears  in  its  entirety  as  an  immense 
wave  which,  starting  from  a  centre,  spreads  outwards,  and  which  on 
almost  the  whole  of  its  circumference  is  stopped  and  converted  into 
oscillation:  at  one  single  point  the  obstacle  has  been  forced,  the 
impulsion  has  passed  freely.  It  is  this  freedom  that  the  human  form 
registers.  Everywhere  but  in  man,  consciousness  has  had  to  come 
to  a  stand;  in  man  alone  it  has  kept  on  its  way.  Man,  then,  con- 
tinues the  vital  movement  indefinitely,  although  he  does  not  draw 
along  with  him  all  that  life  carries  in  itself.  On  other  lines  of  evolu- 
tion there  have  graveled  other  tendencies  which  life  implied,  and  of 


PROGRESS  993 

which,  since  everything  interpenetrates,  man  has,  doubtless,  kept 
something,  but  of  which  he  has  kept  only  very  little.  //  is  as  if  a 
vague  and  formless  being,  whom  we  may  call,  as  we  will,  man  or  super- 
man, had  sought  to  realize  himself,  and  had  succeeded  only  by  abandon- 
ing a  part  of  himself  on  the  way.  The  losses  are  represented  by  the 
rest  of  the  animal  world,  and  even  by  the  vegetable  world,  at  least 
in  what  these  have  that  is  positive  and  above  the  accidents  of 
evolution. 

From  this  point  of  view,  the  discordances  of  which  nature  offers 
us  the  spectacle  are  singularly  weakened.  The  organized  world  as  a 
whole  becomes  as  the  soil  on  which  was  to  grow  either  man  himself  or 
a  being  who  morally  must  resemble  him.  The  animals,  however  dis- 
tant they  may  be  from  our  species,  however  hostile  to  it,  have  none 
the  less  been  useful  traveling  companions,  on  whom  consciousness 
has  unloaded  whatever  encumbrances  it  was  dragging  along,  and 
who  have  enabled  it  to  rise,  in  man,  to  heights  from  which  it  sees  an 
unlimited  horizon  open  again  before  it. 

Consciousness  is  distinct  from  the  organism  it  animates,  although 
it  must  undergo  its  vicissitudes.  As  the  possible  actions  which  a 
state  of  consciousness  indicates  are  at  every  instant  beginning  to  be 
carried  out  in  the  nervous  centres,  the  brain  underlies  at  every  instant 
the  motor  indications  of  the  state  of  consciousness;  but  the  inter- 
dependency  of  consciousness  and  brain  is  limited  to  this;  the  destiny 
of  consciousness  is  not  bound  up  on  that  account  with  the  destiny 
of  cerebral  matter.  Finally,  consciousness  is  essentially  free;  it  is 
freedom  itself;  but  it  cannot  pass  through  matter  without  settling  on 
it,  without  adapting  itself  to  it:  this  adaptation  is  what  we  call 
intellectuality;  and  the  intellect,  turning  itself  back  towards  active, 
that  is  to  say,  free,  consciousness,  naturally  makes  it  enter  into  the 
conceptual  forms  into  which  it  is  accustomed  to  see  matter  fit.  It 
will  therefore  always  perceive  freedom  in  the  form  of  necessity;  it  will 
always  neglect  the  part  of  novelty  or  of  creation  inherent  in  the  free 
act;  it  will  always  substitute  for  action  itself  an  imitation  artificial, 
approximative,  obtained  by  compounding  the  old  with  the  old  and  the 
same  with  the  same.  Thus,  to  the  eyes  of  a  philosophy  that  attempts 
to  reabsorb  intellect  in  intuition,  many  difficulties  vanish  or  become 
light.  But  such  a  doctrine  does  not  only  facilitate  speculation;  it 
gives  us  also  more  power  to  act  and  to  live.  For,  with  it,  we  feel 


994  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

ourselves  no  longer  isolated  in  humanity,  humanity  no  longer  seems 
isolated  in  the  nature  that  it  dominates.  As  the  smallest  grain 
of  dust  is  bound  up  with  our  entire  solar  system,  drawn  along 
with  it  in  that  undivided  movement  of  descent  which  is  materiality 
itself,  so  all  organized  beings,  from  the  humblest  to  the  highest, 
from  the  first  origins  of  life  to  the  time  in  which  we  are,  and  in  all 
places  as  in  all  times,  do  but  evidence  a  single  impulsion,  the  inverse 
of  the  movement  of  matter,  and  in  itself  indivisible.  All  the  living 
hold  together,  and  all  yield  to  the  same  tremendous  push.  The 
animal  takes  its  stand  on  the  plant,  man  bestrides  animality,  and 
the  whole  of  humanity,  in  space  and  in  time,  is  one  immense  army 
galloping  beside  and  before  and  behind  each  of  us  in  an  overwhelming 
charge  able  to  beat  down  every  resistance  and  clear  the  most  formid- 
able obstacles,  perhaps  even  death. 

b.     The  "Dunkler  Drang"1 

Every  glance  at  the  world,  to  explain  which  is  the  task  of  the 
philosopher,  confirms  and  proves  that  will  to  live,  far  from  being  an 
arbitrary  hypostasis  or  an  empty  word,  is  the  only  true  expression  of 
its  inmost  nature.  Everything  presses  and  strives  towards  existence, 
if  possible  organized  existence,  i.e.,  life,  and  after  that  to  the  highest 
possible  grade  of  it.  In  animal  nature  it  then  becomes  apparent 
that  will  to  live  is  the  keynote  of  its  being,  its  one  unchangeable  and 
unconditioned  quality.  Let  anyone  consider  this  universal  desire 
for  life,  let  him  see  the  infinite  willingness,  facility,  and  exuberance 
with  which  the  will  to  live  presses  impetuously  into  existence  under  a 
million  forms  everywhere  and  at  every  moment,  by  means  of  fructifica- 
tion and  of  germs,  nay,  when  these  are  wanting,  by  means  of  generatio 
aequivoca,  seizing  every  opportunity,  eagerly  grasping  for  itself  every 
material  capable  of  life:  and  then  again  let  him  cast  a  glance  at  its 
fearful  alarm  and  wild  rebellion  when  in  any  particular  phenomenon 
it  must  pass  out  of  existence;  especially  when  this  takes  place  with 
distinct  consciousness.  Then  it  is  precisely  the  same  as  if  in  this  single 
phenomenon  the  whole  world  would  be  annihilated  forever,  and  the 
whole  being  of  this  threatened  living  thing  is  at  once  transformed 

lFrom  Arthur  Schopenhauer,  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  III,  107-18. 
(Paul,  Trench,  Triibner  &  Co.,  1909.) 


PROGRESS  995 

into  the  most  desperate  struggle  against  death  and  resistance  to  it. 
Look,  for  example,  at  the  incredible  anxiety  of  a  man  in  danger  of  his 
life,  the  rapid  and  serious  participation  in  this  of  every  witness  of  it, 
and  the  boundless  rejoicing  at  his  deliverance.  Look  at  the  rigid  terror 
with  which  a  sentence  of  death  is  heard,  the  profound  awe  with  which 
we  regard  the  preparations  for  carrying  it  out,  and  the  heartrending 
compassion  which  seizes  us  at  the  execution  itself.  We  would  then 
suppose  there  was  something  quite  different  in  question  than  a  few 
less  years  of  an  empty,  sad  existence,  embittered  by  troubles  of 
every  kind,  and  always  uncertain:  we  would  rather  be  amazed  that 
it  was  a  matter  of  any  consequence  whether  one  attained  a  few  years 
earlier  to  the  place  where  after  an  ephemeral  existence  he  has  billions 
of  years  to  be.  In  such  phenomena,  then,  it  becomes  visible  that  I 
am  right  in  declaring  that  the  will  to  live  is  that  which  cannot  be 
further  explained,  but  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  explanations, 
and  that  this,  far  from  being  an  empty  word,  like  the  absolute,  the 
infinite,  the  idea,  and  similar  expressions,  is  the  most  real  thing  we 
know,  nay,  the  kernel  of  reality  itself. 

But  if  now,  abstracting  for  a  while  from  this  interpretation 
drawn  from  our  inner  being,  we  place  ourselves  as  strangers  over 
against  nature,  in  order  to  comprehend  it  objectively,  we  find  that 
from  the  grade  of  organized  life  upwards  it  has  only  one  intention — 
that  of  the  maintenance  of  the  species.  To  this  end  it  works,  through 
the  immense  superfluity  of  germs,  through  the  urgent  vehemence  of 
the  sexual  instinct,  through  its  willingness  to  adapt  itself  to  all  cir- 
cumstances and  opportunities,  even  to  the  production  of  bastards, 
and  through  the  instinctive  maternal  affection,  the  strength  of  which 
is  so  great  that  in  many  kinds  of  animals  it  even  outweighs  self-love, 
so  that  the  mother  sacrifices  her  life  in  order  to  preserve  that  of  the 
young.  The  individual,  on  the  contrary,  has  for  nature  only  an 
indirect  value,  only  so  far  as  it  is  the  means  of  maintaining  the  species. 
Apart  from  this,  its  existence  is  to  nature  a  matter  of  indifference; 
indeed  nature  even  leads  it  to  destruction  as  soon  as  it  has  ceased  to 
be  useful  for  this  end.  Why  the  individual  exists  would  thus  be  clear; 
but  why  does  the  species  itself  exist?  That  is  a  question  which 
nature  when  considered  merely  objectively  cannot  answer.  For  in 
vain  do  we  seek  by  contemplating  her  for  an  end  of  this  restless  striv- 
ing, this  ceaseless  pressing  into  existence,  this  anxious  care  for  the 


996  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

maintenance  of  the  species.  The  strength  and  the  time  of  the  indi- 
viduals are  consumed  in  the  effort  to  procure  sustenance  for  them- 
selves and  their  young,  and  are  only  just  sufficient,  sometimes  even 
not  sufficient,  for  this.  The  whole  thing,  when  regarded  thus  purely 
objectively,  and  indeed  as  extraneous  to  us,  looks  as  if  nature  was  only 
concerned  that  of  all  her  (Platonic)  Ideas,  i.e.,  permanent  forms,  none 
should  be  lost.  For  the  individuals  are  fleeting  as  the  water  in  the 
brook;  and  Ideas,  on  the  contrary,  are  permanent,  like  its  eddies: 
but  the  exhaustion  of  the  water  would  also  do  away  with  the  eddies. 
We  would  have  to  stop  at  this  unintelligible  view  if  nature  were  known 
to  us  only  from  without,  thus  were  given  us  merely  objectively,  and 
we  accepted  it  as  it  is  comprehended  by  knowledge,  and  also  as 
sprung  from  knowledge,  i.e.,  in  the  sphere  of  the  idea,  and  were  there- 
fore obliged  to  confine  ourselves  to  this  province  in  solving  it.  But 
the  case  is  otherwise,  and  a  glance  at  any  rate  is  afforded  us  into  the 
interior  of  nature;  inasmuch  as  this  is  nothing  else  than  our  own  inner 
being,  which  is  precisely  where  nature,  arrived  at  the  highest  grade 
to  which  its  striving  could  work  itself  up,  is  now  by  the  light  of 
knowledge  found  directly  in  self-consciousness.  Thus  the  subjective 
here  gives  the  key  for  the  exposition  of  the  objective.  In  order  to 
recognize,  as  something  original  and  unconditioned,  that  exceedingly 
strong  tendency  of  all  animals  and  men  to  retain  life  and  carry  it  on 
as  long  as  possible — a  tendency  which  was  set  forth  above  as  char- 
acteristic of  the  subjective,  or  of  the  will — it  is  necessary  to  make  clear 
to  ourselves  that  this  is  by  no  means  the  result  of  any  objective 
knowledge  of  the  worth  of  life,  but  is  independent  of  all  knowledge; 
or,  in  other  words,  that  those  beings  exhibit  themselves,  not  as 
drawn  from  in  front,  but  as  impelled  from  behind. 

If  with  this  intention  we  first  of  all  review  the  interminable 
series  of  animals,  consider  the  infinite  variety  of  their  forms,  as  they 
exhibit  themselves  always  differently  modified  according  to  their 
element  and  manner  of  life,  and  also  ponder  the  inimitable  ingenuity 
of  their  structure  and  mechanism,  which  is  carried  out  with  equal 
perfection  in  every  individual;  and  finally,  if  we  take  into  considera- 
tion the  incredible  expenditure  of  strength,  dexterity,  prudence,  and 
activity  which  every  animal  has  ceaselessly  to  make  through  its  whole 
life;  if,  approaching  the  matter  more  closely,  we  contemplate  the 
untiring  diligence  of  wretched  little  ants,  the  marvellous  and  ingenious 


PROGRESS  997 

industry  of  the  bees,  or  observe  how  a  single  burying-beetle  (Necro- 
phorus  vespillo)  buries  a  mole  of  forty  times  its  own  size  in  two  days 
in  order  to  deposit  its  eggs  in  it  and  insure  nourishment  for  the  future 
brood  (Gleditsch,  Physik.  Bot.  Oekon.  Abhandl.,  Ill,  220),  at  the 
same  time  calling  to  mind  how  the  life  of  most  insects  is  nothing  but 
ceaseless  labour  to  prepare  food  and  an  abode  for  the  future  brood 
which  will  arise  from  their  eggs,  and  which  then,  after  they  have 
consumed  the  food  and  passed  through  the  chrysalis  state,  enter  upon 
life  merely  to  begin  again  from  the  beginning  the  same  labour;  then  also 
how,  like  this,  the  life  of  the  birds  is  for  the  most  part  taken  up  with 
their  distant  and  laborious  migrations,  then  with  the  building  of  their 
nests  and  the  collection  of  food  for  their  brood,  which  itself  has  to 
play  the  same  role  the  following  year;  and  so  all  work  constantly  for 
the  future,  which  afterwards  makes  bankrupt — then  we  cannot 
avoid  looking  round  for  the  reward  of  all  this  skill  and  trouble,  for  the 
end  which  these  animals  have  before  their  eyes,  which  strive  so 
ceaselessly — in  short,  we  are  driven  to  ask:  What  is  the  result? 
What  is  attained  by  the  animal  existence  which  demands  such  infinite 
preparation  ?  And  there  is  nothing  to  point  to  but  the  satisfaction 
of  hunger  and  the  sexual  instinct,  or  in  any  case  a  little  momentary 
comfort,  as  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  each  animal  individual,  now  and  then 
in  the  intervals  of  its  endless  need  and  struggle.  Take,  for  example, 
the  mole,  that  unwearied  worker.  To  dig  with  all  its  might  with  its 
enormous  shovel  claws  is  the  occupation  of  its  whole  life;  constant 
night  surrounds  it;  its  embryo  eyes  only  make  it  avoid  the  light. 
It  alone  is  truly  an  animal  nocturnum;  not  cats,  owls,  and  bats,  who 
see  by  night.  But  what,  now,  does  it  attain  by  this  life,  full  of 
trouble  and  devoid  of  pleasure  ?  Food  and  the  begetting  of  its  kind; 
thus  only  the  means  of  carrying  on  and  beginning  anew  the  same 
doleful  course  in  new  individuals.  In  such  examples  it  becomes  clear 
that  there  is  no  proportion  between  the  cares  and  troubles  of  life 
and  the  results  or  gain  of  it.  The  consciousness  of  the  world  of 
perception  gives  a  certain  appearance  of  objective  worth  of  existence 
to  the  life  of  those  animals  which  can  see,  although  in  their  case  this 
consciousness  is  entirely  subjective  and  limited  to  the  influence  of 
motives  upon  them.  But  the  blind  mole,  with  its  perfect  organiza- 
tion and  ceaseless  activity,  limited  to  the  alternation  of  insect  larvae 
and  hunger,  makes  the  disproportion  of  the  means  to  the  end  apparent. 


99§          INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

Let  us  now  add  the  consideration  of  the  human  race.  The 
matter  indeed  becomes  more  complicated,  and  assumes  a  certain 
seriousness  of  aspect;  but  the  fundamental  character  remains  un- 
altered. Here  also  life  presents  itself  by  no  means  as  a  gift  for 
enjoyment,  but  as  a  task,  a  drudgery  to  be  performed;  and  hi  accord- 
ance with  this  we  see,  in  great  and  small,  universal  need,  ceaseless 
cares,  constant  pressure,  endless  strife,  compulsory  activity,  with 
extreme  exertion  of  all  the  powers  of  body  and  mind.  Many  millions, 
united  into  nations,  strive  for  the  common  good,  each  individual  on 
account  of  his  own;  but  many  thousands  fall  as  a  sacrifice  for  it. 
Now  senseless  delusions,  now  intriguing  politics,  incite  them  to  wars 
with  each  other;  then  the  sweat  and  the  blood  of  the  great  multitude 
must  flow,  to  carry  out  the  ideas  of  individuals,  or  to  expiate 
their  faults.  In  peace  industry  and  trade  are  active,  inventions 
work  miracles,  seas  are  navigated,  delicacies  are  collected  from  all 
ends  of  the  world,  the  waves  engulf  thousands.  All  strive,  some 
planning,  others  acting;  the  tumult  is  indescribable.  But  the  ulti- 
mate aim  of  it  all,  what  is  it  ?  To  sustain  ephemeral  and  tormented 
individuals  through  a  short  span  of  time  in  the  most  fortunate  ease 
with  endurable  want  and  comparative  freedom  from  pain,  which, 
however,  is  at  once  attended  with  ennui;  then  the  reproduction  of  this 
race  and  its  striving.  In  this  evident  disproportion  between  the 
trouble  and  the  reward,  the  will  to  live  appears  to  us  from  this  point 
of  view,  if  taken  objectively,  as  a  fool,  or  subjectively,  as  a  delusion, 
seized  by  which  everything  living  works  with  the  utmost  exertion  of 
its  strength  for  something  that  is  of  no  value.  But  when  we  consider 
it  more  closely,  we  shall  find  here  also  that  it  is  rather  a  blind  pressure, 
a  tendency  entirely  without  ground  or  motive. 

The  law  of  motivation  only  extends  to  the  particular  actions,  not 
to  willing  as  a  whole  and  in  general.  It  depends  upon  this,  that  if  we 
conceive  of  the  human  race  and  its  action  as  a  whole  and  universally, 
it  does  not  present  itself  to  us,  as  when  we  contemplate  the  particular 
actions,  as  a  play  of  puppets  who  are  pulled  after  the  ordinary  manner 
by  threads  outside  them;  but  from  this  point  of  view,  as  puppets  that 
are  set  hi  motion  by  internal  clockwork.  For  if,  as  we  have  done 
above,  one  compares  the  ceaseless,  serious,  and  laborious  striving 
of  men  with  what  they  gain  by  it,  nay,  even  with  what  they  ever 
can  gain,  the  disproportion  we  have  pointed  out  becomes  apparent, 


PROGRESS  999 

for  one  recognizes  that  that  which  is  to  be  gained,  taken  as  the  motive 
power,  is  entirely  insufficient  for  the  explanation  of  that  movement  and 
that  ceaseless  striving.  What,  then,  is  a  short  postponement  of 
death,  a  slight  easing  of  misery  or  deferment  of  pain,  a  momentary 
stilling  of  desire,  compared  with  such  an  abundant  and  certain 
victory  over  them  all  as  death  ?  What  could  such  advantages  ac- 
complish taken  as  actual  moving  causes  of  a  human  race,  innumer- 
able because  constantly  renewed,  which  unceasingly  moves,  strives, 
struggles,  grieves,  writhes,  and  performs  the  whole  tragi-comedy  of 
the  history  of  the  world,  nay,  what  says  more  than  all,  perseveres  hi 
such  a  mock-existence  as  long  as  each  one  possibly  can?  Clearly 
this  is  all  inexplicable  if  we  seek  the  moving  causes  outside  the  figures 
and  conceive  the  human  race  as  striving,  in  consequence  of  rational 
reflection,  or  something  analogous  to  this  (as  moving  threads), 
after  those  good  things  held  out  to  it,  the  attainment  of  which  would 
be  a  sufficient  reward  for  its  ceaseless  cares  and  troubles.  The 
matter  being  taken  thus,  everyone  would  rather  have  long  ago  said, 
"Le  jeu  ne  vaut  pas  la  chandelle,"  and  have  gone  out.  But,  on  the 
contrary,  everyone  guards  and  defends  his  life,  like  a  precious  pledge 
entrusted  to  him  under  heavy  responsibility,  under  infinite  cares  and 
abundant  misery,  even  under  which  life  is  tolerable.  The  wherefore 
and  the  why,  the  reward  for  this,  certainly  he  does  not  see;  but  he 
has  accepted  the  worth  of  that  pledge  without  seeing  it,  upon  trust 
and  faith,  and  does  not  know  what  it  consists  in.  Hence  I  have 
said  that  these  puppets  are  not  pulled  from  without,  but  each  bears 
in  itself  the  clockwork  from  which  its  movements  result.  This  is 
the  will  to  live,  manifesting  itself  as  an  untiring  machine,  an  irrational 
tendency,  which  has  not  its  sufficient  reason  in  the  external  world.  It 
holds  the  individuals  firmly  upon  the  scene,  and  is  the  primum 
mobile  of  their  movements;  while  the  external  objects,  the  motives, 
only  determine  their  direction  in  the  particular  case;  otherwise  the 
cause  would  not  be  at  all  suitable  to  the  effect.  For,  as  every  manifes- 
tation of  a  force  of  nature  has  a  cause,  but  the  force  of  nature  itself 
none,  so  every  particular  act  of  will  has  a  motive,  but  the  will  in 
general  has  none:  indeed  at  bottom  these  two  are  one  and  the  same. 
The  will,  as  that  which  is  metaphysical,  is  everywhere  the  boundary- 
stone  of  every  investigation,  beyond  which  it  cannot  go.  We  often 
see  a  miserable  figure,  deformed  and  shrunk  with  age,  want,  and 


iooo         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

disease,  implore  our  help  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  for  the  prolonga- 
tion of  an  existence,  the  end  of  which  would  necessarily  appear  alto- 
gether desirable  if  it  were  an  objective  judgment  that  determined 
here.  Thus  instead  of  this  it  is  the  blind  will,  appearing  as  the 
tendency  to  life,  the  love  of  life,  and  the  sense  of  life;  it  is  the  same 
which  makes  the  plants  grow.  This  sense  of  life  may  be  compared  to 
a  rope  which  is  stretched  above  the  puppet  show  of  the  world  of  men, 
and  on  which  the  puppets  hang  by  invisible  threads,  while  apparently 
they  are  supported  only  by  the  ground  beneath  them  (the  objective 
value  of  life).  But  if  the  rope  becomes  weak  the  puppet  sinks;  if  it 
breaks  the  puppet  must  fall,  for  the  ground  beneath  it  only  seemed 
to  support  it:  i.e.,  the  weakening  of  that  love  of  life  shows  itself 
as  hypochondria,  spleen,  melancholy:  its  entire  exhaustion  as  the 
inclination  to  suicide.  And  as  with  the  persistence  in  life,  so  is  it  also 
with  its  action  and  movement.  This  is  not  something  freely  chosen; 
but  while  everyone  would  really  gladly  rest,  want  and  ennui  are  the 
whips  that  keep  the  top  spinning.  Therefore  everything  is  in  con- 
tinual strain  and  forced  movement,  and  the  course  of  the  world  goes 
on,  to  use  an  expression  of  Aristotle's  (De  coelo  ii.  13),  "ov  <f>vaei, 
dXXd  piq. "  (motu,  non  naturali  sed  violento).  Men  are  only  apparently 
drawn  from  in  front;  really  they  are  pushed  from  behind;  it  is  not 
life  that  tempts  them  on,  but  necessity  that  drives  them  forward. 
The  law  of  motivation  is,  like  all  causality,  merely  the  form  of  the 
phenomenon. 

In  all  these  considerations,  then,  it  becomes  clear  to  us  that  the 
will  to  live  is  not  a  consequence  of  the  knowledge  of  life,  is  in  no 
way  a  conclusio  ex  praemissis,  and  in  general  is  nothing  secondary. 
Rather,  it  is  that  which  is  first  and  unconditioned,  the  premiss  of  all 
premisses,  and  just  on  that  account  that  from  which  philosophy  must 
start,  for  the  will  to  live  does  not  appear  in  consequence  of  the  world, 
but  the  world  in  consequence  of  the  will  to  live. 

in.    INVESTIGATIONS  AND  PROBLEMS 
i.    Progress  and  Social  Research 

The  problem  of  progress  comes  back  finally  to  the  problem  of 
the  ultimate  good.  If  the  world  is  getting  better,  measured  by  this 
ultimate  standard,  then  there  is  progress.  If  it  is  growing  worse, 


PROGRESS  I  oo  I 

then  there  is  retrogression.  But  in  regard  to  the  ultimate  good 
there  is  no  agreement.  What  is  temporary  gain  may  be  ulti- 
mate loss.  What  is  one  man's  evil  may  be,  and  often  seems  to  be, 
another  man's  good.  In  the  final  analysis  what  seems  evil  may  turn 
out  to  be  good  and  what  seems  good  may  be  an  eventual  evil.  But 
this  is  a  problem  in  philosophy  which  sociology  is  not  bound  to  solve 
before  it  undertakes  to  describe  society.  It  does  not  even  need  to 
discuss  it.  Sociology,  just  as  any  other  natural  science,  accepts 
the  current  values  of  the  community.  The  physician,  like  the 
social  worker,  assumes  that  health  is  a  social  value.  With  this  as  a 
datum  his  studies  are  directed  to  the  discovery  of  the  nature  and 
causes  of  diseases,  and  to  the  invention  of  devices  for  curing  them. 
There  is  just  as  much,  and  no  more,  reason  for  a  sociologist  to 
formulate  a  doctrine  of  social  progress  as  there  is  for  the  physician 
to  do  so.  Both  are  concerned  with  specific  problems  for  which  they 
are  seeking  specific  remedies. 

If  there  are  social  processes  and  predictable  forms  of  change  in 
society,  then  there  are  methods  of  human  intervention  in  the  processes 
of  society,  methods  of  controlling  these  processes  in  the  interest  of 
the  ends  of  human  life,  methods  of  progress  in  other  words.  If  there 
are  no  intelligible  or  describable  social  processes,  then  there  may  be 
progress,  but  there  will  be  no  sociology  and  no  methods  of  progress. 
We  can  only  hope  and  pray. 

It  is  not  impossible  to  formulate  a  definition  of  progress  which 
does  not  assume  the  perfectibility  of  mankind,  which  does  not  regard 
progress  as  a  necessity,  and  which  does  not  assume  to  say  with 
finality  what  has  happened  or  is  likely  to  happen  to  humanity  as  a 
whole.1 

Progress  may  be  considered  as  the  addition  to  the  sum  of  accumu- 
lated experience,  tradition,  and  technical  devices  organized  for  social 

1  Scientific  optimism  was  no  doubt  rampant  before  Darwin.  For  example, 
Herschel  says:  "Man's  progress  towards  a  higher  state  need  never  fear  a  check, 
but  must  continue  till  the  very  last  existence  of  history."  But  Herbert  Spencer 
asserts  the  perfectibility  of  man  with  an  assurance  which  makes  us  gasp.  "Pro- 
gress is  not  an  accident,  but  a  necessity.  What  we  call  evil  and  immorality  must 
disappear.  It  is  certain  that  man  must  become  perfect."  "The  ultimate  develop- 
ment of  the  ideal  man  is  certain — as  certain  as  any  conclusion  in  which  we  place 
the  most  implicit  faith;  for  instance,  that  all  men  will  die."  "Always  towards 
perfection  is  the  mighty  movement — towards  a  complete  development  and  a  more 
unmixed  good." — W.  R.  Inge,  The  Idea  of  Progress,  p.  9.  (Oxford,  1920.) 


1002        INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

efficiency.  This  is  at  once  a  definition  of  progress  and  of  civiliza- 
tion, in  which  civilization  is  the  sum  of  social  efficiencies  and  progress 
consists  of  the  units  (additions)  of  which  it  is  composed.  Defined 
in  these  terms,  progress  turns  out  to  be  a  relative,  local,  temporal, 
and  secular  phenomenon.  It  is  possible,  theoretically  at  least,  to 
compare  one  community  with  another  with  respect  to  their  relative 
efficiency  and  their  relative  progress  in  efficiency,  just  as  we  can 
compare  one  institution  with  another  in  respect  to  its  efficiency  and 
progress.  It  is  even  possible  to  measure  the  progress  of  humanity 
in  so  far  as  humanity  can  be  said  to  be  organized  for  social  action. 
This  is  in  fact  the  point  of  view  which  sociologists  have  adopted 
as  soon  as  progress  ceased  to  be,  for  sociology,  a  matter  of  definition 
and  became  a  matter  of  observation  and  research.  Score  cards  for 
neighborhoods  and  for  rural  communities  have  already  been  devised.1 

2.    Indices  of  Progress 

A  few  years  ago,  Walter  F.  Willcox,  in  an  article  "A  Statistician's 
Idea  of  Progress, "  sought  to  define  certain  indices  of  social  progress 
which  would  make  it  possible  to  measure  progress  statistically.  "  If 
progress  be  merely  a  subjective  term, "  he  admitted,  "  statistics  can 
throw  no  light  upon  it  because  all  such  ends  as  happiness,  or  self- 
realization,  or  social  service  are  incapable  of  statistical  measurement." 
Statistics  works  with  indices,  characteristics  which  are  accessible 
to  measurement  but  are  "correlated  with  some  deeper  immeasurable 
characteristic."  Mr.  Willcox  took  as  his  indices  of  progress: 

1.  Increase  in  population. 

2.  Length  of  life. 

3.  Uniformity  in  population. 

4.  Racial  homogeneity. 

5.  Literacy. 

6.  Decrease  of  the  divorce  rate. 

Certainly  these  indices,  like  uniformity,  are  mere  temporary 
measures  of  progress,  since  diversity  in  the  population  is  not  per  se 
an  evil.  It  becomes  so  only  when  the  diversities  in  the  community 

1  "Scale  for  Grading  Neighborhood  Conditions,"  Publications  of  the  Whittier 
Stale  School,  Research  Bulletin,  No.  5,  Whittier,  Cal.,  May,  1917.  "Guide  to  the 
Grading  of  Neighborhoods,"  Publications  of  the  Whittier  State  School,  Research 
Bulletin,  No.  8,  Whittier,  Cal.,  April,  1918.  Nat  T.  Frame,  "The  Country  Com- 
munity Score  Card,"  West  Virginia  University  Agricultural  Extension  Circular  240, 
Morgantown,  W.Va.,  1919. 


PROGRESS  1003 

are  so  great  as  to  endanger  its  solidarity.     Applying  his  indices  to 
the  United  States,  Mr.  Willcox  sums  up  the  result  as  follows: 

The  net  result  is  to  indicate  for  the  United  States  a  rapid  increase  of 
population  and  probable  increase  in  length  of  life,  and  increase  hi  racial 
uniformity  and  perhaps  in  uniformity  of  other  sorts  connected  with  immigra- 
tion, and  at  the  same  time  a  decrease  in  uniformity  in  the  stability  and 
social  serviceability  of  family  life.  Some  of  these  indications  look  towards 
progress,  others  look  towards  retrogression.  As  they  cannot  be  reduced 
to  any  common  denominator,  the  statistical  method  is  unable  to  answer 
the  question  with  which  we  started.1 

The  securing  of  indices  which  will  measure  satisfactorily  even 
such  social  values  as  are  generally  accepted  is  difficult.  The  problem 
of  giving  each  index  in  the  series  a  value  or  weight  in  proportion  to 
the  value  of  all  the  others  is  still  more  difficult.  This  statement, 
at  any  rate,  illustrates  the  procedure  and  the  method. 

The  whole  subject  of  numerical  indices  for  the  measurement  of 
civilization  and  progress  has  recently  been  discussed  in  a  little  volume 
by  Alfredo  Niceforo,2  professor  in  the  School  of  Criminal  Law  at 
Rome.  He  proposes  as  indices  of  progress: 

1.  The  increase  in  wealth  and  in  the  consumption  of  goods,  and 
the  diminution  of  the  mortality  rate.    These  are  evidences  of  mate- 
rial progress. 

2.  The  diffusion  of  culture,  and  "when  it  becomes  possible  to 
measure  it, "  the  productivity  of  men  of  genius.    This  is  the  measure 
of  intellectual  superiority. 

3.  Moral  progress  he  would  measure  in  terms  of  crime. 

4.  There  remains  the  social  and  political  organization,  which  he 
would  measure  in  terms  of  the  increase  and  decrease  of  individual 
liberty. 

In  all  these  attempts  to  measure  the  progress  of  the  community 
the  indices  have  invariably  shown  progression  in  some  direction, 
retrogression  in  others. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  social  research  the  problem  of  progress 
is  mainly  one  of  getting  devices  that  will  measure  all  the  different 
factors  of  progress  and  of  estimating  the  relative  value  of  different 
factors  in  the  progress  of  the  community. 

1  "A  Statistician's  Idea  of  Progress,"  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  XVIII 
(1913),  296. 

3  Les  indices  numeriques  de  la  civilisation  et  du  progres.     (Paris,  1921.) 


1004         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 
SELECTED  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.      THE   DEFINITION   OF   PROGRESS 

(1)  Dewey,  John.     "Progress,"  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  XXVI 
(1916),  311-22. 

(2)  Bury,  J.  B.     The  Idea  of  Progress.    An  inquiry  into  its  origin  and 
growth.    London,  1921. 

(3)  Bryce,  James.     "What  is  Progress?"    Atlantic  Monthly,  C  (1007), 
145-56. 

(4)  Todd,  A.  J.     Theories  of  Social  Progress.     A  critical  attempt  to  formu- 
late the  conditions  of  human  advance.    New  York,  1918. 

(5)  Woods,   E.   B.     "Progress   as   a   Sociological   Concept,"   American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XII  (1906-7),  779-821. 

(6)  Cooley,  Charles  H.     The  Social  Process.     Chap,  xxvii,  "The  Sphere 
of  Pecuniary  Valuation,"  pp.  309-28.     New  York,  1918. 

(7)  Mackenzie,  J.  S.     "The  Idea  of  Progress,"  International  Journal  of 
Ethics,  IX  (1899),  195-213. 

(8)  Bergson,  H.     Creative  Evolution.     New  York,  1911. 

(9)  Frobenius,  L.     Die  Weltanschauung  der  Naturvolker.     Weimar,  1899. 
(10)  Inge,  W.  R.     The  Idea  of  Progress.    The  Romanes  Lecture,    1920. 

Oxford,  1920. 

(i  i)  Balfour,  Arthur  J.  Arthur  James  Balfour,  as  Philosopher  and  Thinker. 
A  collection  of  the  more  important  and  interesting  passages  in  his 
non-political  writings,  speeches,  and  addresses,  1879-1912.  Selected 
and  arranged  by  Wilfrid  M.  Short.  "Progress,"  pp.  413-35.  London 
and  New  York,  1912. 

(12)  Carpenter,  Edward.     Civilization,  Its  Cause  and  Cure.     And  other 
essays.     New  and  enlarged  ed.     London  and  New  York,  1917. 

(13)  Nordau,   Max  S.     The  Interpretation  of  History.     Translated  from 
the  German  by  M.  A.  Hamilton.     Chap  viii,   "The  Question  of 
Progress."    New  York,  1911. 

(14)  Sorel,  Georges.     Les  Illusions  du  progres.     2d  ed.     Paris,  1911. 

(15)  Allier,  R.     "Pessimisme  et  civilisation,"   Revue  Encyclopedique,   V 
(1895),  70-73. 

(16)  Simmel,   Georg.     "Moral   Deficiencies  as   Determining  Intellectual 
Functions,"  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  III  (1893),  490-507. 

(17)  Delvaille,  Jules.    Essai  sur  histoire  de  Vidie  de  progres  jusq'd  la  fin  du 
iSieme  siecle.     Paris,  1910. 

(18)  Sergi,  G.     "Qualche  idea  sul  progresso  umano,"  Rivista  italiana  di 
sociologia,  XVII  (1893),  1-8. 

(19)  Barth,  Paul.     "Die  Frage  des  sittlichen  Fortschritts  der  Menschheit, " 
Vierteljahrsschrift  filr   wissenschaftliche   Philosophic,   XXIII   (1899), 
75-116. 


PROGRESS  1005 

(20)  Lankester,  E.  Ray.     Degeneration.    A  chapter  in  Darwinism,  and 
parthenogenesis.     Humboldt  Library  of  Science.     New  York,  18 — . 

(21)  Lloyd,  A.  H.     "The  Case  of  Purpose  against   Fate  in  History," 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  XVII   (1911-12),  491-511. 

(22)  Case,  Clarence  M.     "Religion  and  the  Concept  of  Progress,"  Journal 
of  Religion,  I  (1921),  160-73. 

(23)  Reclus,  E.     "The  Progress  of  Mankind,"  Contemporary  Review,  LXX 
(1896),  761-83. 

(24)  Bushee,    F.   A.     "Science   and   Social   Progress,"    Popular   Science 
Monthly,  LXXIX  (1911),  236-51. 

(25)  Jankelevitch,  S.     "Du  Role  des  idees  dans  1'evolution  des  societes, " 
Revue  philosophique,  LXVI  (1908),  256-80. 

II.      HISTORY,   THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   HISTORY   AND   PROGRESS 

(1)  Condorcet,  Marquis  de.     History  of  the  Progress  of  the  Human  Mind. 
London,  1795. 

(2)  Comte,  Auguste.     The  Positive  Philosophy  of  Auguste  Comte.     (Trans- 
lated from  the  French  by  Harriet  Martineau)  Book  VI,  chap,  ii,  vi. 
2d  ed.    2  vols.     London,  1875-90. 

(3)  Caird,  Edward.    The  Social  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Comte.    2d  ed. 
Glasgow  and  New  York,  1893. 

(4)  Buckle,  Henry  Thomas.     History  of  Civilization  in  England.     2  vols. 
From  2d  London  ed.     New  York,  1903. 

(5)  Condorcet,   Marie  J.   A.    C.     Esquisse  d'un    tableau    historique  des 
progres  de  I'esprit  humain.     2  vols  in  one.     Paris,  1902. 

(6)  Harris,  George.     Civilization  Considered  as  a  Science.     In  relation  to 
its  essence,  its  elements,  and  its  end.     London,  1861. 

(7)  Lamprecht,  Karl.     Alte  und  neue  Richtungen  in  der  Geschichtswissen- 
schafl.     Berlin,  1896. 

(8)  —    — .     "  Individual! tat,   Idee  und  sozialpsychische   Kraft  in   der 
Geschichte, "     Jahrbiicher  fiir  National-Okonomie  und  Statistik,  XIII 
(1897),  880-900. 

(9)  Barth,  Paul.     Philosophic  der  Geschichte  als  Sociologie.     Erster  Teil, 
"Einleitung  und  kritische  Ubersicht."     Leipzig,  1897. 

(10)  Rickert,  Heinrich.     Die  Grenzer  der  Naturwissenschaftlichen  Begri/s- 

bildung.     Leipzig,  1902. 
(n)  Simmel,     Georg.     Die     Probleme     der     Geschichtsphilosophie.     Eine 

erkenntnistheoretische  Studie.     2d  ed.    Leipzig,  1905. 

(12)  Mill,  John  Stuart.     A  System  of  Logic,  Ratiocinative  and  Inductive. 
Being  a  connected  view  of  the  principles  of  evidence  and  the  methods 
of  scientific  investigation.     8th  ed.     New  York  and  London,  1900. 

(13)  Letelier,  Valentin.    La  Evolution  de  la  historia.     2d  ed.     2  vols.     San- 
tiago de  Chile,  1900. 


1006        INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(14)  Teggart,  Frederick  J.     The  Processes  of  History.     New  Haven,  1918. 

(15)  Znaniecki,  Florian.     Cultural  Reality.     Chicago,  1919. 

(16)  Hibben,  J.  G.     "The  Philosophical  Aspects  of  Evolution,"  Philoso- 
phical Review,  XIX  (1910),  113-36. 

(17)  Bagehot,  Walter.     Physics  and  Politics.    Or  thoughts  on  the  applica- 
tion of  the  principles  of  "natural  selection"  and  "inheritance"  to 
political   society.     Chap,   vi,   "Verifiable  Progress   Politically   Con- 
sidered," pp.  205-24.    New  York,  1906. 

(18)  Crawley,  A.  E.     "The  Unconscious  Reason  in  Social  Evolution," 
Sociological  Review,  VI  (1913),  236-41. 

(19)  Froude,  James  A.     "Essay  on   Progress,"  Short   Studies  en  Great 
Subjects,     ad  Ser.  II,  245-79,  4  vols.     New  York,  1888-91. 

(20)  Morley,  John.     "Some  Thoughts  on  Progress,"  Educational  Review, 
XXIX  (1905),  1-17. 

III.      EVOLUTION  AND   PROGRESS 

(1)  Spencer,   Herbert.  .  "Progress,   Its   Law   and   Cause,"   Westminster 
Review,  LXVII  (1857),  445-85.     [Reprinted  in  Everyman's  edition  of 
his  Essays,  pp.  153-97.    New  York,  1866.] 

(2)  Federici,  Romolo.     Les  Lois  du  Pr ogres.     11,32-35,44,127,136,146- 
47,  158  ff.,  223,  etc.     2  vols.     Paris,  1888-91. 

(3)  Baldwin,    James    Mark.    Development    and    Evolution.     Including 
psychophysical  evolution,  evolution  by  orthoplasy,  and  the  theory  of 
genetic  modes.    New  York,  1902. 

(4)  Adams,  Brooks.     The  Law  of  Civilization  and  Decay.    An  essay  on 
history.    New  York  and  London,  1903. 

(5)  Kidd,  Benjamin.     Principles  of  Western  Civilization.    London,  1902. 

(6)  .    Social  Evolution.     New  ed.     New  York  and  London,  1896. 

(7)  Muller-Lyer,  F.     Phasen  der  Kultur  und  Richtungslinien  des  Fort- 
schritts.     Soziologische  Uberblicke.     Miinchen,  1908. 

(8)  McGee,  W  J.     "The Trend  of  Human  Progress,"  American  Anthro- 
pologist, N.  S.,  I  (1899),  401-47. 

(9)  Carver,  Thomas  N.     Sociology  and  Social  Progress.     A  handbook  for 
students  of  sociology.     Boston,  1005. 

(10)  Weber,  L.    Le  Rythme  du  progres.     Etude  sociologique.     Paris,  1913. 
(u)  Baldwin,   J.   Mark.     Social   and  Ethical   Interpretations  in   Mental 

Development.     Chap.  xiv.  "Social  Progress,"  pp.  537-50.    New  York, 

1906. 

(12)  Kropotkin,  P.    Mutual  Aid.    A  factor  of  evolution.    London,  1902. 

(13)  Wallace,  Alfred  R.    Social  Environment  and  Moral  Progress.    London 
and  New  York,  1913. 


PROGRESS  1007 

(14)  Freeman,    R.    Austin.    Social    Decay   and   Regeneration.    With   an 
introduction  by  Havelock  Ellis.    Boston,  1921. 

IV.      EUGENICS  AND   PROGRESS 

(1)  Galton,   Francis,   and   others.     "Eugenics,   Its   Scope  and   Aims," 
American  Journal  of  Sociology,  X  (1904-5),  1-25. 

(2)  Saleeby,  Caleb  W.     The  Progress  of  Eugenics. '  London.  1914. 

(3)  Ellis,  Havelock.     The  Problem  of  Race  Regeneration.     New  York,  1911. 

(4)  Pearson,  Karl.    National  Life  from  the  Standpoint  of  Science.     2d  ed. 
London,  1905. 

(5)  Saleeby,  Caleb  W.    Methods  of  Race  Regeneration.    New  York,  1911. 

(6)  Davenport,  C.  B.     Heredity  in  Relation  to  Eugenics.     New  York,  1911. 

(7)  Demoor,  Massart,  et  Vandervelde.     L'Evolution  regressive  en  biologic 
et  en  sociologie.     Paris,  1897.. 

(8)  Thomson,  J.  Arthur.     "Eugenics  and  War,"  Eugenics  Review,  VII 
(1915-16),  1-14. 

(9)  Southard,  E.  E.     "Eugenics  vs.  Cacogenics,"  Journal  of  Heredity, 
V  (1914),  408-14. 

(10)  Conn,    Herbert    W.    Social    Heredity    and    Social    Evolution.    The 

other  side  of  eugenics.     Cincinnati,  1914. 
(n)  Popenoe,  Paul,  and  Johnson,  R.  H.    Applied  Eugenics.    New  York, 

1918. 

(12)  Kelsey,  Carl.     "Influence  of  Heredity  and  Environment  upon  Race 
Improvement,"  Annals  of  the  American  Academy,  XXXIV  (1909)  3-8. 

(13)  Ward,  L.  F.     "Eugenics,  Euthenics  and  Eudemics,"  American  Journal 
of  Sociology,  XVIII  (1912-13),  737-54. 

V.      PROGRESS   AND   THE   MORAL   ORDER 

(1)  Harrison,  Frederic.     Order  and  Progress.     London,  1875. 

(2)  Hobhouse,    Leonard   T.      Social   Evolution    and    Political     Theory. 
Chaps,  i,  ii,  vii,  pp.  1-39;  149-65.     New  York,  1911. 

(3)  .  Morals  in  Evolution.     A  study  in  comparative  ethics.     2  vols. 

New  York,  1906. 

(4)  Alexander,    Samuel.     Moral   Order   and   Progress.     An   analysis   of 
ethical  conceptions.     2d  ed.     London,  1891. 

(5)  Chapin,  F.  S.     "  Moral  Progress,"  Popular  Science  Monthly,  LXXXVI 
(1915),  467-71- 

(6)  Keller,  Albert  G.     Societal  Evolution.     New  York,  1915. 

(7)  Dellepiane,  A.     "LeProgreset  sa  formule.     La  lutte  pour  le  progrds," 
Revue  Internationale  de  sociologie,  XX  (1912),  1-30. 

(8)  Burgess,  Ernest  W.     The  Function  of  Socialization  in  Social  Evolution. 
Chicago,  1916. 


ioo8        INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(9)  Ellwood,  C.  A.  "The  Educational  Theory  of  Social  Progress," 
Scientific  Monthly,  V  (1917),  439-50. 

(10)  Bosanquet,  Helen.  "The  Psychology  of  Social  Progress,"  Inter- 
national Journal  of  Ethics,  VII  (1896-97),  265-81. 

(n)  Perry,  Ralph  Barton.  The  Moral  Economy.  Chap,  iv,  "The  Moral 
Test  of  Progress,"  pp.  123-70.  New  York,  1909. 

(12)  Patten,  S.  N.     "Theories  of  Progress,"  American  Economic  Review, 
II  (1912),  61-68. 

(13)  Alexander,  H.  B.     "The  Belief  in  God  and  Immortality  as  Factors  in 
Race  Progress."    Hibbert  Journal,  IX  (1910-11),  169-87. 

VI.      UTOPIAS 

(1)  Plato.     The  Republic  of  Plato.    Translated  into  English  by  Benjamin 
Jowett.     2  vols.     Oxford,  1908. 

(2)  More,  Thomas.     The  "Utopia"  of  Sir  Thomas  More.     Ralph  Robin- 
son's translation,  with  Roper's  "Life  of  More"  and  some  of  his  letters. 
London,  1910. 

(3)  Ideal  Commonwealths.     Comprising  More's  "Utopia,"  Bacon's  "New 
Atlantis,"    Campanula's    "City    of    the    Sun,"    and    Harrington's 
"Oceana,"  with  introductions  by  Henry  Morley.    Rev.  ed.    New 
York,  1901. 

(4)  Kaufmann,   Moritz.     Utopias,    or   Schemes   of  Social   Improvement. 
From  Sir  Thomas  More  to  Karl  Marx.    London,  1879. 

(5)  Bacon,  Francis.    New  Atlantis.    Oxford,  1915. 

(6)  Campanella,  Tommaso.     La  cittd  di  sole  e  aforasmi  politici.    Lanciana, 
Carabba,  19 — . 

(7)  Andrea,  Johann  V.     Christianopolis.    An  ideal  state  of  the  seventeenth 
century.    Translated  from  the  Latin  by  T.  E.  Held.     New  York, 
1916. 

(8)  Harrington,  James.     The  Oceana  of  James  Harrington.    London,  1700. 

(9)  Mandeville,  Bernard  de.    Fable  of  the  Bees.    Or  private  vices,  public 
benefits.    Edinburgh,  1772.     [First  published  in  1714.] 

(10)  Cabet,  Etienne.     Voyage  en  Icarie.     sth  ed.     Paris,  1848. 
(n)  Butler,   Samuel.    Erewhon:    or  over  the  Range.    New  York,   1917. 
[First  published  in  1872.] 

(12)  .  Erewhon  Revisited  Twenty  Years  Later.    New  York,  1001. 

(13)  Lytton,  Edward  Bulwer.     The  Coming  Race.     London,  1871. 

(14)  Bellamy,  Edward.    Looking  Backward,  2000-1887.     Boston,  1898. 

(15)  Morris,  William.    News  from  Nowhere.     Or  an  epoch  of  rest,  being 
some  chapters  from  a  Utopian  romance.    New  York,  1910.     [First  pub- 
lished in  1891.] 


PROGRESS  1009 

(16)  Hertzka,   Theodor.    Freeland.    A  social   anticipation.    New   York, 
1891. 

(17)  Wells,  H.  G.    A  Modern  Utopia.    New  York,  1905. 

(18)  .  New  Worlds  for  Old.    New  York,  1908. 

VH.      PROGRESS  AND   SOCIAL   WELFARE 

(1)  Crozier,  John  B.     Civilization  and  Progress.    3d  ed.,  pp.  366-440. 
London  and  New  York,  1892. 

(2)  Obolensky,  L.  E.     ["Self-Consciousness  of  Classes  in  Social  Progress"] 
Voprosy  filosofi i  i  psichologuii,  VII  (1896),  521-51.     [Short  review  in 
Revue  philosophique,  XLIV  (1897),  106.] 

(3)  Mallock,  William  H.    Aristocracy  and  Evolution.    A  study  of  the 
rights,  the  origin,  and  the  social  functions  of  the  wealthier  classes. 
London,  1898. 

(4)  Tenney,  E.  P.     Contrasts  in  Social  Progress.     New  York,  1907. 

(5)  Hall,  Arthur  C.     Crime  in  Its  Relations  to  Social  Progress.     New  York, 
1902. 

(6)  Hughes,  Charles  E.     Conditions  of  Progress  in  a  Democratic  Govern- 
ment.   New  Haven,  1910. 

(7)  Parmelee,    Maurice.     Poverty   and   Social   Progress.     Chaps,    vi-vii. 
New  York,  1916. 

(8)  George,  Henry.    Progress  and  Poverty.    Bock  X,   chap.  iii.    New 
York,  1899. 

(9)  Nasmyth,  George.    Social  Progress  and  the  Darwinian  Theory.    New 
York,  1916. 

(10)  Harris,  George.     Inequality  and  Progress.     New  York,  1897. 

(n)  Irving,  L.     "The  Drama  as  a  Factor  in  Social  Progress,"  Fortnightly 

Review,  CII  (1914),  268-74. 
(i  2)  Salt,  Henry  S.     Animal  Rights  Considered  in  Relation  to  Social  Progress. 

New  York,  1894. 

(13)  Delabarre,   Frank  A.     "Civilisation  and  Its  Effects  on    Morbidity 
and  Mortality,"  Journal  of  Sociologic  Medicine,  XIX  (1918),  220-23. 

(14)  Knopf,  S.  A.     "The  Effects  of  Civilisation  on  the  Morbidity  and 
Mortality  of  Tuberculosis,"  Journal  of  Sociologic  Medicine,  XX  (1919), 
5-i5- 

(15)  Giddings,   Franklin   H.     "The  Ethics  of   Social   Progress,"   in   the 
collection   Philanthropy   and   Social   Progress.     Seven    essays  .... 
delivered  before  the  School  of  Applied  Ethics  at  Plymouth,  Mass., 
during  the  session  of  1892.     With  introduction  by  Professor  Henry  C. 
Adams.     New  York  and  Boston,  1893. 

(16)  Morgan,    Alexander.     Education    and   Social    Progress.     Chaps,    vi, 
ix-xxi.     London  and  New  York,  1916. 


1010        INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

(17)  Butterfield,  K.  L.     Chapters  in  Rural  Progress.     Chicago,  1908. 

(18)  Robertson,  John  M.     The  Economics  of  Progress.    New  York,  1918. 

(19)  Willcox,  Walter  F.     "A  Statistician's  Idea  of  Progress,"  International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  XXIII  (1913),  275-98. 

(20)  Zueblin,   Charles.    American  Municipal  Progress.     Rev.   ed.    New 
York,  1916. 

(21)  Niceforo,  Alfredo.     Les  Indices  numerique  de  la  civilisation  el  du 
pr  ogres.    Paris,  1921. 

(22)  Todd,  A.  J.     Theories  of  Social  Progress.     Chap,  vii,  "The  Criteria 
of  Progress,"  pp.  113-53.    New  York,  1918. 

TOPICS  FOR  WRITTEN  THEMES 

1 .  The  History  of  the  Concept  of  Progress 

2.  Popular  Notions  of  Progress 

3.  The  Natural  History  of  Progress:   Evolution  of  Physical  and  Mental 
Traits,  Economic  Progress,  Moral  Development,  Intellectual  Develop- 
ment, Social  Evolution 

4.  Stages  of  Progress:    Determined  by  Type  of   Control  over  Nature, 
Type  of  Social  Organization,  Type  of  Communication,  etc. 

5.  Score  Cards  and  Scales  for  Grading  Communities  and  Neighborhoods 

6.  Progress  as  Wish-Fulfilment:  an  Analysis  of  Utopias 

7.  Criteria  or  Indices  of  Progress:    Physical,  Mental,  Intellectual,  Eco- 
nomic, Moral,  Social,  etc. 

8.  Progress  as  an  Incident  of  the  Cosmic  Process 

9.  Providence  versus  Progress 

10.  Happiness  as  the  Goal  of  Progress 

11.  Progress  as  Social  Change 

12.  Progress  as  Social  Evolution 

13.  Progress  as  Social  Control 

14.  Progress  and  the  Science  of  Eugenics 

15.  Progress  and  Socialization 

16.  Control  through  Eugenics,  Education,  and  Legislation 

QUESTIONS  FOR  DISCUSSION 

i.  What  do  you  understand  by  progress? 

a.  How  do  you  explain  the  fact  that  the  notion  of  progress  originated  ? 

3.  What  is  the  relation  of  change  to  progress? 

4.  What  is  Spencer's  law  of  evolution  ?    Is  it  an  adequate  generalization  ? 
What  is  its  value  ? 

5.  Why  do  we  speak  of  "stages  of  progress"  ? 


PROGRESS  ion 

6.  To  what  extent  has  progress  been  a  result  (a)  of  eugenics,  (Z>)  of  tradi- 
tion? 

7.  What  do  you  understand  by  progress  as  (a)  a  historical  process,  and 
(6)  increase  in  the  content  of  civilization  ? 

8.  What  is  the  relation  of  progress  to  happiness  ? 

9.  "We  have  confused  rapidity  of  change  with  progress."    Explain. 

10.  "Progress  is  not  automatic."    Elaborate  your  position  with  reference 
to  this  statement. 

11.  What  is  the  relation  of  prevision  to  progress? 

12.  Do  you  believe  that  mankind  can  control  and  determine  progress? 

13.  "Our  expectations  of  limitless  progress  cannot  depend  upon  the  de- 
liberate action  of  national  governments."     Contrast  this  statement 
of  Balfour  with  the  statement  of  Dewey. 

14.  "A  community  founded  on   argument   would  dissolve  into  its  con- 
stituent elements."    Discuss  this  statement. 

15.  What  is  Gallon's  conception  of  progress? 

16.  What  would  you  say  to  the  possibility  or  the  impossibility  of  the 
suggestion  of  eugenics  becoming  a  religious  dogma  as  suggested  by 
Galton  ? 

17.  What  is  the  relation,  as  conceived  by  the  eugenists,  as  between  germ 
plasm  and  culture  ? 

1 8.  Is  progress  dependent  upon  change  in  human  nature? 

19.  How  are  certain  persistent  traits  of  human  nature  related  to  progress  ? 

20.  What  is  meant  by  the  statement  that  progress  is  in  the  mores  ? 

21.  What  are  the  different  types  of  progress  analyzed  by  Bryce?    Has 
advance  in  each  of  them  been  uniform  in  the  last  one  thousand  years  ? 

22.  Does  war  make  for  or  against  progress? 

23.  What  is  the  relation  of  freedom  to  progress  ? 

24.  What  place  has  the  myth  in  progress  ? 

25.  To  what  extent  is  progress  as  a  process  of  realizing  values  a  matter  of 
temperament,  of  optimism,  and  of  pessimism  ? 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


[Page  numbers  in  italics  refer  to  selections  or  short  extracts.] 


Abbott,  Edith,  223,  569. 
Abbott,  Grace,  780. 
Abraham,  Karl,  857. 
Abrahams,  I.,  943. 
Abrikossof ,  N.  A.,  649. 
Achelis,  T.,  937. 
Adams,  Brewster,  643,  656. 
Adams,  Brooks,  950,  1006. 
Adams,  Charles  C.,  218,  534. 
Adams,  Charles  F.,  760. 
Adams,  Franklin  P.,  834. 
Adams,  Henry,  y,  14,  '5,  5<>3- 
Addams,  Jane,  329,  331,  335. 
Addison,  Joseph,  66. 
Adler,  Alfred,   144,   150,  497, 
501,  638,  643,  646. 

Adler,  H.  M.,  936. 
Alexander,  H.  B.,  1008. 
Alexander,  Samuel,  1007. 
Alexander  the  Great,  987. 
Alfred     [pseud.],     see     Kydd, 
Samuel. 

Allier,  R.,  1004. 
Ambrosio,  M.  A.  d',  566. 
Ames,  Edward  S.,  426. 
Amiel,  H.,  151. 
Ammon,  Dr.  O.,  535. 
Amsden,  G.  S.,  152. 
Anderson,  Wilbert  L.,  334. 
Andrea,  Johann  V.,  1008. 
Andrews,  Alexander,  860. 
Andrews,  John  B.,  942. 
Anthony,   Katharine    S.,    151, 
942. 

Anthony,  Susan  B.,  949. 

Antin,  Mary,  774,  782,  783. 

Antony,  Marc,  386. 

Arc,  Jeanne  d",  419. 

Archer,  T.  A.,  941. 

Arcoleo,  G.,  649. 

Aria,  E.,  948. 

Aristotle,  11,  29, 30, 32, 61, 140, 
144,  156,  223,  226,  231,  261, 
37it  373.  600.  640,  looo. 

Aronovici,  Carol,  218,  782. 
Atkinson,  Charles  M.,  049. 
Aubry,  P.,  937,  938. 
Audoux,  Marguerite,  151. 


Auerbach,  Bertrand,  275,  660, 
778,  946. 

Augustinus,     Aurelius     (Saint 
Augustine),  122-23, 144.  'Si- 
Austin,  George  L.,  949. 
Austin,  John,  106. 
Austin,  Mary,  881-83. 
Avebury,  Lord,  649. 

Bab,  Julius,  731. 

Babbitt,  Eugene  H.,  275.  754- 

$6. 

Babinsky,  J.  F.,  648. 
Bachofen,  J.  J.,  214,  220. 
Bacon,  Lord  Francis,  66,  233- 

34,  378, 1008. 

Baden-Powell,  H.,  219. 
Baer,  Karl  Ernst  von,  519, 967. 
Bagehot,  Walter,  423, 429,  405- 
96,  563,  564,  646,  1006. 

Bailey,  Thomas  P.,  652,  728. 

Bailey,  W.  F.,  778. 

Bailie,  William,  563. 

Bain,  A.,  371. 

Bakeless,  John,  648. 

Baker,  Ray  Stannard,  643,  651, 
658,  936. 

Balch,  Emily  G.,  781. 

Baldwin,  J.  Mark,  41,  8s,  149, 
ISO,  390,  423,  42S,  429,  646, 
663,  719,  725,  775,  1006. 

Balfour,    Arthur   James,    964, 

977-79,  1004- 
Ballagh,  James  C.,  728. 
Balzac,  H.  de,  142. 
Bancroft,  H.  H.,  942. 
Bang,  J.  P.,  650. 
Barbellion,  W.  N.  P.  [pseud.], 

see  Cummings,  B.  F. 

Barclay,  Robert,  944. 
Baring-Gould,  S.,  274. 
Barnes,  Harry  E.,  659. 
Barr,  Martin  W.,  935. 
Barrere,  Albert,  428. 
Barrow,  Sir  John,  275. 
Barrows,  Samuel  J.,  781. 
Barth.Paul, 3,4, 21 7,1004,1003. 
Bartlett,  David  W.,  949 
Bastian,  A.,  673,  787. 


Bastiat,  Frederic,  505-6,  552- 

53,  363,  573- 
Bates,  Jean  V.,  778. 
Bauer,  Arthur,  729. 
Bauer,  Otto,  777. 
Bauer,  Wilhelm,  858. 
Bax,  Ernest  B.,  944. 
Beard.  Charles  A.,  498,  638. 
Beaulieu,  P.  Leroy-,  see  Leroy- 

Beaulieu,  P. 

Bechterew,  W.  v,  123-25,  130, 
157, 343, 408-12, 415-20, 424, 
430.  433,  434,  494,  SOI. 

Beck  von  Mannagetta,  G.,  179. 

Beddoe,  Dr.  John,  536. 

Beecher,  Franklin  A.,  940. 

Beer,  M.,  566. 

Beers,  C.  W.,  132. 

Beethoven,  Ludwig  van,  228. 

Begbie,  Harold,  727,  942. 

Behn,  Dr.,  366. 

Belisle,  A.,  946. 

Bell,  Alexander  G.,  276. 

Bell,  Sir  Charles,  421. 

Bellamy,  Edward,  1008. 

Bellet,  Daniel,  947. 

Bennett,  Arnold,  216. 

Bentham,  Jeremy,  106,  300, 
940,  949. 

Bentley,  A.  F.,  458-61, 301, 303. 
Bergson,  Henri,  373,  374,  422, 
426,  964,  080-04,  1004. 

Bernard,  Luther  L.,  834. 
Bernhard,  L.,  273,  770,  946. 
Bernheim,  A.,  430. 
Bertillon,  Jacques,  263. 
Besant,  Annie,  120,  121,  539, 

949- 

Besant,  Walter,  333. 
Best,  Harry,  276,  367. 
Bevan,  Edwyn  R.,  659. 
Beveridge,  W.  H.,  367. 
Bhattacharya,  Jogendra  N.,  728. 
Bigg,  Ada  H.,  948. 
Binet,  Alfred,  113-17,  143,  130, 

134,  424,  43°,  496. 
Bing,  Alexander  M.,  632. 
Bismarck,  Prince,  238,  239,  789, 

793- 


1013 


1014         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Blackmar,  F.  W.,  499,  779. 
Blair,  R.  H.,  363,  366. 
Blanchard,  Phyllis,  646. 
Bloch,  I  wan,  221,  333. 
Blondel,  H.,  729. 
Blowitz,  Henri  de,  859. 
Blumenbach,  J.  F.,  343. 
Bluntschli,  Johann  K.,  658, 858 
Blyden,  Edward  W.,  651. 
Boas,  Franz,  19,  154,  332,  660, 

725,  73°,  770,  777,  938. 
Bodenbafer,  Walter  B.,  48. 
Bfihroe,  Margarete,  650. 
Bohannon,  E.  W.,  273. 
Bob,  Henri,  943. 
Bonger,  W.  A.,  562,  569. 
Bonnaterre,  J.  P.,  377. 
Boodin,  J.  E.,  425. 
Booth,  Charles,  44,  4$,  59.  212, 

319.  335,  955- 
Booth,  William,  942. 
Borght,  R.  van  der,  427. 

Bosanquet,    Helen,    215,    222, 
1008. 

Bossuet,  J.  B.,  906. 
Botsford,  George  W.,  940. 
Bougie1,  C.,  728,  729. 
Bourde,  Paul,  654. 
Bourgoing,  P.  de,  275,  945. 
Bourne,  Rev.  Ansel,  472,  473. 
Bourne,  H.  R.  Fox,  564,  859. 
Boutmy,  Emile,  940. 
Boutroux,  Pierre.  650. 
Bradford,  Gamaliel,  Jr.,  731. 
Bradlaugh,  Charles,  559. 
Bradley,  F.  H.,  106. 
Bradley,  Henry,  941. 
Braid,  James,  424. 
Brailsford,  H.  N.,  651. 
Braithwaite,  W.  C.,  944. 
Brancoff,  D.  M.,  946. 
Brandenburg,  Broughton,  780. 
Brandes,  Georg,  141,  498,  778. 
Braubach,  W.,  810. 

Breckinridge,    Sophonisba    P., 
322,  223,  569,  782. 

Brehm,  A.  E.,  810. 
Brent.  Charles  H.,  855. 
Brentano,  Lujo,  500,  658. 
Breuer,  J.,  838. 
Bridges,  Horace,  782. 
Bridges,  J.  W.,  145. 
Bridgman,  Laura,  244,  366. 
Bright,  John,  447. 
Brill,  A.  A.,  273. 
B  rin  ton ,  Daniel  G. ,  666, 671-74, 
725,  856,  857. 


Brissenden,  Paul  Frederick, 
566,  658. 

Bristol,  Lucius  M.,  718,  725. 
Bronner,  W.,  041. 
Bronner,  Augusta  F.,  152. 
Brooks,  John  Graham,  566, 658, 

925,  935- 

Browne,  Crichton,  366. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  65,  za8. 
Bruhl,    S.    Ldvy-,    set    LeVy- 

Bruhl,  S. 

Bruner,  F.  G.,  154. 

Brunhes,  Jean,  270,  274. 

Bryan,  William  J.,  734. 

Bryce,  James,  650,  652,  658, 
726, 759, 779, 851, 852  n.,  858, 
861,  941,  984-80,  1004,  ion. 

Brynmor-Jones,     David,     149, 

945- 

Buchanan,  J.  R.,  731. 
Buck,  Carl  D.,  660. 
Buck,  S.  J.,  942. 
Buckle,HenryThomas,4, 5,  270, 

493,  498,  9",  1005. 
Bttcher,  Karl,  385-80,  427,  529- 

33,  728,  939- 
Bunyan,  John,  122. 
Burckhard,  M.,  941. 
Burgess,  Ernest  W.,  426,  1007. 
Burgess,  John,  741. 
Burgess,  Thomas,  781. 
Burgess,  T.  H.,  366,  367,  368. 
Burke,  Edmund,  449,  850. 
Burnell,  A.  C.,  276. 
Burns,  Allen  T.,  59,  335,  498, 

773,  782. 
Burns,  J.,  943. 
Burr,  Anna  R.,  727. 
Bury,  J.  B.,  333,  958-59, 1004. 
Busch,  Paul,  414. 
Bushee,  F.  A.,  1005. 
Bussell,  F.  W.,  904. 
Buswell,  Leslie,  649. 
Butler,  Joseph,  429. 
Butler,  Ralph,  660. 
Butler,  Samuel,  1008. 
Butterfield,  K.  L.,  xozo. 

Cabet,  ^tienne,  1008. 
Cabrol,  F.,  939. 
Cadiere,  L.,  937. 
Caelius,  386. 

Caesar,  144,  238,  386,  387,  751. 
Cahan,  Abraham,  335,  782. 
Caird,  Edward,  1005. 
Cairnes,  J.  E..  546,  S47,  548. 
Calhoun,  Arthur  W.,  215.  222, 
726. 


Campanella,  Tommaso,  1008. 
Campbell,  John  C.,  275,  654. 
Campeano,  M.,  941. 
Canat,  Rene,  273. 
Cannon,  Walter  B.,  422,  426. 
Cardan,  Jerome,  144. 
Carlile,  Richard,  559. 
Carlton,  Frank  T.,  657. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  494. 
Carnegie,  Andrew,  670. 
Carpenter,  Edward,  1004. 
Carter,  George  R.,  564. 
Cartwright,  Peter,  944. 
Carver,  Thomas  N.,  1006. 
Case,  Clarence  M.,  1005. 
Case,  S.  J.,  857. 
Castle,  W.  E.,  128, 147. 
Caxton,  William,  237. 
Cellini,  Benvenuto,  151. 
Chabeneix,  Paul,  855. 
Chapin,  F.  Stuart,  59,  1007. 
Chapin,  Robert  C.,  215,  222. 
Chapman,  298. 
Charcot,  J.  M.,  144,  415,  424. 
Charlemagne,  238. 
Cherrington,  Ernest  H.,  942. 
Chevillon,  Andre1,  650. 
Chevreul,  M.  E.,  462. 
Cheysson,  E.,  729. 
Chirol,  Valentine, 93 
Chrestus,  386. 
Christensen,  A.,  940. 
Churchill,  William,  275, 
Cicero,  386, 387. 
Ciszewski,  S.,  775. 
Claghorn,  Kate  H.,  782. 
Clarendon,  Earl  of,  65. 
Clark,  H.,  940. 
Clark,  John  B.,  544-50. 
Clark,  Thomas  A.,  731. 
Claudius,  Emperor,  752. 
Clayton,  H.  H.,  947. 
Clayton,  Joseph,  855. 
Clemens,    Samuel    L.,    (Mark 

Twain,  pseud.),  152,314. 
Clements,    Frederic    E.,    217, 

526-28,  554,  571. 
Clerget,  Pierre,  948. 
Cleveland,  Catharine  C.,  944 
Clibbom,  Edward,  543. 
Clodd,  Edward,  857. 
Clough,  H.  W.,  947. 
Cobb,  Irvin,  835. 
Cobden,  Richard,  447,  949. 
Coblenz,  Felix,  150. 
Codrington,  R.  H.,  857. 
Coe,  George  Albert.  2^5-57.726 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


1015 


Coffin,  Ernest  W.,  779. 
Cohen,  Rose,  336,  774,  782. 
Coicou,  M.,  729. 
Colcord,  Joanna,  223. 
Coleman,  Charles  T.,  940. 
Coleridge,  Samuel  T.,  368. 
Collier,  John,  732. 
Combarieu,  J.,  938. 
Commons,  John  R.,  644,  657, 

658,  776,  780,  942. 
Comte,  Auguste,  i,  a,  3,  4,  5,  6, 

12,  24,  25,  30,  43,  44,  57,  60, 

61,68, 140,  210,496,71(5,959, 

068-6(>,  1005. 
Condorcet,  Marie  J.  A.  C.,  3, 

553,  1005. 

Conn,  Herbert  W.,  1007. 
Connor,  Dr.  Bernard,  241. 
Constantin,  A.,  648. 
Conway,  M.,  940. 
Cook,  Edward,  859. 
Cooley,  Charles  H.,  56,  58,  67, 

67~68,  70,  71,  148,  154,  156, 

157,  216,  283,  33°,  421,  425, 

430,  500,  646,  66$,  708-13, 

723,  729,  855,  934,  955,  1004. 
Coolidge,  Mary  R.,  781. 
Corelli,  Marie,  936. 
Comyn,  John  H.,  751-54. 
Corot,  Jean  Baptiste  Cam-lie, 

126. 

Cory,  H.  E.,  731 
Coulter,  J.  M.,  128,  147. 
Crafts,  L.  W.,  254-57. 
Crawley,  A.  Ernest,  221,  282, 

291-93,  330,  332,  6s i,   850, 

856,  857, 1006. 
Creel,  George,  837. 
Creighton,  Louise,  779. 
Crile,  George  W.,  522-26,  562, 

571,  641,  783. 

Croly,  Jane  (Mrs.),  942. 
Crooke,  William,  276,  728,  777, 

943- 

Crosby,  Oscar  T.,  648. 
Crothers,  T.  D.,  940. 
Crowell,  John  F.,  564. 
Crozier,  John  B.,  1009. 
Culin,  Stewart,  6ss,  656. 
Cummings,  B.  F.,  151. 
Cunningham,  William,  563,  777. 
Cutler,  James  E.,  654. 
Cutrera,  A.,  655. 
Cuvier,  Georges,  809. 

D'Aeth,  F.  G.,  729. 
D'Ambrosio,  Manlio  A.,  566. 
Damiron,  J.  Ph.,  647. 
Dana,  Charles  A.,  859. 
Dana,  Richard  H.,  Jr.,  276. 


Daniels,  John,  781. 

Danielson,  F.  H.,  147,  254. 

Dargun,  L.  von,  220. 

Darwin,  Charles,  4,  7, 143,  165, 
214, 329, 342, 361-65, 365-70, 
421,  422,  426,  432,  512,  513, 
514, 515-19, 519-22,  554,  557, 
562,  563,  570,  571,  641,  647, 
663,  768,  810,  959,  1001. 

Daudet,  Alphonse,  120. 
Daudet,  Ernest,  649. 
Dauzat,  Albert,  429. 
Davenport,  C.  B.,  71,  128-33, 

147,  254,  568,  1007. 
Davenport,  Frederick  M.,  932, 

943- 

Davids,  T.  W.  Rhys,  943. 
Davis,  H.,  654. 
Davis,  Katharine  B.,  570. 
Davis,  Michael  M.,  781. 
Dawley,  Almena,  s6g. 
Dealey,  J.  Q.,  zaa. 
Deane,  W.  J.,  238. 
DeGreef,  Guillaume,  58. 
Delabarre,  Frank  A.,  1009. 
Delbet,  E.,  729. 
Delbruck,  H.,  273,  777. 
Delesalle,  Georges,  428. 
Dellepaine,  A.,  1007. 
Delvaille,  Jules,  1004. 
De-Marchi,  A.,  856. 
Demolins,  Edmond,  333. 
Demoor,  Jean,  1007. 
Demosthenes,  638. 
Densmore,  Frances,  938. 
Desagher,  Maurice,  276 
Descartes,  Rene",  372,  463,  465. 
Despine,  Prosper,  938,  940. 
Devine,  Edward  T.,  333,  491, 

498,  567,  732- 
Devon,  J.,  569. 
Dewey,  John,  36,  37,  38,  149, 

164,  182-85,  2°°,   225,  424, 

426,  430,  s°9,  964,  975-77, 

1004,  xon. 

Dibblee,  G.  Binney,  427. 

Dicey,  A.  V.,  445~5i,  557,  793, 
831,  851,  858. 

Diderot,  Denis,  807. 
Dilich,  Wilhelm,  241. 
Dinneen,  P.  S.,  945. 
Disraeli,  Benjamin,  721. 
Ditchfield,  P.  H.,  334. 
Dixon,  Roland  B.,  777,  854. 
Dixon,  W.  H.,  945. 
Dobschutz,  E.  von,  333. 
Dodge,  Raymond,  837-41. 
Doll,  E.  A.,  254-57. 
Dominian,  Leon,  275,  645,  943. 


Donovan,  Frances,  369. 
Dorsey,  J.  Owen,  635,  7«. 
DostoeVsky,  F.,  142,   273. 
Dowie,  John  Alexander,  945. 
Down,  T.  C.,  895-98,  942. 
Downey,  June  E.,  146,  153. 
Drachsler,  Julius,  774,  781. 
Draghicesco,  D.,  729. 
Draper,  J.  W.,  641,  647. 
Dubois,  L.  Paul,  945. 
DuBois,  W.  E.  Burghardt,  152, 

a»2,  781,  783. 

Dugas,  L.,  370-75,  422,  426. 
Dugdale,  Richard  L.,  143,  147, 

254- 

Dugmore,  H.  H.,  861. 
Duguit,  Le"on,  860. 
Dumas,  Georges,  938. 
Dunbar,  Paul  Lawrence,  627. 
Duncan,  Sara  Jeannette,  652. 
Durand,  E.  Dana,  652. 
Durkheim,  Emile,  18, 33, 34, 35, 

36,  37,  38,  39,  4°,  58,  164, 

193-96,    217,    221,    222,    267, 

268,  343,  671,  714-18,  723, 

729, 854, 857,  894. 

Dushkin,  Alexander  M.,   774, 

781. 
Dutaillis,    C.    E.    Petit-,    see 

Petit-Dutaillis,  C.  E. 

East,  E.  M.,  128, 147. 
Eastman,  R.  S.,  732. 
Eaton,  Isabel,  781. 
Eddy,  Arthur  J.,  565. 
Edie,  Lionel  D.,  498. 
Edman,  Irwin,  148. 
Edwards,  Bryan,  727. 
Edwards,  E.,  943. 
Edwards,  Milne,  519. 
Effertz,  Otto,  563. 
Egerton,  Charles  E.,  652. 
Egli,  Emil,  944. 
Ehrenfels,  Chrn.  v.,  500. 
Elderton,  Ethel  M.,  566,  369. 
Eliot,  George,  142,  231. 
Elliott,  A.  M.,  276. 
Ellis,  Havelock,  148,  153,  215, 

221,  223,  659,  726,  938,  957, 

1007. 
Ellwood,   Charles  A.,   41,   58, 

566,  846-48,  950,  1008. 
Elsing,  W.  T.,  566. 
Elworthy,  F.  T.,  332. 
Ely,  Richard  T.,  444-45,  502, 

646,  855. 

Empey,  Arthur  Guy,  429. 
Engel,  Ernst,  215,  222. 
Engelhardt,  A.  N.,  870.    • 
Engels,  Frederick,  565. 


I0l6         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Espinas,  Alfred,   163,   165-66, 

217,  224,  215,  407. 
EsUbrook,  A.  H.,  147,  254- 
Eubank,  Earle  £.,  223. 
Evans,  F.  W.,  944. 
Evans,  Maurice  S.,  643,  651, 

811-12. 

Faber,  Geoffrey,  660. 
Fadl,  Said  Memum  Abul,  649. 
Fahlbeck,  Pontus,  218. 
Fairfield,  Henry  P.,  780,  781. 
Faria,  Abb6,  4*4- 
Fans,  Ellsworth,  I47i  960-62. 
Farmer,  John  S.,  427.  4*8. 
Farnell,  L.  R.,  856. 
Farnam,  Henry  W.,  569. 
Farquhar,  J.  N.,  944- 
Fauriel,  M.  C.,  937- 
Faust,  Albert  B.,  780. 
Fawkes,  J.  W.,  939- 
Fay,  Edward  A.,  276. 
Federici,  Romolo,  1006. 
Fedortchouk,  Y.,  946. 
Fe're',  Ch.,  405,  43°- 
Ferguson,  G.  O.,  Jr.,  154. 
Fernald,  Mabel  R.,  569- 
Ferrari,  G.  C.,  115. 
Ferrero,  Guglielmo,  935,  93°- 
Feuerbach,  Paul  J.  A.  von,  277. 
Field,  J.,  949- 
Field,  James  A.,  566. 
Fielding-Hall,  H.,  649. 
Finck,  Henry  T.,  221. 
Finlayson,  Anna  W.,  148. 
Finney,  C.  G.,  943- 
Finot,  Jean,  651. 
Finsler,  G.,  937. 
Fischer,  Eugen,  776. 
Fishberg,  Maurice,    149,    271, 

274,  43'.  778. 
Fisher,  H.  A.,  659. 
Flaten,  Nils,  276. 
Fleming,  Daniel  J.,  780 
Fleming,  Walter  L.,  730,  731, 

942. 

Fletcher,  Alice  C.,  938. 
Flint,  Robert,  565,  953- 
Florian,  Eugenio,  333. 
Flynt.  Josiah  [pseud.],  see  Wil- 

lard,  Josiah  Flynt. 
Foerster,  Robert  F.,  781. 
Foley,  Caroline  A.,  948. 
Forel,  A.,  169,  170. 
Fornarsi  di  Verce,  E.,  569. 
Fosbroke,  Thomas  D.,  274. 
Fosdick,  H.  E.,  237. 
Foster,  William  Z.,  653. 


Fouillle,  Alfred,  149,  iS».  461- 

64,  499- 

Frame,  Nat  T.,  1002 
Francke,  Kuno,  493,  498,  660. 
Frazer,  J.  G.,  149,   221,  330, 

850,  855,  856. 

Frederick  the  Great,  628,  986 
Freeman,  Edward  A.,  3,  10,  23. 
Freeman,  R.  Austin,  957,  1007 
Freud,  Sigmund,  41,  144.  23<5, 

329,  47S,  478,  479,  482,  486, 

487,  497,  SGI,  504,  638,  855, 

858. 

Friedlander,  L.,  935. 
Friedmann,  Max,  927,  937. 
Friesen,  P.  M.,  657. 
Frobenius,  Leo,  640,  648,  730, 

776, 1004. 

Froebel,  F.  W.  A.,  82. 
Froment,  J.,  648. 
Froude,  James  A.,  1006. 
Fuller,  Bampfylde,  935. 
Fustel  de  Coulanges,  855,  860. 

Gall,  F.  J.,  US- 

Galpin,  Charles  J.,   2ia,   218, 

232,  247-49,  275,  «79,   7*4, 

731- 
Galton,  Francis,  726,  963,  979- 

83,  1007,  ion. 
Gardner,  Charles  S.,  940. 
Garofalo,  R.,  649. 
Gavit,  John  P.,  782. 
Geddes,  P.,  153. 
Gehring,  Johannes,  657. 
Gennep,  A.  van,  857,  939. 
George,  Henry,  1009. 
Gerland,  Georg,  270,  274,  856. 
Gesell,  A.  L.,  148. 
Gibbon,  Edward,  711. 
Gibson,  Thomas,  947. 
Gibson,  William,  943. 
Giddings,  Franklin  H.,  32,  33. 

36,  40,  58,  S44,  610-16,  661, 

73S,  74°,  1009. 
Gilbert,  William  S.,  65. 
Gillen,  F.  J.,  149,  220,  861. 
Gillin,  J.  L.,  499,  567,  657. 
Ginsberg,  M.,  214,  220. 
Gladden,  Washington,  491,  498. 
Glynn,    A.    W.    Wiston-,    see 

Wiston-Glynn. 
Gobineau,  Arthur  de,  769. 
Goddard,  Henry  H.,  131,  143, 

145,  147,  152,  254,  568. 
Godkin,  Edwin  L.,  858. 
Godwin,  William,  553,  565. 
Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von, 

126,  909,  967. 
Golden weiser,  A.  A.,  777. 
Goltz,  E.  von  der,  273. 
Goncourt.Edmond  de.and  Jules 

de,  405. 


Goodhart,  S.  P.,  468. 

Goodsell,  Willystine,  222. 

Gordon,  Anna  A.,  950. 

Gordon,  Ernest,  942. 

Goring,  Charles,  145. 153- 

Gould,  S.  Baring-,  see  Baring- 
Gould,  S. 

Gowen,  B.  S.,  937. 

Gowin,  Enoch  B.,  855. 

Graebner,  F.,  777. 

Graetz,  H.,  944. 

Grant,  Madison,  963. 

Grass,  K.,  657,  943. 

Grasserie,  R.  de  la,  set  La 
Grasserie,  R.  de. 

Gratiolet,  Pierre,  421. 

Gray,  Thomas,  314. 

Gray,  W.,  856. 

Greco,  Carlo  Nardi-,  see  Nardi- 
Greco,  Carlo. 

Greeley,  Horace,  949. 

Green,  Alice  S.  A.,  334. 

Green,  Samuel  S.,  780. 

Gregoire,  Abbt,  431. 

Gregory  XV.  837. 

Grenfell,  George,  779. 

Grierson,  Sir  G.,  687. 

Grierson,  P.  J.  H.,  564. 

Griffiths,  Arthur,  274. 

Grinnell,  G.  B.,  938. 

Groat,  George  G.,  657. 

Groos,  Karl,  426,  639,  640,  646. 

Grosse,  Ernst,  221,  790,  939. 

Grote,  George,  233, 260-64, 853. 

Grotjahn,  Alfred,  566, 

Groves,  E.  R.,  941. 

Grundtvig,  N.  F.  S.,  Bishop, 
931- 

Gulick,  J.  T.,  227. 

Gulick,  Sidney  L.,  431,  782. 

Gummere,  Amelia  M.,  274. 

Gummere,  F.  B.,  939. 

Gumplowicz,  Ludwig,  212,  341, 
346-48,  420,  425,  431,  642, 
64S,  649,  776. 

Guyot,  Edouard,  565. 

Hadley,  Arthur  T.,  658. 

Haeckel,  Ernst,  912. 

Hagens,  J.  von,  169. 

Haines,  Lynn,  659. 

Haldane,  Viscount,  102-8. 

Hall,  Arthur  C.,  1009. 

Hall,  Frederick  S.,  652. 

Hall,  G.  Stanley,  77,  150,  647, 
648. 

Hall,  H.  Fielding-,  see  Fielding- 
Hall,  H. 

Hall,  W.  P.,  563. 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


1017 


Halpercine,  Simon,  649. 
Hammer,  von,  380. 
Hammond,  Barbara,  334. 
Hammond,  John  L.,  334. 
Haney,  Lewis  H.,  564. 
Hanford,  Benjamin,  653. 
Hanna,  Charles  A.,  780. 
Hanna,  Rev.  Thomas  C.,   468, 

469. 

Hansen,  F.  C.  C.,  430,  535. 
Hansen,  J.,  937,  938. 
Hanson,  William  C.,  568. 
Hapgood,  Hutchins,  153,  731, 

783. 

Harlan,  Rolvix,  045. 
Harnack,  Adolf,  942. 
Harper,  Ida  H.,  949. 
Harrington,  James,  1008. 
Harris,  Benjamin,  834. 
Harris,  George,  1005,  1009. 
Harrison,  Frederic,  649,  1007. 
Harrison,  James  A.,  276. 
Harrison,  Jane  E.,  17,  18,  856, 

8S7- 
Harrison,  Shelby  M.,  59,  219, 

859- 

Hart,  A.  B.,  499. 
Hart,  Joseph  K.,  731. 
Hartenberg,  P.,  941. 
'   Hartmann,  Berthold,  86. 
Harttung,  Pflugk-,  see  Pflugk- 

Harttung. 
Hasanovitz,    Elizabeth,      333, 

782. 

Hasbach,  Wilhelm,  495. 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  237. 
Hayes,  A.  W.,  731. 
Hayes,  Edward  C.,  499. 
Hayes,  Mary  H.,  569. 
Hayes,  Samuel  P.,  943. 
Haynes,  E.  S.  P.,  647. 
Haynes,  Frederick  E.,  658. 
Headlam,  Cecil,  946. 
Healy,  William,  59,  152,  273, 

562,  643,  935- 
Hearn,  Lafcadio,  938. 
Heaton,  John  L.,  859. 
Hecker,  J.  F.  C.,  875,  879-81, 

936. 

Heckethorn,  C.  W.,  274,  730. 
Hegel,  G.  W.  F.,  69,  156,  939. 
Heidenhain,  R.,  415. 
Heijningen,    Hendrik    M.    K. 

van,  654. 

Helps,  Sir  Arthur,  66,  727. 
Hempl,  George,  276. 
Henderson,  Charles  R.,  566. 
Henderson,  Ernest  N.,  424, 429. 
Henry,  R.,  946. 


H6ricourt,  J.,  115. 
Hermann,  F.  B.  W.  v.,  499. 
Heron,  David,  560,  566. 
Herschel,  Sir  J.  F.  W..  1001. 
Hertzka,  Theodor,  1009. 
Hess,  Grete  Meisel-,  see  Meisel- 

Hess. 

Hibben,  J.  G.,  1006. 
Hichborn,  Franklin,  659. 
Hicks,  Mary  L.,  732. 
Higgs,  Henry,  556. 
Hill,  Georgiana,  949. 
Hinde,  Sidney  L.,  869. 
Hinds,  William  A.,  334. 
Him,  Yrj8,    344,   401-7,    426, 

430,  433,  808,  869,  870,  938. 
Hirt,  Eduard,  152. 
Hobbes,  Thomas,  as,  29,  30  61, 

106, 140, 156,  223,  512,  642. 
Hobhouse,  Leonard  T.,  56,  igo- 

93,  214,  220,  225,  728,  795, 

796,  798  n.,  849,  854,  963, 

964,  969-73,  1007. 

Hobson,  John  A.,  567. 
Hocart,  A.  M.,  749. 
Hoch,  A.,  152,  273. 
Hocking,   W.   E.,  95-97,   148, 

205-9. 

Hodder,  Edwin,  949. 
Hogarth,  William,  402. 
Holdsworth,  W.  S.,  861. 
Hollingworth,  H.  L.,  149. 
Hollingworth,  Leta  S.,  152, 153. 
Hollman,  Anton  H.,  931. 
Holmes,  O.  W.,  Jr.,  736,  853. 
Holmes,  William  H.,  948. 
Holt,  Edward  B.,  478-82,  501, 

503- 

Home,  H.,  Lord  Kama,  402. 
Homer,  264. 

Hooper,  Charles  E.,  332. 
Horak,  Jakub,  781. 
Horn,  Paul,  429. 
Hotten,  John  C.,  428. 
Howard,  G.  E.,  214,  222,  941. 
Howard,  John,  949. 
Howells,  William  Dean,  627. 
Hoxie,  Robert  F.,  644,  657. 
Hoyt,  F.  C.,  656. 
Hubert,  H.,  856,  857. 
Hudson,  Frederic,  859. 
Hudson,  W.  H.,  245-47,   178, 

604-5,  883-86. 

Hughes,  Charles  E.,  1009. 
Hughes,  Henry,  429. 
Humboldt,  Alexander  von,  673 
909. 

Hume,  David,  3,  429,  553,  786, 
829-30. 


Hunter,  Robert,  653. 
Huntington,    Ellsworth,    328, 

666,  726. 
Huot,  Louis,  648. 
Hupka,  S.  von,  333. 
Hurry,  Jamieson  B.,  947. 
Huxley,  Thomas  H.,  963. 
Hyde,  749. 
Hyndman,  Henry  M.,  950. 

Inge,    William    R.,    054,   959, 

root,  1004. 

Ingersoll,  Robert,  912. 
Ingram,  John  K.,  563,  675. 
Ireland,  W.  W.,  941. 
Irving,  L.,  1009. 
Irwin,  Will,  859. 
Itard,  Dr.  Jean  E.  M.  G.,  242, 

271,  277. 
Iyer,  L.  K.  A.  K.,  728. 

Jacobowski,  L.,  221. 

Jakstas,  A.,  946. 

James,  B.  B.,  945. 

James,  E.  O.,  856. 

James,    William,    77,    110-23, 

148,  150,  421   426,  472,  473, 

486,  598,  661,  669,  726,  736, 

932- 

Janes,  George  M.,  652. 
Janet,  Pierre,  144,430, 474, 935. 
Jankelevitch,  S.,  1005. 
Jannasch,  R.,  726. 
Jarau,    G.    Louis-,   tee   Louis- 

Jarau. 

Jarrett,  Mary  C.,  568. 
Jastrow,  J.,  335. 
Jellinek,  Georg,  725. 
Jenks,  Albert,  211,  219,  775. 
Jenks,  Edward,  86r. 
Jenks,  Jeremiah,  780. 
Jennings,  Hargrave,  730. 
Jennings,  H.  S.,  147,  285,  488. 
Jephson,  Henry,  858. 
Jevons,  William  S.,  500,  948. 
Jhering,  Rudolph  von,  861. 
Johnson,  George  E.,  647. 
Johnson,  James  W.,  152. 
Johnson,  John  H.,  656. 
Johnson,  R.  H.,  568,  1007. 
Johnson,  Samuel,  451. 
Johnson,  W.,  777. 
Johnston,  C.,  654. 
Johnston,  Harry  H.,  779. 
Johnston,  R.  M.,  730. 
Jones,    David    Brynmor-,    see 

Brynmor-Jones. 
Jones,  Edward  D.,  947. 
Jones,  Rufus  M.,  944. 
Jonson,  Ben,  239. 


I0l8         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Jordanes,  941. 
Joseph  II,  of  Austria,  934. 
Jost,  M.,  944. 
Jouffroy,  T.  S.,  402. 
Judd.  Charles  H.,  381-84,  390- 
91. 

Jung,  Carl  G.,  144,  236,  497, 
501,857. 

Junius  [pseud.],  858. 
Juquelier,  P.,  411,  411.  937. 

Kaindl,  Raimund  F.,  770,  778. 

Kalb,  Ernst,  657. 

Kallen,  Horace  M.,  778,  782. 

Kammcrer,  Percy  G.,  223. 

Kan,  J.  van,  569. 

Kant,  Immanuel,  82,  108,  420. 

909. 

Kapp,  Friedrich,  780. 
Kaufmann,  Moritz,  1008. 
Kaupas,  H.,  946. 
Kautsky,  Karl,  333. 
Kawabe,  Kisaburo,  437. 
Keith,  Arthur,  659. 
Keller,  Albert  G.,  72,  134-35, 

157,  648,  719,  726,  1007. 
Keller,  Helen,  151,  231,243-45, 

278. 

Kellogg,  Paul  U.,  59,  219. 
Kellogg,  Walter  G.,  731. 
Kelly,  J.  Liddell,  778. 
Kelsey,  Carl,  1007. 
Kelynack,  T.  N.,  568. 
Kemble,  Frances  A.,  728. 
Kenngott,  G.  F.,  219. 
Kerlin,  Robert  T.,  660. 
Kerner,  R.  J.,  777. 
Kerr,  Norman  S.,  568. 
Kerschensteiner,  Georg,  87. 
Key,  Ellen,  214,  221. 
Key,  Wilhelmina,  254. 
Khoras,  P.,  950. 
Kidd,  Benjamin,  1006. 
Kidd,  D.,  149. 
Kilpatrick,  James  A.,  649. 
King,  Irving,  iso,  950. 
Kingsbury,  J.  E.,  427. 
Kingsford,  C.  L.,  941. 
Kingsley,  Charles,  274. 
Kingsley,  Mary  H.,  779. 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  67. 
Kirchhoff,  G.  R.,  13. 
Kirkpatrick,  E.  A.,  150. 
Kistiakowski,  Dr.  Th.,  217. 
Kite,  Elizabeth  S.,  148,  254. 
Klein,  Henri  F.,  730. 
Kline,  L.  W.,  221. 
Kluge,  F.,  428. 


Knapp,  G.  F.,  217,  563,  729. 
Knopf,  S  A.,  1009. 
Knortz,  Karl,  276. 
Knowles,  L.  C.  A.,  930. 
Knowlson,  T.  Sharper,  237-39. 
Kober,  George  M.,  568. 
Kobrin,  Leon,  219. 
Kochanowski,  J.  K.,  649. 
Kocourek,  Albert,  852, 854, 860. 
Kohler,  Josef,  564,  854,  856. 
Kolthamer,  F.  W.,  558. 
Koren,  John,  569. 
Kostir,  Mary  S.,  148,  254. 
Kostyleff,  N.,  501,  855. 
Kotik,  Dr.  Naum,  937. 
Kovalewsky,  M.,  220,  729. 
Kowalewski,  A.,  153. 
Kraepelin,  E.,  146,  153. 
Krauss,  F.  S.,  149. 
Kreibig,  Josef  K.,  500. 
Kroeber,  A.  L.,  948. 
Kropotkin,  P.,  1006. 
Kudirka,  Dr.  V.,  932. 
Kydd,  Samuel  (Alfred,  pseud.), 
567. 

LaBruyere,  Jeande,  144,  151. 
Lacombe,  Paul,  498. 
Lafargue,  G.,  729. 
Lagorgette,  Jean,  648. 
La  Grasserie,  R.  de,  647,  649, 

729. 

La  Hodde,  Lucien  de,  731. 
Laidler,  Harry  W.,  653. 
Lamarck,  J.  B.,  143. 
Lamprecht,  Karl,  493,  494,  498, 

1005. 

Landauer,  G.,  950. 
Landry,  A.,  649. 
Lane,  W.  D.,  656. 
Lane-Poole,  S.,  933. 
Lang,  Andrew,  277. 
Lange,  C.  G.,  421. 
Langenhove,  Fernand  van,  819- 

22,  857. 

Lankester,  E.  Ray,  1005. 
Lapouge,  V.,  266. 
La     Rochefoucauld,    Francois 

de,  371. 

La  Rue,  William,  945. 
Lasch,  R.,  221. 
Lasker,  Bruno.  567. 
Laski,  Harold,  860. 
Laubach,  Frank  C.,  333. 
Lauck.  William  J.,  780. 
Law,  John,  947. 
Lay,  Wilfrid,  646. 
Lazarus,  Moritz,  21,  217,  427. 


Lea,  Henry  C.,  655,  657. 

Le  Bon,  Gustave,  33,  34,  41,  58, 
154,  164,  200,  201,  213,  218, 
«s,  650,  858,  867,  868,  869, 
871,  876,  887-93,  894,  905-9, 
9*7.  934,  939,  9SO,  9S2. 

Lebrun,  Mme.  Vig6e,  907. 

Lecky,  W.  E.  H.,  641,  647,  858, 
875.  9I5-24- 

Lee,  James  Melvin,  860. 

Lee,  Vernon  (pseud.),  402,  878. 

LeGouix,  M.,  729. 

Lehmann,  A.,  430. 

Leiserson,  William  M.,  782. 

Leland,  C.  G.,  428,  429. 

Leonard,  O.,  654. 

Leopold  III,  797. 

Leopold,  Lewis,  807-11,  855. 

LePlay,  P.  G.  FrMeric,  215. 

221,  222. 

Leroy-Beaulieu,  P.,  726. 
Lester,  J.  C.,  730. 
Letelier,  Valentin,  1005. 
Letourneau,  Ch.,  220,  640,  648, 

727.  854. 

Letzner,  Karl,  276. 
Levasseur,  E.  de,  649. 
Levine,  Louis,  566,  658. 
Levland,  Jorgen,  930. 
LeVy-Bruhl,  L.,  24,  332. 
Levy,  Hermann,  564. 
Lewis,  George  C.,  838. 
Lewis,  Matthew  G.,  677-81. 
Lewis,  Sinclair,  213,  219. 
Lhe'risson,  E.,  939. 
Lhermitte,  J.,  648. 
L'Houet,  A.,  334. 
Lichtenberger,  J.  P.,  223. 
Lilienfeld,  Paul  von,  28,  58,  566. 
Lillehei,  Ingebrigt,  659. 
Limousin,  Ch.,  649,  729. 
Linnaeus,  516. 
Linton,  E.  L.,  948. 
Lippert,  Julius,  148. 
Lippmann,  Walter,  148,  ^34-37, 

851,859,936,  949- 
Lloyd,  A.  H.,  1005. 
Loch,  C.  L.,  649. 
Lockwood,  George  B.,  945. 
Loeb,  Jacques,  79,  So,  81    147, 

467,  494. 

Lowenfeld,  L.,  153,  410. 

Loisy,  Alfred,  939. 

Lombroso,    Cesare,    145,    153, 

562,951. 
Lord,  Eliot,  781. 
Lord,  Herbert  Gardiner,  648. 
Loria,  A.,  498. 
Lotze,  Hermann,  420,  425. 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


1019 


Loughborough,  J.  N.,  945. 

Louis- Jarau,  G.,  946. 

Loutschisky,  I.,  729. 

Love,  Albert  G.,  568. 

Lowell,  Amy,  834. 

Lowell,  A.  Lawrence,  658,  792, 

826-29,  851,  858,  864. 
Lowie,  Robert  H.,  18,  19,  220, 

723,  730,  777- 
Lubbock,  J.,  180,  396. 
Lucretius,  953,  965.  966. 
Lummis,  Charles  F.,  939. 
Lyall,  Sir  Alfred,  ios. 
Lyell,  Charles,  768. 
Lyer,   F.   Miiller-,  see  Muller- 

Lyer. 
Lytton,  Edward  Bulwer,  1008 

Macaulay,  T.  B.,  139. 
McCormac,  E.  I.,  728. 
M'Culloch,  O.  C.,  143,  147. 
MacCurdy,  J.  T.,  936. 
Macdonagh,      Michael,      851. 

859. 
McDougall,  William,   58,  425. 

441,  464-67,  496,  501,  632 

721,  726,  963. 
McGee,  W  J,  211,  219,  777,  86c 

1006. 

Mach,  Ernst,  13. 
Machiavelli,  97,  140. 
Maciver,  R.  M.,  426. 
Mclver,  J.,  569. 
Mackay,  Charles,  947. 
Mackay,  R.  W.,  647. 
MacKay,  Thomas,  537,  565. 
McKenzie,  F.  A.,  775. 
Mackenzie,  J.  S.,  1004. 
McKenzie,  R.  D.,  218. 
McLaren,  A.  D.,  660. 
MacLean,  J.  P.,  944. 
McLennan,  J.  F.,  220. 
McMurtrie,  Douglas  C.,  568. 
Macrosty,  Henry  W.,  364. 
Mahomet,  419. 
Maine,  Sir  Henry  S.,  219,  220, 

555,  564    710,  826,  852,  853, 

854,  860,  862. 

Maitland,  Frederic  W.,  861. 
Malinowski,  Bronislaw,  220. 
Mallery,  Garrick,  422,  427. 
Mallock,  W.  H.,  729,  949,  1009. 
Maloney,  E.  F.,  935. 
Malthus,  T.  R.,  7,  516,  SS3,  SS4, 

SS9,  561,  563 

Mandeville,  Bernard  de,  1008. 
March!,  A.  De-,  see  De-Marchi, 

A. 

Marot,  Helen,  149,  657. 
Marpillero,  G.,  335. 


Marshall,  Alfred,  500,  563. 
Marshall,  Henry  R.,  425, 600-3. 
Martin,  E.  D.,  940. 
Martineau,  Harriet,  I,  2,   57. 

561. 

Marvin,  Francis  S.,  778, 965-66. 
Marx,  Karl,  561,  563,  367,  912, 

1008. 

Mason,  Otis  T.,  302,  427,  941. 
Mason,  William  A.,  427. 
Massart,  J.,  218,  1007. 
Mathiez,  Albert,  657. 
Matthews,  Brander,  949. 
Matthews,  W.,  938. 
Maublanc,  Rene,  649. 
Mauss,  M.,  836,  837. 
Maxon,  C.  H.,  943. 
Mayer,  Emile,  630. 
Mayer,  J.  R.,  768. 
Mayo-Smith,   Richmond.    741, 

776,  778. 

Mead,  G.  H.,  424,  423. 
Meader,  John  R.,  943. 
Means,  Philip  A.,  631. 
Mecklin,  John  M.  ,631,  632. 
Medlicott,  H.  B.,  377. 
Meillet,  A.,  273,  943. 
Meinong,  Alexius,  300. 
Meisel-Hess,  Crete,  214,  221. 
Mendel,  G.,  71, 143,  137. 
Menger,  Karl,  300. 
Mensch,  Ella,  936. 
Mercier,  C.  A.,  sot. 
Meredith,  George,  142. 
Merker,  Polizeirat,  240. 
Merriam,  Charles  E.,  638,  792. 
Mesmer,  F.  A.,  424. 
Metcalf,  H.  C.,  149. 
Meumann,  Ernst,  86. 
Meyer,  Adolph,  283,  488. 
Meyer,  J.  L.,  937. 
Miceli,  V.,  939. 
Michels,  Robert,  644,  639. 
Michiels,  A.,  373,  374. 
Miklosich,  Franz,  634. 
Mill,  James,  431. 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  346, 360, 830, 

1005. 

Miller,  Arthur  H.,  833. 
Miller,  Edward,  944. 
Miller,  Herbert   A.,   333,   633, 

660,  781,  782,  786-87,  870. 
Miller,  J.  D..  949. 
Miller,  Kelly,  137,  251,  631. 
Millingen,  J.  G.,  633. 
Millioud,  Maurice,  839. 
Millis,  Harry  A.,  781. 
Mil  mine,  Georgine,  637. 


Miner,  Maude,  370. 
Minin,  415. 

Mirabeau,  Octave,  131. 
Mitchell,  P.  Chalmers,  170-73. 
Mitchell,  Wesley  C.,  947. 
Moll,  Albert,  85-89,  332,  412- 

15,  430,  894. 

Moltke,  Count  von,  670,  793  n. 
Monin,  H.,  729. 
Montagu,  G.,  7. 
Montague,  Helen,  133. 
Montesquieu,  Baron  de,  3,  270. 
Montgomery,  K.  L.,  943. 
Moody,  Dwight  L.,  943. 
Moody,  W.  R.,  943. 
Mooney,  James,  943. 
Moore,  Edward  C.,  778. 
Moore,  Henry  L.,  947. 
Moore,  William  H.,  778. 
More,  Hannah.  949. 
More,  Thomas,  1008. 
Moreau  de  Tours,  938. 
Morel,  E.  D.,  779,  797. 
Morgan,  Alexander,  1009. 
Morgan,   C.   Lloyd,   147,    186, 

187,  342,  375-79,  494,  723- 
Morgan,  E.  L.,  731. 
Morgan,  Lewis  H.,  214,  749. 
Morgan,  W.  T.,  638. 
Morley,  John,  723,  949,  1006. 
Morris,  Lloyd  R.,  639. 
Morris,  William,  1008. 
Morrison,  W.  D.,  89. 
Morrow,  Prince  A.,  223. 
Morse,  Josiah,  134, 632. 
Morselli,  Henry,  266,  272. 
Mosiman,  Eddison,  937. 
Mouromtzeff,  Mme.  de,  729. 
Muller,  F.  Max,  342,  379-81, 

393,432. 

Muller,  Fritz,  321. 
Mtiller-Lyer,  F.,  1006. 
Mumford,  Eben,  853. 
Miinsterberg,  Hugo,  424,  427, 

430,  668,  688-Q2,  726,  936. 

Murray,  W.  A.,  939. 
Myers,  C.  S.,  89-92,  936. 
Myers,  Gustavus,  639. 
Myerson,  Abraham,  223,  936. 

Napoleon  I,  203,  238,  241,  419, 

628,  698,  789. 
Napoleon  III,  698,  793. 
Nardi-Greco,  Carlo.  861. 
Nasmyth,  George,  1009. 
Nassau,  R.  H.,  836. 
Naumann,  Friedrich,  630,  809. 
Neatby,  W.  Blair,  943. 


1020         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Necker,  J.,  007. 

Park,  Robert  E.,  1-57,  76-81, 

Neill.  Charles  P.,  653. 

135-39,  iSS,  185-89,  198-200, 

Ncilson,  George,  655. 
Nesbitt,  Florence.  222. 

218,  223,  252-54,311-15,315- 
*7,  335,  439.  467-78,  616-23, 
623-31,  633,  712-14,  756-62, 

Nesfield,  John  C.,  218,  681-84. 

77S,78i,  782,784,  786-87,820- 

Neter,  Eugen,  873. 

33.  839,  $10,803-95,  030,  934, 

Nevinson,  Margaret  W.,  567. 

040. 
Parker,  Carleton  H.,  149,  494, 

Newell,  W.  W.,  941. 

936. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  rj,  073. 

Parkman,  Francis,  778,  779. 

Niceforo,    Alfredo,    367,    649, 

Parmelee,   Maurice,   217,   367. 

1003,  1010. 

369,  1009. 

Nicolai,  G.  F.,  641. 

Parsons,  Elsie  Clews,  220. 

Nieboer,  Dr.  H.  J.,  674-77,  7»7, 

Parton.  James,  632. 

733- 

Partridge,  G.  E.,  568,  727. 

Nietzsche,  F.  W.,  599. 

Pascal,  B.,  463. 

Nims,  Harry  D.,  364. 

Pascoe,  C.  F.,  779. 

Nitsch,  C.,  946. 

Pasteur,  Louis,  44. 

Noire1,  L.,  395. 

Pater,  Walter,  939 

Nordau,  Max,  1004. 

Patetta,  F.,  633. 

Nordhoff,  Charles,  334,  636. 

Paton,  Stewart,  147. 

Norlie,  O.  M.,  775. 

Patrick,  G.  T.  W.,  598-600,  640, 

Novicow,  J.,  212,  425,  642,  643, 

641,  647,  933,  948. 

649.  740,  741,  775,  854. 

Patten,  Simon  N.,  498,  1008. 

Patterson,  M.  R.,  727. 

Oakesmith,  John,  643,  659. 

Patterson,  R.  J.,  727. 

Oberholtzer,  E.  P.,  839. 

Paulhan,  Fr.,  332,  731. 

Obolensky,  L.  E.,  1009. 

Pavlov,  I.  P.,  494,  839. 

O'Brien,  Frank  M.,  859. 

Payne,  George  Henry,  427. 

O'Brien,  Frederick,  636. 

Pearson,  Karl,  13,  14,  949,  963, 

Odin,  Alfred,  833 

1007. 

Oertel,  Hans,  22 

Pe'lissier,  Jean,  932,  946 

Ogburn,  W.  F.,  213. 

Pennington,  Patience,  334. 

Oldenberg,  H.  836. 

Percin,  Alexandre,  648. 

Older,  Fremont,  639. 

Periander,  67. 

Olgin,  Moissaye  J.,  930. 

Perry,  Bliss,  40. 

Oliver,  Frederick  S.,  649. 

Perry,  Ralph  B.,  1008. 

Oliver,  Thomas,  368. 

Perty,  M.,  809. 

Olmsted,  F.  L.,  727. 

Peter  the  Great,  419,  934. 

Oncken,  August,  563. 

Peterson,  J.,  941. 

Oppenheimer,  Franz,  50,  644. 
Ordahl,  George,  639,  646. 

Petit-Dutaillis,  C.  E.,  649. 
Petman,  Charles,  276. 

Onnond,    Alexander   T.,    340, 
420,  425. 

Petrie,  W.  M.  F.,  930. 
Pfister,  Ch.,  275. 

Orth,  Samuel  P.,  639. 

Pfister,  Oskar,  301,  837. 

Osborne,  T.  M.,  362. 
Osten,  von,  413,  414,  430. 

Pfleiderer,  Otto,  730. 

Pflugk-Harttung,    Julius    von, 
941. 

Osterhausen,  Dr.,  240. 

Pfungst,  Oskar,  430. 

Ostrogorskli,  Moisei,  638. 

Philippe,  L.,  649,  729. 

Owen,  Richard,  768. 

Phillips,  Ulrich  B.,  727. 

Owen,  Robert  Dale,  339. 

Phillips,  W.  Alison,  703-04  n. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  949. 

Paget,  Sir  James,  366. 

Picard,  Edmond,  860. 

Pagnier,  Annand,  153,  333. 
Paine,  Thomas,  912. 

Piderit,  T.,  421,  426. 
Pillsbury,  W.  B.,  643,  647,  631 
Pinet,  G.,  729. 

Palanti,  G.,  040. 

Pintner,  Rudolf,  368. 

Pandian,  T.  B.,  333. 

Pitre,  Giuseppe,  939. 

Place,  Francis,  539. 

Plato,  96,  103,  238,  s6x,  607, 
986,  1008. 

Platt,  Thomas  G.,  659. 

Ploss,  H.,  2ti. 

Plunkitt,  G.  W.,  639. 

Pollock,  Frederick,  86x. 

Pope,  Alexander,  83  n. 

Popenoe,  Paul,  368,  1007. 

Porter,  W.  T.,  648. 

Post,  Albert  H.,  851-52,  860. 

Powell,  H.  Baden-,  set  Baden- 
Powell,  H. 

Poynting,  J.  H.,  13. 

Preuss,  Hugo,  334. 

Preyer,  W.,84. 

Price,  Dr.,  553. 

Price,  G.  F.,  369. 

Prince,  Morton,  70,  110-13, 
150,  474,  477,  643,  727,  777. 

Prince,  Samuel  H.,  931. 

Probst,  Ferdinand,  144,  151. 

Proudhon,  P.  J.,  563. 

Puchta,  G.  F.,  677. 

Puffer,  J.  Adams,  643,  636. 

Rainwater,  Clarence  E.,  732. 

Ralph,  Julian,  276. 

Rambosson,  J.,  938. 

Randall,  E.  O.,  943. 

Rank,  Otto,  858. 

Rastall,  B.  M.,  633. 

Ratzel,  Friedrich,  148,  270,  274, 

298-301,  .728,  770,  776. 
Ratzenhofer,    Gustav,   36,   38, 

212,  421,  496,  642,  643,  773. 
Rauber,  August,  241,  242,  243, 

277. 

Ravage,  M.  E.,  336,  782,  78 

Ray,  P.  O.,  638. 

Reclus,  E.,  1003. 

Reed,  V.  Z.,  939. 

Regnard,  P.,  937. 

Reich,  Emil,  778. 

Reinheimer,  H.,  218. 

Reuter,  E.  B.,  134,  770,  776. 

Rhodes,  J.  F.,  636. 

RhyX  John,  149,  943. 

Ribot,  Th.  A.,  108-10, 124, 144, 

ISO,  344,  394-97,  4*6,  430, 

433,  463,  496,  301. 
Ribton-Turner,  Charles  J.,  333 
Ricardo,  David,  344,  346,  338. 
Richard.  T.,  943. 
Richards,  Caroline  C.,  303-11. 
Richet,  Ch.,  113,  113,  430. 
Richmond,  Mary  E.,  39,  213, 

491,  498. 
Rickert,  Heinrich,  10, 1003. 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


IO2I 


Rihbany,   Abraham   M.,   336, 

774,  782,  783. 

Riis,  Jacob  A..  336,  567,  ?8a. 
Riley,  I.  W.,  151. 
Riordan,  William  L.,  659. 
Ripley,  William  Z.,  264-68,  275, 

S3t-38,  572,  725,  776. 
Risley,  Herbert  H.,  681, 684-88, 

728. 

Ritchie,  David  G.,  725. 
Rivarol,  Antoine,  908. 
Rivers,  W.  H.  R.,  211,  219,  220, 

7*3,  729,  738,  746-50,  776, 

857. 

Roberts,  Peter,  219. 
Robertson,  John  M.,  641,  646, 

861,  1010. 

Roberty,  E.  de,  729. 
Robinson,  Charles  H.,  779. 
Robinson,  James  Harvey,  5,  6, 

498. 

Robinson,  Louis,  82. 
Roepke,  Dr.  Fritz,  650. 
Rogers,  Edward  S.,  365. 
Rogers,  James  B.,  944. 
Rohde,  Erwin,  657. 
Romanes,  G.  J.,  227,  379. 
Roosevelt,  Theodore,  659.  776 
Rosanoff,  A.  J.,  132. 
Roscher,  W.,  726. 
Ross,  Edward  A.,  58,  213,  499, 

725,  780,  849,  834. 
Rossi,  Pasquale,  637,  627,  938, 

940. 

Rothschild,  Alonzo,  833. 
Rousiers,  Paul  de,  731. 
Rousseau,  Jean  Jacques,   107, 

139,  223,  231,  234-35,  241, 

278, 807,  850. 
Roussy,  G.,  648. 
Routledge,  Mrs.  Scoresby,  275. 
Rowntree,   B.    Seebohm,    367, 

569- 
Royce,  Josiah,  130,  390,  423, 

426,  429,- 632. 
Rubinow,  I.  M.,  368. 
Rudolph,  Heinrich,  426. 
Rudolphi,  K.  A.,  243. 
Russell,  B.  A.  W.,  363. 
Russell,  J.  H.,  727. 
Ryckere,  Raymond  de,  370. 

Sabine,  Lorenzo,  633: 
Sageret,  J.,  838. 
Sagher,  Maurice  de,  276. 
Saineanu,  Lazar,  428,  429. 
Saint-Simon,  C.  H.  comte  de, 

3,  4- 

Saleeby,  Caleb  W.,  1007. 
Salt,  Henry  S.,  1009. 
Salz,  Arthur,  729. 


Samassa,  P.,  946. 
Sandburg,  Carl,  634. 
Sands,  B.,  946. 
Santayana,  G.,  983. 
Sapper,  Karl,  780. 
Sarbah,  John  M.,  860. 
Sartorius    von    Walterhausen, 
August,  728. 

Scalinger,  G.  M.,  941. 
Schaeffle,  Albert,  28,  58. 
Schatz,  Albert,  363. 
Schechter,  S.,  944. 
Schmidt,  Caspar,  363,  830. 
Schmidt,  N.,  943. 
Schmoller,  Gustav,  427,  729. 
Schmucker,  Samuel  M.   (ed.), 

334- 
Schopenhauer,     Arthur,     964, 

994-1000. 
Schurtz,    Heinrich,    723,    729, 

948. 

Schuster,  G.,  730. 
Schwartz,  82. 
Schwittau,  G.,  652. 
Scott,  Walter  D.,  839. 
Secrist,  Frank  K.,  428. 
Seebohm,  Frederic,  219,  861. 
Seguin,  Edward,  277. 
Selbie,  W.  B.,  944. 
Seligman,  E.  R.  A.,  363. 
Seligmann,  H.  J.,  634. 
Se'me'noff,  E.,  729. 
Semple,  Ellen  C.,  268-69,  274, 

289-91,  301-5. 
Sergi,  G.,  1004. 
Seton,  Ernest  Thompson,  886- 

87. 

Seton-Watson,  R.  W.,  946. 
Shaftesbury,   Seventh  Earl  of, 

949- 

Shakespeare,  William,  238,  239. 
Shaler,  N.  S..  148,  233,  257-59, 

283,  294-98,  330,  337,  651, 

948. 
Shand,  A.  F.,  130,  463, 477, 496, 

497,  SOL 

Sheldon,  H.  D.,  636. 
Shepard,  W.  J.,  838 
Sherrington,  C.  S.,  839. 
Shinn,  Milicent  W.,  82-85,  *S°- 
Short,  Wilfrid  M.,  977-79, 1004. 
Sicard,  Abbt,  242. 

Sidis,  Boris,  415-16,  424,  430, 
468. 

Sighele,  Scipio,  41,  38,  200-205, 
213,  218,  644,  722,  867,  872, 
894,  9*7,  939- 

Simkhovitch,  (Mrs.)  Mary  K., 
331,335- 


Simmel,  Georg,  10,  36,  58,  131 
nj,  218,  221,  286,  322-27. 
331,  332,  341,  342,  348-56 
356-61,  421,  423,  432,  433, 
300,  552-53,  339,  363,  582-86, 
586-94,  639,  643,  661,  668, 
670,  695-97,  697-703,  703-6, 
706-8,  720,  723,  726, 730, 733, 

938,  947,  1004,  1003. 
Simon,  Th.,  143,  134. 
Simons,  A.  M.,  443-44,  302. 
Simons,  Sarah  E.,  740-41,  773. 
Simpson,  Bertram  L.,  630. 
Sims,  George  R.,  367. 

Sims,  Newell  L.,  218,  334. 

Skeat,  Walter  W.,  276. 

Small.  Albion  W.,  36,  38,  106- 

08, 288-89, 332,  348,  421, 423. 

451-54, 454-58,  496, 499,  303, 

382,  386,  643,  660,  693,  697, 

703,  706,  726. 

Small,  Maurice  H.,  239-43. 
Smedes,  Susan  D.,  334,  728. 
Smith,  Adam,  344,  397-401, 

401,  429,  431,  433,  447,  449, 

49S,   SOS,  550-51,   5S3,   554, 

556,  358,  572. 
Smith,  G.  Elliot,  776. 
Smith,  Henry  C.,  943. 
Smith,  J.  M.  P.,  834. 
Smith,  Lieut.  Joseph  S.,  800— 

805. 

Smith,  Lorenzo  N.,  429. 
Smith,    Richmond  Mayo-,  see 

Mayo-Smith,  Richmond. 
Smith,  W.  Robertson,  16,  812- 

16,  822-26,  857. 
Smyth,  C.,  634. 
Socrates,  103,  140,  646. 
Solenberger,  Alice  W.,  274. 
Solon,  261. 
Sombart,  Werner,  317-22,  333, 

367,  648,  933,  948. 
Soml£,  F.,  728. 
Sorel,  Georges,  643, 816-10, 837 , 

939,  1004. 

Southard,  E.  E.,  1007. 
Spadoni,  D.,  731. 

Spargo,  John,  909-15,  930,  932. 

Speek,  Peter  A.,  781. 

Speer,  Robert  E.,  779. 

Spencer,  Baldwin,  149,  220, 861. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  24,  25, 26,  27, 
28, 43, 44,  38, 60,  ox,  141,  210, 
217,  396,  402,  493,  357,  563. 
787, 805-7,  818, 831, 849,  833, 
889,  947,  939,  963,  966-68, 
1001,  1006,  1010. 

Spiller,  G.  (ed.),  80-92,  631. 

Spurzheim,  J.  F.  K.,  143. 

Squillace,  Fausto,  948. 

Stalker,  James,  943. 

Stanhope,  Philip  Henry  (Fourth 
Earl),  240,  277. 


1022         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


Stanley,  L.  L..  569. 

Stanton,  Henry  B.,  949. 

Starbuck,  Edwin  D.,  332,  726. 

Starcke,  C.  N.,  »»o. 

Stchoukine,  Ivan,  944. 

Stead,  W.  T.,  782,  859. 

Steffens,  Lincoln,  331. 

Stein,  L.,  565,  649. 

Steiner,  Edward  A.,  780,  781. 

Steiner,  Jesse  F.,  335,  616,  621, 
622,  643,  651. 

Steinmetz,  Andrew,  655. 

Steinmetz,  S.  R.,  648,  654,  860. 

Steinthal,  H.,  21,  217. 

Stephen,  Sir  Leslie,  647. 

Stephenson,  Gilbert  T.,  651. 

Stern,  B.,  86,  87,  149,  130. 

Stern,  (Mrs.)  Elizabeth  G.,  774, 
783- 

Stern,  W.,  152. 

Stevens,  W.  H.  S.,  565. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  402,  429. 

Stillson,  Henry  L.,  730. 

Stimson,  Frederic  J.,  843-46. 

Stirner,  Max  [Pseud.],  see 
Schmidt,  Caspar. 

Stoddard,  Lothrop,  631,963. 

Stoker,  Bran,  731. 

Stoll,  Otto,  221, 332, 430, 926  f., 
937- 

Stone,  Alfred  H.,  631-37,  651. 

Stoughton,  John,  949. 

Stout,  G.  F.,  344,  391-04,  424- 

Stow,  John,  219. 

Strachey,  Lytton,  721,  962. 

Straticd,  A.,  940. 

Stratz,  Carl  H.,  948. 

Straus/,,  A.,  149. 

Stromberg,  A.  von,  943. 

Strong,  Anna  L.,  273. 

Stubbs,  William,  353,  354. 

Stumpf,  C.,  413,  414. 

Sugenheim,  S.,  727. 

Sullivan,  Anne,  243,  244. 

Sully,  J.,  150,  332,  422,  426. 

Sumner,  Helen  L.,  942. 

Sumner,  William  G.,  36,  37,  46, 
97-100, 143, 148, 283, 293-94, 
333,  640,  648,  759,  779,  796, 
797,  831,  841-43,  849,  854, 
866,  875,  933,  948,  983-84., 

Swift,  Jonathan,  67. 

Tabb£,  P.,  946. 

Taft,  Jessie,  942. 

Taine,  H.  A.,  141, 493,  498,  907, 

935,  950. 

Talbot,  Marion,  222. 
Talbot,  Winthrop,  782. 


Tannenbaum,  Frank,  49,  936. 

Tarde,  Gabriel,  ai,  22,  32,  33, 
36,  37,  41,  58,  201,  202,  213, 
218.  332,  390,  418,  423,  429. 
562,  569, 729,  777,  794  n.,  828, 
858,  868,  875,  927,  033.  939, 
947- 

Tardieu,  E.,  725. 

Taussig,  F.  W.,  731. 

Tawney,  G.  A.,  727,  940. 

Taylor,  F.  W.,  149. 

Taylor,  Graham  R.,  219. 

Taylor,  Thomas,  939. 

Tead,  Ordway,  149,  494. 

Teggart,  Frederick  J.,  1006. 

Tenney,  E.  P.,  1009. 

Terman,  L.  M.,  145,  855. 

Theophrastus,  144,  151. 

Thiers,  Adolphe,  947. 

This,  G.,  275." 

Thomas,  Edward,  935. 

Thomas,  N.  W.,  220,  856, 

Thomas,  William  I.,  47,  52,  57, 
59,  144,  146.  148,  151,  153, 
215,  222,  249-52,  285,  332, 
335,  438,  442,  488-90,  497, 
501, 579-82,  640,  651,  652, 
655,  7i8,  729,  730,  731,  774, 
7?8,  935,  948,  950. 

Thompson,  Anstruther,  402. 

Thompson,  Frank  V.,  781. 

Thompson,  Helen  B.,  133. 

Thompson,  M.  S.,  946. 

Thompson,  Warren  S.,  s66. 

Thompson,  W.  Gilman,  568. 

Thomson,  J.  Arthur,  13,  71, 
126-28,  147,  153,  218,  227, 
$13-15,  563,  1007. 

Thorndike,  Edward  L.,  68,  71, 
73-76,  77,  78,  92-94, 147, 150 
152,  155,  187,  188,  424,  429, 
494,647,  721,  726. 

Thoreau,  H.  D.,  229. 
Thurston,  Henry  W.,  656. 
Thwing,  Charles  F.,  and  Carrie 

F.  B.,  222. 
Tippenhauer,  L.  G.,  939. 

Tocqueville,  Alexius  de,  831, 
858,  909. 

Todd,  Arthur  J.,  1004,  1010. 
Tolstoy,  Count  Leon,  151,  789. 
TOnnies,   Ferdinand,    ioo-ro2 
649,  940. 

Toops,  Herbert  A.,  568. 
Topinard,  Paul,  537. 
Tosti,  Gustavo,  425. 
Tower,  W.  L.,  128,  147. 
Towns,  Charles  B.,  569. 
Toynbee,  Arnold,  334,  930. 
Tracy,  J.,  943. 
Train,  Arthur,  636. 


Train,  J..  944. 
Tredgold,  A.  F.,  152,  277. 
Treitschke,  Heinrich  von,  988. 
Trenor,  John  J.  D.,  781. 
Trent,  William  P.,  859. 
Tridon,  Andrd,  501. 
Triplett,  Norman,  646. 
Trotter,  W.,  31,  647,  742-45, 

783,  784. 

Tuchmann,  J.,  856. 
Tufts,  James  H.,  149. 
Tulp,  Dr.,  241. 
Turner,  Charles  J.  Ribton-,  see 

Ribton-Turner,  Charles  J. 
Turner,  Frederick  J.,  499. 
Twain,     Mark     [pseud.]      see 

Clemens,  Samuel  L., 
Tylor,    Edward    B.,   19,    148, 

220,  674,  855. 

Urban,  Wilbur  M.,  500. 

Vaccaro,  M.  A.,  860. 
Vallaux,  Camille,  274,  333. 
Vandervelde,  E.,  218, 333, 1007. 
Van  Hise,  Charles  R.,  564. 
Vavin,  P.,  729. 

Veblen,  Thorstein,  71,  287,  301, 

644,  721,  729,  936. 
Vellay,  Charles,  946. 
Vierkandt,  Alfred,  148,  333, 

723,  729,  777,  834. 
Vigouroux,  A.,  411,  412,  937. 
Villatte,  C6saire,  428. 
Villon,  Francois,  428. 
Vincent,  George  E.,  58,  605-10, 

646. 

Virchow,  Rudolph,  337,  723. 
Vischer,  F.  T.,  402. 
Voivenel,  Paul,  648. 
Voltaire,  986. 
Von  Kolb,  240. 
Vries,  Hugo  de,  143. 

Wace,  A.  J.  B.,  946. 
Wagner,  Adolf,  363. 
Wagner,  J.  M.,  243. 
Waitz,  Theodor,  836. 
Wald,  Lilian,  331. 
Walford,  Cornelius,  364. 
Walker,  Francis  A.,  499,  508 

539-44,  564,  572. 
Wallace,  Alfred  R.,  553,   354 

562,723, 1006. 
Wallace,  Donald  M.,  333. 
Wallas,  Graham,  148,  162,  333, 

422,  431,  494,  923,  929,  933 
Wallaschek,  Richard,  938. 
Walling,  W.  E.,  633. 
Wallon,  H..  7*7. 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


1023 


Walter,  F.,  854- 

Ward,  E.  J.,  331,  ?3». 

Ward,  James,  775. 

Ward,  Lester  F.,  58,  497,  499, 

Si3,   649,  7i8,  855,  973-75, 

1007. 

Ward,  Robert  De  C.,  726. 
Ware,  J.  Redding,  428. 
Wanning,    Eugenius,    173-80, 

ai8,  554- 

Warne,  Frank  J.,  653. 
Warneck  Gustav,  779. 
Warren,  H.  C.,  777. 
Warren,  Josiah,  565. 
Washburn,  Margaret  F.,  147- 
Washington,   Booker  T.,   152, 

607,  629,  782. 
Wasmann,  Eric,  169. 
Watson,  Elkanah,  540,  543- 
Watson,  John  B.,  81,  147    283, 

482-88,  488,  494. 
Watson,    R.    W.    Seton-,    see 

Seton- Watson,  R.  W. 

Waxweiler,  E.,  218. 
Weatherly.  U.  G.,  776. 
Webb,    Sidney    and    Beatrice, 
564,  644,  657. 

Weber,  Adna  F.,  334. 
Weber,  John  L.,  727. 
Weber,  L.,  1006. 
Webster,  Hutton,  274,  730. 
Wechsler,  Alfred,  948. 
Weeks,  Arland  D.,  646. 
Wehrhan,  K.,  650. 
Weidensall,  C.  J.,  153- 
Weigall,  A.,  332. 
Weismann,  August,   143,   227, 

SiSi  563- 

Weller,  Charles  F.,  732. 
Wells,  H.  G.,  151, 496, 498,  932, 

935,  1009. 

Wendland,  Walter,  650. 
Wermert,  Georg,  654. 
Wesley,  Charles,  916. 
Wesley,  John,  151,  916  fl. 


Wesnitsch,  Milenko  R.,  654. 
West,  Arthur  Graeme,  650. 
Westermarck,  Edward,  16,  17, 

60,  148,  214,  215,  220,  640, 

778,  849,  854. 
Weygandt,  W.,  937. 
Whately,  Richard,  835. 
Wheeler,  G.  C.,  220. 
Wheeler,  William  M.,  167-70, 

180-82,  214,  217,  554. 
White,  Andrew  D.,  647. 
White,  F.  M.,  655 
White,  W.  A.,  500,  594-08. 
Whitefield,  George,  916  ff. 
Whiteley,  Opal  S.,  273. 
Whiting,  Lilian,  949. 
Whitley,  W.  T.,  943- 
Wigmore,  John  H.,  852,  854, 

860,  861. 

Wilberforce,  William,  949. 
Wilbert,  Martin  I.,  569. 
Wilde,  Oscar,  151. 
Willard,  Frances  E.,  942,  950. 
Willard,  Josiah  Flynt,  151. 
Willcox,  Walter  F.,  223, 1002-3, 

1010. 

Williams,  Daniel  J.,  781. 
Williams,  J.  M.,  212,  219,  223. 
Williams,  Whiting,  149. 
Willoughby,  W.  W.,  565. 
Wilmanns,  Karl,  153. 
Wilson,  D.  L.,  730. 
Wilson,  Captain  H.  A.,  637. 
Wilson,  Warren  H.,  219. 
Windelband,    Wilhelm,    8-10, 

286,  646. 

Windisch,  H.,  775. 
Winship,  A.  E.,  147. 
Winston,  L.  G.,  117-10. 
Wirth,  M.,  947. 
Wishart,  Alfred  W.,  274. 
Wiston-Glynn,  A.  W.,  947. 
Witte,  H.,  946. 
Wittenmyer,  (Mrs.)  Annie,  808- 

005,  942. 


Wolff,  C.  F.,  967. 
Wolman,  Leo,  633. 
Wood,  Walter,  649,  (ed). 
Woodbury,  Margaret,  859. 
Woodhead,  T.  W.,  179- 
Woods,  A.,  655. 
Woods,  E.  B.,  1004. 
Woods,  Frederick  A..  499,  854. 
Woods,  Robert  A.,   219,  331, 

335.  566,  656  (ed.),  943. 
Woodson,  Carter  G.,  941. 
Woodworth,  R.  S.,  154. 
Woolbert,  C.  H.,  941. 
Woolman,  John,  151. 
Wordsworth,  William,  66. 
Worms,  Emile,  649. 
Worms,  Rene1,  28,  20,  58,  61, 

425,  649  (ed.),  729,  940. 
Wright,  Arnold,  653. 
Wright,  Gordon,  886. 
Wuensch,  R.,  939. 
Wundt,  Wilhelm,  21,  22,  421, 

422,  426,  427    775,  777. 
Wuttke,  Heinrich,  427. 

X6nopol,  A.  P.,  649. 

Yarros,  Victor,  859. 
Yerkes,  R.  M.,  145. 
Yonge,  Charlotte  M.,  049. 
Yule,  Henry,  276. 

Zangwill,  Israel,  734. 
Zeeb,  Frieda  B.,  942. 
Zenker,  E.  V.,  565. 
Ziegler,  T.,  942. 
Zimand,  Savel,  943. 
Zimmermann,  Johann  G.,  271, 

273. 
Zimmern,  Alfred  E.,  660,  729, 

730. 
Znaniecki,  Florian,  47,  52,  57, 

59,  144,  ISI,  222,  33S,  SOI, 

731,, "774,  935,  1006. 
Zola,  Emile,  141, 142,  266,  334. 
Zueblin,  Charles,  955-56,  1010. 


GENERAL  INDEX 


ACCLIMATIZATION:  bibliography,  725- 
26;  as  a  form  of  accommodation, 
666,  671-74,  719. 

ACCOMMODATION:  chap,  x,  663-733; 
bibliography,  725-32;  and  adapta- 
tion, 663-65;  and  assimilation,  735- 
36;  and  competition,  664-65;  and 
compromise,  706-8;  and  conflict, 
631-37,  660-70,  703-8;  creates  social 
organization,  511;  defined,  663-64; 
distinguished  from  assimilation,  511; 
facilitated  by  secondary  contacts, 
736-37;  in  the  form  of  domination 
and  submission,  440-41 ;  in  the  form 
of  slavery,  674-77,  677-81;  forms  of, 
666-67,  671-88,  718-20;  and  historic 
forms  of  the  organization  of  society, 
667;  investigations  and  problems, 
718-25;  natural  issue  of  conflict,  665; 
and  the  origin  of  caste  in  India,  681- 
84,  684-88;  and  peace,  703-6;  in 
relation  to  competition,  510-11;  in 
relation  to  conflict,  511;  as  sub- 
ordination and  superordination,  667- 
69.  See  Subordination  and  super- 
ordination. 

ACCOMMODATION  GROUPS,  classified,  50, 
721-23. 

ACCULTURATION:  bibliography,  776-77; 
defined,  135;  problems  of,  771-72; 
and  tradition,  72;  transmission  of 
cultural  elements,  737. 

ADAPTATION,  and  accommodation,  663- 

65- 
ADVERTISING.    See  Publicity. 

AGGREGATES,  SOCIAL:  composed  of  spa- 
tially separated  units,  26;  and 
organic  aggregates,  25. 

.AMALGAMATION:  bibliography,  776;  and 
assimilation,  740-41,  769-71;  fusion 
of  races  by  intermarriage,  737-38; 
result  of  contacts  of  races,  770. 
See  Miscegenation. 

AMERICANIZATION:  bibliography,  781- 
83;  as  assimilation,  762-63;  and 
immigration,  772-75;  as  participa- 
tion, 762-63;  as  a  problem  of 


assimilation,  730-40,  762-69;  Study 
of  Methods  of,  739,  773-74;  surveys 
and  studies  of,  772-75.  See  Im- 
migration. 

ANARCHISM:  bibliography,  565-66;  eco- 
nomic doctrine  of,  558. 

ANARCHY,  of  political  opinion  and 
parties,  2. 

ANIMAL  CROWD.    See  Crowd,  animal. 

ANIMAL  SOCIETY:  bee  and  ant  com- 
munity, 742;  prestige  in,  809-10. 

ANTHROPOLOGY,  10. 

APPRECIATION:  in  relation  to  imitation, 
344,  401-7;  and  sense  impressions, 
356-57. 

ARCHAEOLOGY,  as  a  new  social  sci- 
ence, 5. 

ARGOT,  bibliography,  427-29. 

ART:  as  expressive  behavior,  787-88; 
origin  in  the  choral  dance,  871. 

ASSIMILATION:  chap,  xi,  734-84;  bib- 
liography, 775-83;  and  accommoda- 
tion, 735-36;  and  amalgamation, 
740-41,760-71;  Americanization  as, 
762-63;  based  on  differences,  735; 
biological  aspects  of,  737~38,  740-45! 
conceived  as  a  "Melting  Pot,"  734; 
defined,  756,  761;  and  democracy, 
734;  distinguished  from  accommoda- 
tion, 511;  facilitated  by  primary 
contacts,  736-37,  739,  761-62;  final 
product  of  social  contact,  736-37; 
in  the  formation  of  nationalities,  756- 
58;  fusion  of  cultures,  737;  of  the 
Germans  in  the  Carpathian  lands, 
770;  instinctive  basis  of,  742-45;  in- 
vestigations and  problems,  769-75 ;  as 
like-mindedness,  735,  741;  and  media- 
tion of  individual  differences,  766-69; 
natural  history  of,  774;  in  personal 
development,  511;  popular  concep- 
tions of,  734-35 ;  a  problem  of  second- 
ary groups,  761;  a  process  of  pro- 
longed contact,  741;  of  races,  756- 
62;  and  racial  differences,  760-70; 
sociology  of ,  73  5-3  7 .  See  Amalgama- 
tion, Americanization,  Cultures,  con- 
flict and  fusion  of,  Denationalization. 


1025 


1026         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


ATTENTION,  in  relation  to  imitation, 
344,  391-94- 

ATTITUDES:  bibliography,  501;  as  be- 
havior patterns,  439-42;  complexes 
°f»  57  >  polar  conception  of,  441-42; 
as  the  social  element,  438-39;  as 
social  forces,  467-78;  in  subordina- 
tion and  superordination,  692-95; 
and  wishes,  442-43;  wishes  as  com- 
ponents of,  439. 

BALKED  DISPOSITION,  a  result  of  sec- 
ondary contacts,  287. 

BEHAVIOR:  denned,  185-86;  expressive 
and  positive,  787-88. 

BEHAVIOR,  COLLECTIVE.  See  Collective 
behavior. 

BEHAVIOR  PATTERNS,  and  culture,  72. 

BLUSHING,  communication  by,  365-70. 

BOLSHEVISM,  909-15. 

BUREAU  or  MUNICIPAL  RESEARCH,  of 
New  York  City,  46,  315. 

CARNEGIE  REPORT  UPON  MEDICAL 
EDUCATION,  315. 

CASTE:  bibliography,  728;  as  an  accom- 
modation of  conflict,  584;  denned, 
203-4;  a  form  of  accommodation 
group,  50;  interpreted  by  super- 
ordination  and  subordination,  684- 
88;  its  origin  in  India,  681-84;  and 
the  limitation  of  free  competition, 
620-22;  study  of,  722-23. 

CATEGORIC  CONTACTS.  See  Sympathetic 
contacts. 

CEREMONY:  bibliography,  855-56;  as 
expressive  behavior,  787-88;  funda- 
mental form  of  social  control,  787. 

CHARACTER:  defined,  81;  inherited  or 
acquired,  127-28;  and  instinct,  190- 
93;  as  the  organization  of  the  wishes 
of  the  person,  490;  related  to  custom, 
192-93- 

CIRCLE,  vicious.  See  Vicious  circle. 

CIRCULAR  REACTION.  See  Reaction, 
circular. 

CITY:  an  area  of  secondary  contacts, 
285-87;  aversion,  a  protection  of  the 
person  in  the,  584-85;  and  the  evo- 
lution of  individual  types,  712-14; 
growth  of,  534-35;  physical  human 
type  of,  535-38;  planning,  studies  of, 
328-29;  studies  of,  331. 


CIVILIZATION:  and  historical  continu- 
ity, 298-301;  life  of,  956-57;  and 
mobility,  303-5;  a  part  of  nature,  3; 
an  organization  to  realize  wishes,  958; 
and  permanent  settlement,  529-30. 

CLASS  CONSCIOUSNESS,  40. 

CLASSES,  SOCIAL:  bibliography,  728-29; 
defined,  204-5;  as  a  form  of  accom- 
modation groups,  50;  patterns  of  life 
of,  46;  separated  by  isolation,  230; 
study  of,  722. 

CLEVER  HANS,  case  of,  412-15. 

COLLECTIVE  BEHAVIOR:  chap,  xiii, 
865-952;  bibliography,  934-51;  de- 
nned, 865;  investigations  and  prob- 
lems, 924-34;  and  the  origin  of 
concerted  activity,  32;  and  social 
control,  785-86;  and  social  unrest, 
866-67.  See  Crowd,  Herd,  Mass 
movements,  Public. 

COLLECTIVE  CONSCIOUSNESS:  denned, 
195;  of  society,  28. 

COLLECTIVE  FEELING,  and  collective 
thinking,  17. 

COLLECTIVE  MIND,  and  social  control, 
36-43- 

COLLECTIVE  REPRESENTATION:  applica- 
tion of  Durkheim's  conception  of, 
18;  contrasted  with  sensation,  193; 
in  the  crowd,  894-95;  denned,  164- 
65,195-96;  and  intellectual  life,  193- 
96;  and  public  opinion,  38. 

COLLECTIVISM:  and  the  division  of 
labor,  718. 

COLONIZATION:  bibliography,  725-26; 
a  form  of  accommodation,  719;  and 
mobility,  302. 

COMMON  PURPOSE,  as  ideal,  wish,  and 
obligation,  33. 

COMMUNISM,  economic  doctrine  of, 
558- 

COMMUNITY  ORGANIZATION:  bibliog- 
raphy, 731-32;  study  of,  724-25- 

COMMUNICATION:  bibliography,  275-76; 
426-29;  and  art,  37;  basis  of  partici- 
pation in  community  life,  763-66; 
basis  of  society,  183-85;  basis  of 
world-society,  343;  by  blushing, 
365-70;  concept,  the  medium  of, 
379-81;  extension  of,  by  human 
invention,  343,  385-89;  a  form  of 
social  interaction,  36;  and  inter- 
stimulation,  37;  by  laughing  370-75; 


GENERAL  INDEX 


1027 


in  the  lower  animals,  375-79;  as  the 
medium  of  social  interaction,  341-43; 
natural  forms  of,  356-75;  newspaper 
as  meolium  of,  316-17;  rdle  of  the 
book  in,  343;  study  of,  421-23; 
through  the  expression  of  the  emo- 
tions, 342,  361-75;  through  language 
and  ideas,  375-89;  through  the 
senses,  342, 356-61;  writing  as  a  form 
of,  381-84.  See  Language,  News- 
paper, Publicity. 

COMMUNITIES:  bibliography,  59,  219; 
animal,  26;  denned,  161;  local  and 
territorial,  50;  plant,  bibliography, 
217-18;  plant,  organization  of,  26, 
173-80;  526-28;  plant,  unity  of, 
198-99;  rural  and  urban,  56;  scale 
for  grading,  1002  n.;  studies  of,  211- 
12,327-29. 

COMMUNITY,  as  a  constellation  of  social 
forces,  436,  493. 

COMPETITION:  chap,  viii,  505-73;  bib- 
liography, 562-70;  and  accommoda- 
tion, 510-11,664-65;  biological,  553- 
54;  changing  forms  of,  545-5°; 
conscious,  as  conflict,  574,  576,  570- 
94;  and  control,  509-10;  of  cultural 
languages,  754-56,  77 1;  and  the 
defectives,  the  dependents,  and  the 
delinquents,  559-62;  destroys  isola- 
tion, 232;  economic,  544-54,  554-58; 
and  the  economic  equilibrium,  505-6, 
511;  the  elementary  process  of  inter- 
action, 507-11;  elimination  of,  and 
caste,  620-22;  and  freedom,  506-7, 
509,  513,  551-52;  history  of  theories 
of>  556-58;  and  human  ecology,  558; 
and  the  "inner  enemies,"  559-62; 
investigations  and  problems,  553-62; 
and  laissez  faire,  554-58;  the  "Life  of 
trade,"  505;  makes  for  progress,  988; 
makes  for  specialization  and  organi- 
zation, 519-22;  and  man  as  an  adap- 
tive mechanism,  522-26;  and  mobil- 
ity, 513;  most  severe  between  mem- 
bers of  the  same  species,  517;  and 
the  natural  harmony  of  individual 
interests,  550-51;  natural  history  of, 
555-56;  and  natural  selection,  515- 
19;  opposed  to  sentiment,  509; 
personal,  as  conflict,  574,  575-76; 
personal,  and  the  evolution  of  indi- 
vidual types,  712-14;  personal,  and 
social  selection,  708-12;  and  plant 
migration,  526-28;  popular  concep- 
tion of,  505-7;  and  race  suicide. 


539-44;  restricted  by  custom,  tradi- 
tion, and  law,  513;  and  segregation, 
526-44;  and  social  contact,  280-81; 
and  social  control,  561-62;  and  social 
solidarity,  670-71,  708-18;  and  the 
standard  of  living,  543-44;  and 
status,  541-43,  670-71,  708-18;  and 
the  struggle  for  existence,  505,  512, 
5i3-i5,  5i5-i9,  522-26,  545-5°; 
unfair,  506.  See  Competitive  co- 
operation. 

COMPETITIVE  CO-OPERATION:  Adam 
Smith's  conception  of  an  "invisible 
hand,"  504,  551;  in  the  ant  com- 
munity, 512-13;  and  competition, 
508;  complementary  association, 
179-80;  and  human  ecology,  558; 
and  participation,  767-68;  in  the 
plant  community,  163. 

COMPREHENSION,  and  sense  impressions, 
357-6i. 

COMPROMISE,  a  form  of  accommodation, 
706-8. 

CONCEPTS:  as  collective  representa- 
tions, 193-96;  as  medium  of  com- 
munication, 379-81. 

CONDUCT:  as  self-conscious  behavior, 
188-89. 

CONFLICT:  chap,  ix,  574-662;  bibliog- 
raphy, 645-60;  and  accommodation, 
511,  631-37,  665,  669-70,  703-8;  of 
beliefs,  and  the  origin  of  sects,  611- 
12;  concept  of,  574-76;  as  conscious 
competition,  281,  574,  576,  579-94; 
cultural,  and  the  organization  of 
sects,  610-16;  cultural,  and  sex 
differences,  615-16;  cultural,  and 
social  organization,  577-78;  deter- 
mines the  status  of  the  person  in 
society,  574-75,  576;  emotional, 
475-76;  and  fusion  of  cultures,  738- 
39,  746-62,  771-72;  and  fusion  of 
cultures  and  social  unity,  200;  of 
impersonal  ideals,  592-94;  instinctive 
interest  in,  579-82;  investigations 
and  problems,  638-45;  natural  his- 
tory of,  579-82;  and  origin  of  law, 
850-52;  as  personal  competition, 
575-76;  and  the  political  order,  511; 
psychology  and  sociology  of,  638-39; 
race,  and  social  contact,  616-23; 
and  race  consciousness,  623-31; 
racial,  616-37;  and  the  rise  of 
nationalities,  628-31;  and  repression, 
601-2;  and  social  control,  607-8;  as 


1028         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


a  struggle  for  status,  574,  578-79;  as 
a  type  of  social  interaction,  582-86; 
types  of,  630-41,  586-94;  and  the 
unification  of  personality,  583-84. 
See  Feud,  Litigation,  Mental  conflict, 
Race  conflicts,  Rivalry,  War. 

CONFLICT  GROUPS,  classified,  50. 

CONSCIENCE:  as  an  inward  feeling,  103; 
a  manifestation  of  the  collective 
mind,  33 ;  a  peculiar  possession  of  the 
gregarious  animals,  31. 

CONSCIOUS,  41. 

CONSCIOUSNESS:  national  and  racial, 
40-41 ;  and  progress,  990-94. 

CONSCIOUSNESS,  SOCIAL:  bibliography, 
425-26;  of  the  community,  48; 
existence  of,  28;  as  mind  of  the 
group,  41;  in  the  person,  29;  and 
the  social  organism,  39. 

CONSENSUS:  denned,  164;  social,  and 
solidarity,  24;  social,  closer  than  the 
vital,  25;  as  society,  161;  versus 
co-operation,  184. 

CONTACT,  maritime,  and  geographical, 
260-64. 

CONTACTS,  PRIMARY:  bibliography,  333- 
34;  and  absolute  standards,  285-86; 
defined,  284,  311;  distinguished  from 
secondary  contacts,  284-87,  305-27; 
facilitate  assimilation,  736-37,  739; 
of  intimacy  and  acquaintanceship, 
284-85;  related  to  concrete  experi- 
ence, 286;  and  sentimental  atti- 
tudes, 310-20;  studies  of,  329-31; 
in  village  life  in  America,  305-11. 

CONTACTS,  SECONDARY:  bibliography, 
334-36;  and  abstract  relations,  325; 
accommodation  facilitated  by,  736- 
37;  and  capitalism,  317-22;  a  cause 
of  the  balked  disposition,  287;  char- 
acteristic of  city  life,  285-87,  311-15; 
conventional,  formal,  and  impersonal, 
56;  defined,  284;  distinguished  from 
primary  contacts,  284-87,  305-27; 
laissez  faire  in,  758;  modem  society 
based  on,  286-87 ;  publicity  as  a  form 
of,  315-17;  and  the  problems  of 
social  work,  287;  and  rational  atti- 
tudes, 317-22;  sociological  signifi- 
cance of  the  stranger,  286,  322-27; 
studies  of,  331. 

CONTACTS,  SOCIAL:  chap,  v,  280-338; 
bibliography,  332-36;  in  assimilation, 
736-37;  avoidance  of,  292-93,  330; 


denned,  329;  desire  for,  291-92; 
distinguished  from  physical  con- 
tacts, 282;  economic  conception  of, 
280-81;  extension  through  the  de- 
vices of  communication,  280-81;  as 
the  first  stage  of  social  interaction, 
280,282;  frontiers  of,  288-80;  inten- 
sity of,  282-83;  investigations  and 
problems  of,  327-31;  land  as  a  basis 
for,  282,  280-91;  preliminary  notions 
of,  280-81;  and  progress,  988-89; 
and  race  conflict,  616-23;  and  racial 
intermixture,  770;  and  social  forces, 
36;  sociological  concept  of,  281-82; 
spatial  conception  of,  282;  sym- 
pathetic versus  categoric,  294-98;  in 
the  transmission  of  cultural  objects, 
746.  See  Communication;  Contacts, 
primary;  Contacts,  secondary;  Con- 
tinuity; Interaction,  social;  Mobil- 
ity; Touch;  We-group  and  others- 
group. 

CONTAGION,  SOCIAL:  bibliography,  936- 
38;  and  collective  behavior,  874-76, 
878-81;  in  fashion,  874-75;  and 
psychic  epidemics,  926-27. 

CONTINUITY:  through  blood-relation- 
ship, 351-52;  by  continuance  of 
locality,  350;  through  group  honor, 
355~5.6;  through  the  hereditary 
principle,  353-54;  historical,  283-84, 
298-301;  through  leadership,  353-54; 
through  material  symbols,  354-55; 
through  membership  in  the  group, 
352~53>  through  specialized  organs, 
356. 

CONTROL:  aim  of  sociology,  339; 
defined,  182;  the  fundamental  social 
fact,  34;  loss  of,  and  unrest,  766-67. 
See  Control,  social. 

CONTROL,  SOCIAL:  chap,  xii,  785-864; 
bibliography,  854-62;  absolute  in 
primary  groups,  285-86,  305-11; 
through  advertising,  830;  in  the 
animal  "crowd,"  788-90;  as  an  arte- 
fact, 29;  central  problem  of  society, 
42;  and  collective  behavior,  785-86; 
and  the  collective  mind,  36-43;  and 
competition,  509-10,  561-62;  and 
conflict,  607-8;  and  corporate  action, 
27;  in  the  crowd,  790-91;  in  the 
crowd  and  the  public,  8005-805;  de- 
nned, 785-87;  and  definitio'ns  of  the 
situation,  764-65;  elementary  forms 
of,  788-91;  800-816,  849-50;  and 


GENERAL  INDEX 


1029 


human  nature,  785-87,  848-49;  and 
the  individual,  52;  investigations 
and  problems,  848-53;  through 
laughter,  373-75;  mechanisms  of, 
29;  through  news,  834-37;  through 
opinion,  191-92;  organization  of,  29; 
through  prestige,  807-11,  811-12; 
through  propaganda,  837-41;  in  the 
public,  791-^96,  800-805;  through 
public  opinion  in  cities,  316-17; 
resting  on  consent,  29;  with  the 
savage,  90;  and  schools  of  thought, 
27~35>  and  social  problems,  785; 
as  taming,  163.  See  Ceremony, 
Law,  Leadership,  Institutions,  Mores, 
Myth,  Taboo. 

CONVERSION:  bibliography,  726-27; 
as  the  mutation  of  attitudes  and 
wishes,  669;  religious,  and  the  social 
group,  48. 

CO-OPERATION:  of  the  machine  type, 
184.  See  Collective  behavior,  Cor- 
porate action. 

CORPORATE  ACTION:  problem  of,  30; 
and  social  consciousness,  41-42; 
and  social  control,  27;  as  society,  163. 
See  Collective  behavior. 

CRIME,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
primary  group,  48,  49.  See  Defec- 
tives, dependents,  and  delinquents. 

CRISES,  ECONOMIC:  bibliography,  947. 
CRISIS,  and  public  opinion,  793,  794. 

CROWD:  bibliography,  939-40;  animal, 
788-89,  876,  881-87;  characteristics 
of,  890-93;  classified,  200-201;  con- 
trol in  the, 790-91,  800-805;  defined, 
868,  893-95;  excitement  of,  in  mass 
movements,  895-98;  homogeneous 
and  heterogeneous,  200-201;  "in 
being,"  33;  milling  in,  869;  organ- 
ized, 33,  34;  "psychological,"  34, 
876-77,  887-93;  psychology  of,  5; 
and  the  public,  867-70;  and  unre- 
flective  action,  798-99. 

CULTURAL  DIFFERENCES,  as  caused  by 
isolation,  229. 

CULTURAL  PROCESS:  the  function  of, 
52-54;  and  isolation,  233. 

CULTURAL  RESEMBLANCES,  interpreta- 
tion of,  19. 

CULTURAL  TRAITS:  independently  cre- 
ated, 20;  transmission  of,  21. 


CULTURE:  and  behavior  patterns,  72; 
materials,  why  diffused,  20;  Roman, 
extension  of  in  Gaul,  751-54. 

CULTURES:  analysis  of  blended,  746- 
50;  comparative  study  of,  18;  con- 
flict and  fusion  of,  738-39;  746-62; 
771-72;  bibliography, 776-80;  fusions 
of,  nature  of  the  process,  20. 

CUSTOM:  as  the  general  will,  102;  and 
law,  799.  See  Mores. 

DANCE:  bibliography,  938-39;  and 
corporate  action,  870-71. 

DANCING  MANIA  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES, 
875,  879-81. 

DEFECTIVES,  DEPENDENTS,  AND  DELIN- 
QUENTS: bibliography,  147-48,  566- 
70;  and  competition,  559-62;  iso- 
lated groups,  232-33,  254-57,  271; 
and  progress,  954-55;  solution  of 
problems  of,  562. 

DEFINITION  OF  THE  SITUATION,  764-65. 

DENATIONALIZATION:  bibliography,  777- 
78;  implies  coercion,  740-41;  as 
negative  assimilation,  734;  in  the 
Roman  conquest  of  Gaul,  751-54. 

DENOMINATIONS:  as  accommodation 
groups,  50;  distinguished  from  sects, 
873. 

DESIRES:  in  relation  to  interests,  456; 
as  social  forces,  437~38,  453-54,  455. 
497- 

DIALECTS:  bibliography,  275,  427-29; 
caused  by  isolation,  271;  of  isolated 
groups,  423;  lingua  franca,  752-54. 

DISCOURSE,  UNIVERSES  OF.  See  Uni- 
verses of  discourse. 

DISCUSSION,  bibliography,  646-47. 

DISORGANIZATION,  SOCIAL:  bibli- 
ography, 934-35;  and  change,  55; 
disintegrating  influences  of  city  life, 
312-13;  and  emancipation  of  the 
individual,  867. 

DIVISION  OF  LABOR:  and  collectivism, 
718;  and  co-operation,  42 ;  and  indi- 
vidualism, 718;  and  the  moral  code, 
717-18;  physiological,  26;  in  slavery, 
677;  and  social  solidarity,  714-18; 
and  social  types,  713-14. 

DOGMA,  as  based  upon  ritual  and  myth, 
822-26. 

DOMESDAY  SURVEY,  436. 


1030        INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


DOMESTICATION:     defined,     163;      of 

animals,  170-73. 
DOMINATION.  See  Subordination  and 

superordination. 
DUEL:  bibliography,  655. 

ECESIS,  defined,  526. 

ECONOMIC  COMPETITION.  See  Compe- 
tition. 

ECONOMIC  CONFLICT  GROUPS:  bibli- 
ography, 657-58. 

ECONOMIC  CRISES.  See  Crises,  eco- 
nomic. 

ECONOMIC  MAN,  as  an  abstraction  to 
explain  behavior,  495-96. 

ECONOMIC  PROCESS,  and  personal 
values,  53-54. 

ECONOMICS:  conception  of  society  of, 
280-81;  and  the  economic  process, 
53-54;  use  of  social  forces  in, 
494-96.  See  Competition. 

EDUCATION:  device  of  social  control, 
339;  purpose  of,  833. 

EMOTIONS,  expressions  of:  bibliography, 
426-27;  study  of,  421-22. 

EPIDEMICS,  PSYCHIC  OR  SOCIAL.  See 
Contagion,  social. 

EQUILIBRIUM,  a  form  of  accommoda- 
tion, 667,719. 

ESPRIT  DE  CORPS:  as  affective  morale, 
209;  defined,  164;  in  relation  to 
isolation,  229-30. 

ETHNOLOGY:  and  history,  18;  as  a 
social  science,  5. 

EUGENICS:  bibliography,  147-48,  1007; 
and  biological  inheritance,  133;  as 
human  domestication,  163;  and 
progress,  969-73,  979-83;  research 
in,  143. 

EVOLUTION,  SOCIAL:  and  progress, 
bibliography,  1006-7. 

FAMILY:  bibliography,  220-23;  govern- 
ment of,  46;  outline  for  sociological 
study,  216;  a  primary  group,  56;  as 
a  social  group,  50;  study  of,  213-16. 

FASHION:  bibliography,  947-48;  a  form 
of  imitation,  390;  as  social  conta- 
gion, 874-75;  and  social  control, 
831-32;  study  of,  933-34. 

FEEBLE-MINDEDNESS.  See  Defectives, 
dependents,  and  delinquents. 


FERAL  MEN:  bibliography,  277;  result 
of  isolation,  271-72,  230-43. 

FERMENTATION,  SOCIAL,  34. 

FEUD:  bibliography,  654-55;  as  a  form 
of  conflict,  588-90;  as  the  personal 
settlement  of  disputes,  581. 

FLOCK,  881-83. 

FOLK  PSYCHOLOGY:  aim  of,  21;  its 
origin,  20;  and  sociology,  5. 

FOLKLORE,  as  a  social  science,  5. 

FOLKWAYS:  not  creations  of  human 
purpose,  98.  See  Customs,  Mores. 

FORCES,  SOCIAL:  chap,  vii,  435-504; 
bibliography,  498-501;  in  American 
history,  443-44;  attitudes  as,  437~42 ; 
467-78;  desires  as,  437-38,  453-54, 
497;  gossip  as,  452;  in  history,  436- 
37,  493-94;  history  of  the  concept  of, 
436-37;  idea-forces  as,  461-64;  and 
interaction,  451-54;  interests  as, 
454-58,  458-62,  494-96;  investiga- 
tions and  problems  of,  491-97 ;  organ- 
ized in  public  opinion,  35;  popular 
notions  of,  491-93;  in  public  opinion 
in  England,  445-51;  social  pressures 
as,  458-61;  and  the  social  survey, 
436;  in  social  work,  435-37,  491-93; 
sources  of  the  notion  of,  435-36; 
tendencies  as,  444-45;  trends  as, 
436-37.  See  Attitudes,  Desires,  In- 
terests, Sentiments,  and  Wishes. 

FREEDOM:  bibliography,  563;  and 
competition,  506-7,  509,  551-52; 
and  laissez  faire,  560-61;  as  the 
liberty  to  move,  323;  of  thought  and 
speech,  640-41. 

FRENCH  REVOLUTION,  905-9. 

GALTON  LABORATORY  FOR  NATIONAL 
EUGENICS,  143,  560. 

GAMES  AND  GAMBLING:  bibliography, 
655;  study  of,  640. 

GANGS:  bibliography,  656;  as  a  form  of 
conflict  groups,  50,  870;  permanent 
form  of  crowd  that  acts,  872. 

GENERAL  EDUCATION  BOARD,  315. 

GENIUS,  among  civilized  peoples,  92. 

GEOGRAPHY:  and  history,  8;  as  a 
science,  7. 

GOVERNMENT:  a  technical  science,  i. 
See  Politics. 

GREGARIOUSNESS,  regarded  as  an  in- 
stinct, 30,  742-45- 


GENERAL  INDEX! 


1031 


GROUP,  PRIMARY,  defined,  50,  56. 

GROUP  SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS,  51. 

GROUPS,  SECONDARY:  in  relation  to 
conflict  and  accommodation,  50. 
See  Contacts,  secondary. 

GROUPS,  SOCIAL:  bibliography,  218-23, 
274,  333-36;  accommodation  type 
of,  721-23;  centers  of  new  ideas,  21; 
and  character,  57;  classification  of, 
50,  200-205;  concept  of,  47;  co- 
operation in, 22;  defined,  45, 196-98; 
determines  types  of  personality, 
606-7;  investigations  of,  210-16, 
270-71;  natural,  30;  organization 
and  structure  of,  51;  persistence  of, 
340-56;  a  real  corporate  existence, 
33;  rivalry  of,  605-10;  and  social 
problems,  50;  study  of,  643-45;  sub- 
ordination to,  699-^702;  types  of, 
47-51;  unit  of  classification,  161-62; 
unit  of  investigation,  212-13;  unity 
of,  198-200.  See  Groups,  primary, 
Groups,  secondary,  Contacts,  pri- 
mary, Contacts,  secondary,  also 
the  names  of  specific  groups. 

GROWTH,  SOCIAL,  26. 

HABIT,  as  the  individual  will,  100-102. 

HERD:  behavior  of,  30;  contagion  in, 
885-86;  homogeneity  of,  31;  instinct 
of  the,  32,  742-45,  884-86;  milling 
in  the,  788-90;  simplest  type  of  social 
group,  30. 

HEREDITY  AND  EUGENICS:  bibliography, 
147-48.  See  Eugenics. 

HERITAGES,  SOCIAL:  complex  of  stimuli, 
72;  of  the  immigrant,  765 ;  investiga- 
tion of,  51;  transmission  of,  72. 

HISTORICAL  FACT,  7. 

HISTORICAL  PROCESS,  and  progress, 
969-73. 

HISTORICAL  RACES:  as  products  of  iso- 
lation, 257-60. 

HISTORY:  a  catalogue  of  facts,  14; 
defined  by  Karl  Pearson,  14;  and 
geography,  15;  as  group  memory, 
51-52;  mother  science  of  all  the 
social  sciences,  42,  43;  as  a  natural 
science,  23 ;  and  the  natural  sciences, 
6;  scientific,  4,  14;  and  sociology,  5, 
1-12,  16-24. 

HOMOGENEITY:  and  common  purpose, 
32;  and  like-mindedness,  32. 

HOUSING,  and  zoning  studies,  328-29. 


HTTMAN  BEINGS,  as  artificial  products, 
95- 

HUMAN  ECOLOGY,  and  competition,  558. 

HUMAN  NATURE:  chap,  ii,  64-158; 
bibliography,  147-54;  adaptability 
°f>  95-97>  Aristotle's  conception  of, 
140;  defined,  65-68;  described  in 
literature,  141-43;  description  and 
explanation  of,  79;  founded  on 
instincts,  77-78;  and  the  four 
wishes,  442-43;  Hobbes'  conception, 
140;  human  interest  in,  64-65; 
investigations  and  problems,  139-46; 
and  law,  12-16;  Machiavelli's  con- 
ception, 140;  and  the  mores,  97-100; 
political  conceptions,  140-41;  prob- 
lems of,  47 ;  product  of  group  life,  67 ; 
product  of  social  intercourse,  47; 
product  of  society,  159;  and  progress, 

954,  957-58,  964-65,  983-100°;  reli- 
gious conceptions  of,  139;  and  social 
control,  785-87;  848-49;  and  social 
life,  69;  Spencer's  conception,  141; 
and  war,  594-98. 

HUMAN  NATURE  AND  INDUSTRY:  bibliog- 
raphy, 149. 

HUMAN  SOCIETY:  contrasted  with  ani- 
mal societies,  199-200;  and  social 
life,  182-85. 

HYPNOTISM:  a  form  of  dissociation  of 
memory,  472;  post-hypnotic  sug- 
gestion, 477.  See  Suggestion. 

IDEA-FORCES,  461-64.  See  Sentiment, 
Wishes. 

IMITATION:  bibliography,  420-30;  ac- 
tive side  of  sympathy,  394-95; 
and  appropriation  of  knowledge, 
403-4;  and  art,  401-7;  circular 
reaction,  390-91;  communication 
by,  72;  defined,  344,  390-91,  39^94; 
in  emotional  communication,  404-7; 
and  fashion,  390;  and  the  imita- 
tive process,  392-93;  internal,  404-5; 
and  like-mindedness,  33;  as  a  pro- 
cess of  learning,  344, 393-94;  and  rap- 
port, 344;  in  relation  to  attention 
and  interest,  344,  391-94;  in  rela- 
tion to  trial  and  error,  344-45; 
and  the  social  inheritance,  390-91; 
as  the  social  process,  21;  study  of, 
423-24;  and  suggestion,  differen- 
tiated, 346;  and  suggestion,  inner 
relation  between,  688-889;  and  the 
transmission  of  tradition,  391-92. 


1032         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


IMMIGRATION:  bibliography,  780-81; 
and  Americanization,  772-75;  in- 
volves accommodation,  719.  See 
Migration. 

IMMIGRATION  COMMISSION,  REPORT  OF, 
772-73. 

INBORN  CAPACITIES,  defined,  73-74. 

iNDlviDtJAL:  bibliography,  140-50,  152- 
53;  an  abstraction,  24;  isolated,  55; 
and  person,  55;  subordination  to, 
697-98. 

INDIVIDUAL  DIFFERENCES:  bibliography, 
152-54,  276;  assimilation  and  the 
mediation  of,  766-69;  cause  of  isola- 
tion, 228-29;  described,  92-94; 
developed  by  city  life,  313-15; 
measurement  of,  145-46;  in  primi- 
tive and  civilized  man,  90;  and  sex 
differences,  87. 

INDIVIDUAL  REPRESENTATION,  37,  193. 

INDIVIDUALISM,  and  the  division  of 
labor,  718. 

INDUSTRIAL  ORGANIZATION:  bibliog- 
raphy, 564-65;  impersonality  of,  287. 

IN-GROUP.    See  We-group. 

INHERITANCE,  BIOLOGICAL:  bibliog- 
raphy, 147. 

INHERITANCE,  SOCIAL:  through  imi- 
tation, 390-9 1 .  See  Heritages,  social. 

"INNER  ENEMIES."  See  Defectives, 
dependents,  and  delinquents. 

INSPIRATION,  and  public  sentiment,  34, 
35- 

INSTINCTS:  bibliography,  147-48,  152- 
54;  and  character,  190-93;  in  con- 
flict, 576-77;  570-82;  denned, 73-74; 
gregarious,  742-45;  in  the  human 
baby,  82-85;  instinctive  movements 
as  race  movements,  82;  physiological 
bases  of  assimilation,  742-45.  See 
Human  nature,  Original  nature. 

INSTITUTIONS:  defined,  796-97,  841; 
investigations  of,  51;  and  law,  797- 
99;  and  mass  movements,  915-24; 
and  mores,  841-43;  natural  history 
of,  16;  and  sects,  872-74;  and  social 
control,  796-99,  841-48,  851-53. 

INTERACTION,  SOCIAL:  chap,  vi,  339- 
434;  bibliography,  425-31;  in  com- 
munication, 341-43,  356-89;  concept 
°f,  339-41!  in  conflict,  582-86;  de- 
fines the  group  in  tune  and  space,  341, 
348-56;  history  of  the  concept,  420- 
21 ;  imitation  as  a  mechanistic  form 
of,  344,  300-407;  investigations  and 


problems,  420-^24;  language,  science, 
religion,  public  opinion,  and  law 
products  of,  37;  and  mobility,  341; 
Ormond's  analysis,  340;  as  a  princi- 
pal fundamental  to  all  the  natural 
sciences,  341-425346-48;  in  second- 
ary contacts  in  the  large  city,  360- 
61;  and  social  forces,  451-54;  and 
social  process,  36,  421;  and  sugges- 
tion, 345-56,  408-12;  visual,  356-61. 
See  Communication,  Imitation,  Pro- 
cess, social,  Suggestion,  and  Sym- 
pathy. 

INTEREST:  in  relation  to  imitation, 
344,  391-94- 

INTERESTS:  bibliography,  499-500; 
classification  of,  456-57;  defined, 
456;  and  desires,  456;  instincts  and 
sentiments,  30;  natural  harmony  of, 
550-51;  as  social  forces,  454-58, 
458-61. 

INTIMACY:  bibliography,  332;  and  the 
desire  for  response,  329-30;  form  of 
primary  contact,  284-85. 

INVERSION,  of  impulses  and  sentiments, 
283,  292,  329. 

INVESTIGATION,  and  research,  45. 

ISOLATION:  chap,  iv,  226-79;  bibliog- 
raphy, 273-77;  in  anthropogeog- 
raphy,  226,  269-70;  barrier  to  in- 
vasion in  plant  communities,  527-28; 
in  biology,  227-28,  270;  cause  of 
cultural  differences,  229;  cause  of 
dialects^  271;  cause  of  mental 
retardation,  231,  230-52;  cause 
of  national  individuality,  233,  257- 
69;  cause  of  originality,  237-39; 
cause  of  personal  individuality,  233- 
39,  271-73;  cause  of  race  prejudice, 
250-52;  cause  of  the  rural  mind, 
247-49;  circle  of,  232;  destroyed  by 
competition,  232;  disappearance  of, 
866-67;  effect  upon  social  groups, 
270-71;  feral  men,  239-43;  geo- 
graphical, and  maritime  contact, 
260-64;  investigations  and  problems 
of,  269-73;  isolated  groups,  270-71; 
mental  effects  of,  245-47;  and  prayer, 
23J>-37;  and  the  processes  of  com- 
petition, selection  and  segregation, 
232-33;  product  of  physical  and 
mental  differences,  228-29;  result  of 
segregation,  254-57;  and  secrecy, 
230;  and  segregation,  228-30;  and 
solidarity,  625-26;  solitude  and 
society,  243-45;  subtler  effects  of, 
249-52. 


GENERAL  INDEX 


1033 


JEW:  product  of  isolation,  271;  racial 
temperament,  136-37;  as  the  socio- 
logical stranger,  318-19;  323. 

KLONDIKE  RUSH,  895-98. 

LABOR  ORGANIZATIONS:  as  conflict 
groups,  50. 

LABORING  CLASS,  psychology  of,  40. 

LAISSEZ  FATRE:  bibliography,  563;  and 
competition,  554-58;  and  individual 
freedom,  560-61;  in  secondary  con- 
tacts, 758. 

LANGUAGE:  bibliography,  275-76,  427- 
29;  as  condition  of  Americanization, 
765-66;  gesture,  362-64;  and  par- 
ticipation, 763-66.  See  Communica- 
tion, Speech  community. 

LANGUAGE  GROUPS  AND  NATIONALITIES, 


LANGUAGE  REVIVALS  AND  NATIONAL- 
ISM: bibliography,  945-46;  study  of, 
930-32. 

LANGUAGES:  comparative  study  of, 
and  sociology,  5,  22;  cultural,  compe- 
tition of,  754-56,  771- 

LAUGHTER  :  communication  by,  3  70-7  5  ; 
essays  upon,  422;  in  social  control, 
373-75;  and  sympathy,  370-73,  401. 

LAW:  bibliography,  860-62;  based  on 
custom  and  mores,  799,  843-46;  com- 
mon and  statute,  842-46;  compara- 
tive study  of,  5;  and  conscience,  102- 
8;  and  creation  of  law-making 
opinion,  451;  formation  of,  16; 
and  the  general  will,  102-8;  and 
human  nature,  12-16;  as  influenced 
by  public  opinion,  445-51;  and 
institutions,  797-99;  and  legal  insti- 
tutions, 851-53;  moral,  13;  munici- 
pal, 13;  natural,  defined,  1  1  ;  natural, 
distinguished  from  other  forms,  12; 
and  public  opinion,  446-51  ;  and  reli- 
gion, 853;  result  of  like-mindedness, 
717;  social,  as  an  hypothesis,  12; 
"unwritten,"  640. 

LAWS  OF  NATURE,  13. 

LAWS  OF  PROGRESS,  15. 

LAWS  OF  SOCIAL  EVOLUTION,  l8. 

LEADERSHIP:  bibliography,  854-55;  in 
the  flock,  881-83;  and  group  con- 
tinuity, 353-54;  interpreted  by 
subordination  and  superordination, 
695-97,  697-98;  in  Methodism,  916- 


17;  study  of,  721,  849-50.  See 
Collective  behavior,  Social  control, 
Suggestion,  Subordination  and  super- 
ordination. 

LEGEND:  as  a  form  of  social  control, 
819-22;  growth  of,  819-22;  in  the 
growth  of  Methodism,  922-23.  See 
Myth. 

LEGISLATION.    See  Law. 

LIKE-MINDEDNESS:  and  corporate  ac- 
tion, 42;  as  an  explanation  of 
social  behavior,  32-33;  formal,  hi 
assimilation,  757-60;  in  a  panic, 
33-34- 

LINGUA  FRANCA,  752-54. 

LITERATURE,  and  the  science  of  human 
nature,  141-43. 

LITIGATION,  as  a  form  of  conflict,  590- 
92. 

LYNCHING:  bibliography,  653-54. 

MAN:  an  adaptive  mechanism,  522- 
26;  economic,  495-96;  the  fighting 
animal,  600-603  >  the  natural,  82-85 1 
as  a  person,  10;  a  political  animal, 
10,  32;  primitive  and  civilized, 
sensory  discrimination  in,  90.  See 
Human  nature,  Individual,  Person, 
Personality. 

MARKETS:  bibliography,  564;  and  the 
origin  of  competition,  555-56. 

MASS  MOVEMENTS:  bibliography,  941- 
43;  crowd  excitements  and,  895-98; 
and  institutions,  915-24;  and  mores, 
898-905;  and  progress,  54;  and 
revolution,  905-15;  study  of,  927- 
32;  types  of,  895-924. 

MEMORY:  associative,  Loeb's  definition, 
467;  r6le  of ,  in  the  control  of  original 
nature,  468-71. 

MENTAL  CONFLICT:  bibliography,  645- 
46;  and  the  disorganization  of 
personality,  638;  its  function  in 
individual  and  group  action,  578; 
and  sublimation,  669. 

MENTAL  DIFFERENCES.  See  Individual 
differences. 

METHODISM,  915-24. 

MIGRATION:  classified  into  internal 
and  foreign,  531-33;  and  mobility, 
301-5;  in  the  plant  community, 
526-28;  and  segregation,  529-33. 
See  Immigration,  mobility. 


1034         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


MOLING,  in  the  herd,  788-90. 

MIND,  COLLECTIVE,  887,  889-90. 

MISCEGENATION:  and  the  mores,  53. 
See  Amalgamation. 

MISSIONS:  bibliography,  778-80;  and 
the  conflict  and  fusion  of  cultures, 
771;  and  social  transmission,  200. 

MOBILITY:  bibliography,  333;  and 
communication,  284;  and  competi- 
tion, 513;  contrasted  with  continu- 
ity, 286;  denned,  283-84;  facilitated 
by  city  life,  313-14;  and  instability 
of  natural  races,  300-301;  of  the 
migratory  worker,  912-13;  and  the 
movement  of  the  peoples,  301-5;  and 
news,  284;  and  social  interaction, 
341;  and  the  stranger,  323-24.  See 
Communication,  Contacts,  social, 
Migration. 

MOBILIZATION,  of  the  individual  man, 
313- 

MORALE:  defined,  164;  and  isolation, 
229-30;  of  social  groups,  205-9. 
See  Esprit  de  corps,  Collective  repre- 
sentation, Consciousness,  social. 

MORES:  bibliography,  148-49;  as  the 
basis  of  social  control,  786-87;  and 
conduct,  189;  and  human  nature, 
97-100;  influence  of,  30;  and  insti- 
tutions, 841-43;  and  mass  move- 
ments, 898-905;  and  miscegenation, 
53;  not  subject  of  discussion,  52-53; 
and  progress,  983-84;  and  public 
opinion,  differentiated,  832. 

MOVEMENTS.    See  Mass  movements. 

Music:  bibliography,  938-39. 

MYTHOLOGY,  comparative  study  of,  5. 

MYTHS:  bibliography,  857-58;  as  a 
form  of  social  control,  816-19;  prog- 
ress as  a,  958-62;  relation  to  ritual 
and  dogma,  822-26;  revolutionary, 
817-19,  909,  911;  and  socialism, 
818-19.  See  Legend. 

NATIONAL  DEVELOPMENT,  as  affected 
by  natural  or  vicinal  location,  268-69. 

NATIONAL  DIFFERENCES,  explained  by 
isolation,  264-68. 

NATIONALITIES:  bibliography,  275,  650- 
60;  assimilation  in  the  formation  of, 
756-58;  conflict  groups,  50,  628-31; 
denned,  645;  and  nations,  723;  and 
patterns  of  life,  46;  and  racial  tem- 
perament, 135-39.  See  Denationali- 


zation,    Nationalization,     Language 

revivals. 
NATIONALIZATION:    bibliography,   777- 

78. 

NATURAL  HISTORY:    and  natural  sci- 
ence, 16;  of  a  social  institution,  16. 
NATURAL  SCIENCE:    defined,  12;    and 

history,  8. 
NATURALIZATION,  SOCIAL:    as  a  form 

of  accommodation,  666-67,  7I9- 
NATURE:    denned,    n;    laws  of,    13; 

and  nurture,  126-28. 
NATURE,  HUMAN.    See  Human  nature. 
NEGRO:  accommodation  of,  in  slavery 

and  freedom,  631-37 ;  assimilation  of, 

760-62;   race  consciousness  of,  623- 

31;    racial  temperament  of,  136-37, 

762. 
NEIGHBORHOOD:  deterioration  of,  252- 

54;  as  a  local  community,  50;   as  a 

natural  area  of  primary  contacts,  285 ; 

as  a  primary  group,  56;    scale  for 

grading,  1002  n. 

NEO-MALTHUSIAN  MOVEMENT,  559-60. 
NEWS:  and  social  control,  834-37.    See 

Newspaper,  Publicity. 
NEWSPAPER:  bibliography,  427,  859-60; 

historical   development   of,   385-89; 

as  medium  of  communication,  316-17. 

See  Public  opinion,  Publicity. 
NOMINALISM,  and  social  psychology,  41. 
NOMINALISTS,  and  realists  in  sociology, 

36. 

OPINION.    See  Public  opinion. 

ORDEAL  OF  BATTLE:  bibliography,  655. 

ORGANISM,  SOCIAL:  and  biological,  28; 
Comte's  conception  of,  24-25,  39; 
humanity  or  Leviathan?  24-27;  and 
the  separate  organs,  27;  Spencer's 
definition  of,  25;  Spencer's  essay  on, 
28. 

ORGANIZATION,  SOCIAL:  bibliography, 
729-30;  of  groups,  51;  and  progress, 
966-68;  and  rivalry,  604-16;  study 
of,  723-25- 

ORGANIZATIONS,  sociological  and  bio- 
logical, 26. 

ORIGINAL  NATURE:  an  abstraction,  68; 
control  over,  81;  controlled  through 
memory,  468-71;  denned,  56,  73-74: 
and  environment,  73 ;  inheritance  of, 
128-33;  °f  rnan>  68-69;  research  in, 


GENERAL  INDEX 


1035 


143.  See  Individual,  Individual  dif- 
ferences, Instincts. 

ORIGINAL  TENDENCIES:  inventory  of, 
75-76;  range  of,  74. 

ORIGINALITY:  accumulated  common- 
places, 21 ;  in  relation  to  isolation, 
237-39- 

OTHERS-GROUP.    See  We-group. 

OUT-GROUP.    See  We-group. 

PACK,  886-87. 

PARTICIPATION:  Americanization  as, 
762-63;  and  competitive  co-opera- 
tion, 767-68;  language  as  a  means 
and  a  product  of,  7631-66.  See 
Americanization,  Assimilation,  Col- 
lective behavior,  Social  control. 

PARTIES:  bibliography,  658-59;  as  con- 
flict groups,  50. 

PATTERNS  OF  LIFE,  in  nationalities,  46; 
in  social  classes,  46. 

PEACE,  as  a  type  of  accommodation, 
703-6. 

PERIODICALS,  SOCIOLOGICAL:  bibliog- 
raphy, 50-60. 

PERSON:  bibliography,  150-52,  273-74; 
effect  of  city  upon,  329;  and  his 
wishes,  488-90;  as  an  individual  with 
status,  55.  See  Personality,  Status. 

PERSONALITY:  bibliography,  149-52; 
alterations  of ,  113-17;  classified,  146; 
as  a  complex,  69,  110-13;  conscious, 
490;  defined,  70,  112-13;  defined  in 
terms  of  attitudes,  490;  disorganiza- 
tion of,  and  mental  conflict,  638;  dis- 
sociation of,  472-75;  effect  of  isola- 
tion upon,  233-39,  27i-73;  and  the 
four  wishes,  442-43;  and  group 
membership,  609;  harmonization  of 
conflict,  583-84;  of  individuals  and 
peoples,  123-25;  investigation  of, 
143-45;  as  the  organism,  108-10; 
shut-in  type  of,  272;  and  the  social 
group,  48,  52;  study  of,  271-73;  and 
suggestion,  419-20;  types  of,  deter- 
mined by  the  group,  606-7.  See 
Individual,  Person,  Self,  Status. 

PERSONS,  defined,  55;  as  "parts"  of 
society,  36;  product  of  society,  159. 

PHILOSOPHY,  and  natural  science,  4. 

PITTSBURGH  SURVEY,  315,  724. 

PLANT  COMMUNITIES.  See  Communi- 
ties. 


PLAY:  as  expressive  behavior,  787-88. 

POLITICS:  bibliography,  940;  compara- 
tive, Freeman's  lectures  on,  23;  as 
expressive  behavior,  787-88;  among 
the  natural  sciences,  3 ;  as  a  positive 
science,  3;  shams  in,  826-82. 

POVERTY.  See  Defectives,  dependents, 
and  delinquents. 

PRESTIGE:  with  animals,  809-10;  de- 
fined, 807;  and  prejudice,  808-9; 
in  primitive  society,  810-11,  811-12; 
in  social  control,  807-11,  811-12; 
and  status  in  South  East  Africa, 
811-12.  See  Leadership,  Status. 

PRIMARY  CONTACTS.  See  Contacts, 
primary. 

PRINTING-PRESS,  bibliography,  427. 

PRIVACY:  defined,  231;  values  of,  231. 

PROBLEMS,  ADMINISTRATIVE:  practical 
and  technical,  46. 

PROBLEMS,  HISTORICAL:  become  psy- 
chological and  sociological,  19. 

PROBLEMS  OF  POLICY:  political  and 
legislative,  46. 

PROBLEMS,  SOCIAL:  classification  of, 
45,  46;  of  the  group,  47. 

PROCESS:  historical,  51;  political,  as 
distinguished  from  the  cultural, 
52-S4. 

PROCESS,  SOCIAL:  defined,  51;  and 
interaction,  36,  346;  natural,  346-48, 
420-21;  and  social  progress,  51-55. 

PROGRESS:  chap,  xiv,  953-1011;  bib- 
liography, 57-58,  1004-10;  as  the 
addition  to  the  sum  of  accumulated 
experience,  1001-2;  concept  of,  962- 
63,  965-73;  and  consciousness,  990- 
94;  and  the  cosmic  urge,  989-1000; 
criteria  of,  985-86;  and  the  defec- 
tives, the  dependents,  and  the  delin- 
quents, 954-55;  and  the  dunkler 
drang,  994-1000;  earliest  conception 
of,  965-66;  and  the  elan  vitale,  989- 
94;  and  eugenics,  979-83;  and 
happiness,  967,  973-75;  and  the 
historical  process,  969-73;  history  of 
the  concept  of,  958-62 ;  as  a  hope  or 
myth,  958-62;  and  human  nature, 
954,  957-58,  964-65,  983-iooo;  in- 
dices of,  1002-3;  investigations  and 
problems,  1000-3;  laws  of,  *5>  asd 
the  limits  of  scientific  prevision,  977- 
79;  and  mass  movements,  54;  a 


1036         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


modern  conception,  960-62;  and  the 
mores,  983-84;  and  the  nature  of 
man,  983;  and  organization,  966-68 ; 
popular  conceptions  of,  953-56;  and 
prevision,  975-77;  problem  of,  956- 
58;  and  providence,  in  contrast,  960- 
62;  and  religion,  846-48;  a  result  of 
competition,  988;  a  result  of  con- 
tact, 988-89;  and  science,  973-83; 
and  social  control,  786;  and  social 
process,  51-58;  and  social  research, 
1000-2;  and  social  values,  955; 
stages  of,  968-69;  types  of,  984-85; 
and  war,  984-89. 

PROPAGANDA:  in  modern  nations,  772; 
psychology  of,  837-41. 

PROVIDENCE  :  in  contrast  with  progress, 
960-62. 

PSYCHOLOGY,  COLLECTIVE,  bibliography, 
940-41. 

PUBLIC:  and  the  crowd,  867-70;  con- 
trol in,  800-805;  a  discussion  group, 
798-99,  870. 

PUBLIC  OPINION:  bibliography,  858-60; 
changes  in  intensity  and  direction 
of,  792-93;  and  collective  represen- 
tations, 38;  combined  and  sublimated 
judgments  of  individuals,  795-96; 
continuity  in  its  development,  449- 
51;  and  crises,  793-94;  cross  cur- 
rents in, 450^5 1,  79 1-93;  defined, 38; 
and  legislation  in  England,  445-51; 
and  mores,  829-33;  nature  of,  826- 
29;  opinion  of  individuals  plus  their 
differences,  832-33;  organization  of, 
51;  organization  of  social  forces,  35; 
and  schools  of  thought,  446-49;  and 
social  control,  786,  816-41,  850-51; 
as  social  weather,  791-93;  as  a 
source  of  social  control  in  cities, 
316-17;  supported  by  sentiment, 
478. 

PUBLICITY:  as  a  form  of  social  contact, 
315-17;  as  a  form  of  social  control, 
830;  historical  evolution  of  the  news- 
paper, 385-89;  and  publication,  38. 

RACE  CONFLICT:  bibliography,  650-52; 
and  race  prejudice,  578-79;  study  of, 
642-43. 

RACE  CONSCIOUSNESS:  and  conflict, 
623-31;  in  relation  to  literature  and 
art,  626-29. 

RACE  PREJUDICE:  and  competition  of 
peoples  with  different  standards  of 


living,  610-23;  as  a  defense-reaction, 
620;  a  form  of  isolation,  250-52; 
a  phenomenon  of  social  distance,  440; 
and  prestige,  808-9;  and  primary 
contacts,  330;  and  race  conflicts, 
578-79. 

RACE  SUICIDE,  and  niter-racial  compe- 
tition, 539-44. 

RACES:  assimilation  of,  756-62;  de- 
nned, 631-33. 

RACIAL     DIFFERENCES:      bibliography, 

154;  and  assimilation,  769-70;  basis 

of  race  prejudice  and  conflict,  63 1-33 ; 

in  primitive  and  civilized  man,  89-92. 
RAPPORT:    in  the  crowd,  893-94;    in 

hypnotism,  345;    hi  imitation,  344; 

in  suggestion,  345. 
REACTION,    CIRCULAR:     in    collective 

behavior  and  social  control,  788-92; 

in  imitation,  390-91;  in  social  unrest, 

866. 

REALISTS,  and  nominalists  in  sociology, 

43- 
REALISM,  and  collective  psychology,  41. 

REFLEX:  defined,  73;  as  response 
toward  an  object,  479-82;  Watson's 
definition  of,  81. 

REFORM:  bibliograp hy,  948-50;  method 
of  effecting,  47;  study  of,  934. 

RESEARCH,  SOCIAL:  and  progress, 
1000-1002;  and  sociology,  43-57. 

RESEARCH,  sociological,  defined,  44. 

RELIGION:  as  an  agency  of  social 
control,  846-48;  comparative  study 
of,  5;  as  expressive  behavior,  787-88; 
as  the  guardian  of  mores,  847;  and 
law,  853;  Methodism,  915-24;  origin 
in  the  choral  dance,  871;  and  revolu- 
tionary and  reform  movements,  873- 
74,  908-9. 

RELIGIOUS  REVIVALS,  AND  THE  ORIGIN 
OF  SECTS:  bibliography,  943-45; 
study  of,  932-33. 

RESPONSE,  MULTIPLE,  and  multiple 
causation,  75. 

REVIVALS.  See  Language  revivals, 
Religious  revivals. 

REVOLUTION:  bibliography,  950-51; 
bolshevism,  900-15;  French,  905-9; 
and  mass  movements,  905-15 ;  moral, 
and  Methodism,  923-24;  and  reli- 
gion, 873-74;  908-9;  study  of,  934. 

RITES.    See  Ritual. 


GENERAL  INDEX 


1037 


RITUAL:  bibliography,  855-56,  938-39; 
as  a  basis  of  myth  and  dogma,  822-26. 

RIVALRY:  bibliography,  646;  animal, 
604-5;  and  national  welfare,  609-10; 
of  social  groups,  605-10;  and  social 
organization,  577-78;  604-16;  sub- 
limated form  of  conflict,  577-78. 

ROCKEFELLER  MEDICAL  FOUNDATION, 
670. 

RURAL  COMMUNITIES:  as  local  groups, 
50.  See  Communities. 

RURAL  MIND,  as  a  product  of  isolation, 
247-49. 

RUSSELL  SAGE  FOUNDATION,  social 
surveys,  46,  3*5,  724- 

SALVATION  ARMY,  873. 

SCIENCE:  and  concrete  experience,  15; 
and  description,  13;  and  progress, 
973-83- 

SCIENCES,  ABSTRACT,  instrumental  char- 
acter of,  15. 

SCIENTIFIC  EXPLANATION,  and  common 
sense,  80. 

SECONDARY  CONTACTS.  See  Contacts, 
secondary. 

SECRET  SOCIETIES,  bibliography,  730-32. 

SECTS:  bibliography,  656-57;  as  conflict 
groups,  50;  defined,  202-3;  dis- 
tinguished from  denomination,  873; 
and  institutions,  872-74;  origin  in 
conflict  of  beliefs,  611-12;  origin  in 
the  crowd,  870-72;  permanent  form 
of  expressive  crowd,  872.  See  Reli- 
gious revivals. 

SEGREGATION:  and  competition,  526- 
44;  and  isolation,  228-30,  254-57; 
and  migration,  529-33;  in  the  plant 
community,  526-28;  as  a  process, 
252-54;  and  social  selection,  534-38. 

SELECTION,  SOCIAL:  and  demographic 
segregation,  534-38;  personal  compe- 
tition and  status,  708-12. 

SELF:  conventional,  versus  natural 
person,  117-19;  divided,  and  moral 
consciousness,  119-23;  as  the  indi- 
.vidual's  conception  of  his  role,  113- 
17;  "looking-glass,"  70-71.  See  In- 
dividual, Person,  Personality. 

SENSES,    SOCIOLOGY   OF,    bibliography, 

332- 
SENSORIUM,  SOCIAL,  27,  28. 


SENTIMENTS:  bibliography,  501;  of 
caste,  684-88;  and  competition, 
508;  classification  of,  466-67;  and 
idea-forces,  463-64;  of  loyalty,  as 
basis  of  social  solidarity,  759; 
McDougalTs  definition,  441,  465; 
mutation  of,  441-42;  related  to 
opinion,  478;  as  social  forces,  464-67. 

SEX  DIFFERENCES:  bibliography,  153- 
54;  and  cultural  conflicts,  615-16; 
described,  85-89. 

SITTLICHKEIT:  denned,  102-4. 

SITUATION:  definition  of,  764-65;  and 
response,  73. 

SLANG,  bibliography,  427-29. 

SLAVERY:  bibliography,  727-28;  de- 
fined, 674-77;  and  the  division  of 
labor,  677;  interpreted  by  subordina- 
tion and  superordination,  676,  677- 
81. 

SOCIAL  ADVERTISING.    See  Publicity. 

SOCIAL  AGGREGATES.  See  Aggregates, 
social. 

SOCIAL  CHANGES,  and  disorganization, 
55- 

SOCIAL  CLASSES.    See  Classes,  social. 

SOCIAL  CONSCIOUSNESS.  See  Con- 
sciousness, social. 

SOCIAL  CONTACT.    See  Contact,  social. 

SOCIAL  CONTROL.    See  Control,  social. 

SOCIAL  DISORGANIZATION.  See  Dis- 
organization, social. 

SOCIAL  DISTANCE:  graphic  representa- 
tion of,  282;  maintained  by  isolation, 
230;  as  psychic  separation,  162; 
and  race  prejudice,  440. 

SOCIAL  FACT:  classification  of,  51;  imi- 
tative, 21. 

SOCIAL  FORCES.    See  Forces,  social. 
SOCIAL  GROUPS.    See  Groups,  social. 

SOCIAL    HERITAGES.      See    Heritages, 

social. 
SOCIAL  INTERACTION.    See  Interaction, 

social. 

SOCIAL  LIFE:  defined,  183-85;  and 
human  nature,  182-85. 

SOCIAL  MOVEMENTS.  See  Mass  move- 
ments. 

SOCIAL  ORGANISM.  See  Organism, 
social. 


1038         INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


SOCIAL  ORGANIZATION.    See  Organiza- 
tion, social. 
SOCIAL  PHENOMENA:  causes  of,  17;  as 

susceptible  of  prevision,  i. 
SOCIAL  PRESSURES,  as  social  forces,  458- 

61. 
SOCIAL     PROBLEMS.      See     Problems, 

social. 

SOCIAL  PROCESS.    See  Process,  social. 
SOCIAL  REFORM.    See  Problem,  social, 

Reform. 
SOCIAL  SENSORIUM.    See  Sensorium, 

social. 
SOCIAL    SOLIDARITY.    See    Solidarity, 

social. 

SOCIAL  SURVEYS.    See  Surveys,  social. 
SOCIAL  TYPES.    See  Types,  social. 
SOCIAL  UNIT  PLAN,  724. 

SOCIAL  UNITY,  as  a  product  of  isolation, 
229-30. 

SOCIAL  UNREST.    See  Unrest,  social. 

SOCIALISM:  bibliography,  565-66;  eco- 
nomic doctrines  of,  558;  function  of 
myth  in,  818-19. 

SOCIALIZATION:  the  goal  of  social 
effort,  496;  as  the  unity  of  society, 
348-49- 

SOCIETY:  bibliography,  217-23;  animal, 
bibliography,  217-18;  in  the  animal 
colony,  24;  ant,  180-82;  an  artefact, 
30;  based  on  communication,  183- 
84;  collection  of  persons,  158;  col- 
lective consciousness  of,  28;  "collect- 
ive organism,"  24;  as  consensus,  161 ; 
denned,  150-62;  165-66;  348-49; 
differentiated  from  community  and 
social  group,  161-62;  as  distinct  from 
individuals,  27;  exists  in  communica- 
tion, 36;  an  extension  of  the  indi- 
divual  organism,  159-60;  and  the 
,group,  chap.  Hi,  159-225;  bibliog- 
raphy, 217-23;  from  an  individual- 
istic and  collectivistic  point  of  view, 
41,  42;  investigations  and  problems 
of,  210-16;  mechanistic  interpreta- 
tion of,  346-48;  metaphysical  science 
of,  2;  as  part  of  nature,  29;  product 
of  nature  and  of  design,  30;  scientific 
study  of ,  2 lo-i i ;  and  social  distance, 
162;  as  social  interaction,  341,  348; 
and  the  social  process,  211;  and 
solitude,  233-34,  234-45;  as  the  sum 


total  of  institutions,  159;  and  symbi- 
osis, 165-73. 

SOCIOLOGY:  aims  at  prediction  and  con- 
trol, 339-40;  in  the  classification  of 
the  sciences,  6;  as  collective  psy- 
chology, 342;  Comte's  program,  r; 
a  description  and  explanation  of  the 
cultural  process,  35;  an  experimental 
science,  6;  a  fundamental  science, 
6;  and  history,  1-12,  16-24;  as  an 
independent  science,  i;  origin  in 
history,  23;  origin  of,  5,  6;  and  the 
philosophy  of  history,  44;  positive 
science  of  society,  3;  representative 
works  in,  bibliography,  57-59;  rural 
and  urban,  40;  schools  of,  28;  a  sci- 
ence of  collective  behavior,  24;  a 
science  of  humanity,  5;  and  social 
research,  43-57;  and  the  social  sci- 
ences, chap,  i,  1-63. 

SOCIOLOGICAL  INVESTIGATION:  methods 
of,  bibliography,  58-59. 

SOCIOLOGICAL  METHOD,  23. 

SOCIOLOGICAL  POINT  OF  VIEW,  16. 

SOLIDARITY,  SOCIAL:  and  the  division 
of  labor,  714-18;  and  loyalty,  759; 
and  status  and  competition,  670-71, 
708-18. 

SOLITUDE.    See  Isolation. 

SPEECH  COMMUNITY,  changes  in,  22. 
See  Language. 

STATE,  sociological  definition  of,  50. 

STATISTICS,  as  a  method  of  investiga- 
tion, 51. 

STATUS:  and  competition,  541-43,  670- 
71,  708-18;  determined  by  conflict, 
574~7S>  S?6;  determined  by  mem- 
bers of  a  group,  36;  of  the  person  in 
the  city,  313;  and  personal  competi- 
tion and  social  selection,  708-12; 
and  prestige  in  South  East  Africa, 
811-12;  and  social  solidarity,  670-71, 
708-18.  See  Prestige. 

STRANGER,  sociology  of,  317-22,322-27. 
STRIKES,  bibliography,  652-53. 

STRUCTURE,  SOCIAL,  permanence  of, 
746-50. 

STRUGGLE  FOR  EXISTENCE:  and  compe- 
tition, 505,  512,  513-15,  522-26; 
and  natural  selection,  515-19.  See 
Competition. 

STRUGGLE:  for  struggle's  sake,  585-86. 


GENERAL  INDEX 


1039 


SUBLIMATION:  the  accommodation  of 
mental  conflict,  669. 

SUBMISSION.  See  Subordination  and 
superordination. 

SUBORDINATION  AND  SUPERORDINATION, 
bibliography,  726;  in  accommodation, 
667-68;  in  animal  rivalry,  604-5; 
in  caste,  684-88;  in  leadership,  695- 
97;  literature  of,  721;  psychology  of , 
688-92;  reciprocal  character  of,  695- 
97;  in  slavery,  676,  677-81;  social 
attitudes  in,  692-95;  three  types  of, 
697-703. 

SUGGESTION:  bibliography,  430-3 1 ; 
basis  of  social  change,  22;  case  of 
Clever  Hans,  412-15;  and  centra- 
suggestion,  419;  in  the  crowd,  415- 
16;  defined,  408;  distinguished  from 
imitation,  345-46;  in  hypnotism, 
345,  412,  424,  471-72^  and  idea- 
forces,  461-64;  and  imitation,  inner 
relation  between,  688-89;  and  leader- 
ship, 419-20;  and  mass  or  corporate 
action,  415-20;  as  a  mechanistic 
form  of  interaction,  344-46,  408-20; 
and  perception,  active  and  passive, 
345,  408-12;  personal  and  general 
consciousness,  409-12;  and  person- 
ality, 419-20;  as  psychic  infection, 
410-12;  in  social  life,  345-46, 408-20, 
424;  study  of,  424;  subtler  forms  of, 
412-15.  See  Hypnotism. 

SUPERORDINATION.  See  Subordination 
and  superordination. 

SURVEY,  SOCIAL:  as  a  type  of  com- 
munity study,  436;  types  of,  46. 

SYMBIOSIS:  in  the  ant  community, 
167-70;  in  the  plant  community, 
i75-8o. 

SYMPATHETIC  CONTACTS,  versus  cate- 
goric contacts,  294-98. 

SYMPATHY:  and  imagination,  397-98; 
imitation  its  most  rudimentary  form, 
394-95;  intellectual  or  rational, 
396-97,  397-401;  the  "law  of 
laughter,"  370-73,  401;  psycho- 
logical unison,  395;  Ribot's  three 
levels  of,  394-97. 

TABOO:  bibliography,  856-57;  and 
religion,  847;  and  rules  of  holiness 
and  uncleanness,  813-16;  as  social 
control,  812-16;  and  touch,  291-93. 
See  Touch. 


TAMING,  of  animals,  170-73. 

TEMPERAMENT:  bibliography,  152-53; 
divergencies  in,  91;  of  Negro,  762; 
racial  and  national,  135-39. 

TOUCH:  as  most  intimate  kind  of  con- 
tact, 280;  and  social  contact,  282-83, 
291-93;  study  of,  329-30;  and  taboo, 
291-93. 

TRADITION:  and  inheritance  of  acquired 
nature,  134-35;  and  temperament, 
I3S-39>  versus  acculturation,  72. 
See  Heritages,  social. 

TRANSMISSION:  by  imitation  and  incul- 
cation, 72,  135;  and  society,  183; 
Tarde's  theory  of,  21. 

TYPES,  SOCIAL:  bibliography,  731; 
in  the  city,  313-15;  and  the  division 
of  labor,  713-14;  result  of  personal 
competition,  712-14. 

UNIVERSES  OF  DISCOURSE:  bibliography, 
427-29;  and  assimilation,  737,  764; 
"every  group  has  its  own  language," 
423.  See  Communication,  Language, 
Publicity. 

UNREST,  MORAL,  57. 

UNREST,  SOCIAL:  bibliography,  935-36; 
and  circular  reaction,  866;  and  col- 
lective behavior,  866-67;  increase  of 
Bohemianism,  57;  in  the  I.W.W., 
911-15;  like  milling  in  the  herd,  788; 
manifest  in  discontent  and  mental 
anarchy,  907-8;  product  of  the  arti- 
ficial conditions  of  city  life,  287,  329; 
result  of  mobility,  320-21;  sign  of 
lack  of  participation,  766-67;  and 
social  contagion,  875-76;  studies 
of,  924-26;  and  unrealized  wishes, 
442-43. 

URBAN  COMMUNITIES:  as  local  groups, 
50.  See  Communities. 

UTOPIAS,  bibliography,  1008-9. 

VALUES:  bibliography,  500;  object  of 
the  wish,  442;  personal  and  imper- 
sonal, 54;  positive  and  negative, 
488;  and  progress,  955. 

Vicious  CIRCLE,  788-89. 

VOCATIONAL  GROUPS,  as  a  type  of 
accommodation  groups,  50. 

WANTS  AND  VALUES,  bibliography,  499- 
500. 


1040        INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  SOCIOLOGY 


WAX:  bibliography,  647-50;  as  an 
exciting  game,  580;  as  a  form  of 
conflict,  575-76,  576-77,  586-88, 
703-6;  and  the  "Great  Society," 
600-601;  and  human  nature,  594-98; 
literature  of,  641-42;  and  man  as  the 
fighting  animal,  600-603;  and  possi- 
bility of  its  sublimation,  598;  the  pre- 
liminary process  of  rejuvenescence, 
596-97;  and  progress,  984-89;  in  re- 
lation to  instincts  and  ideals,  576-77, 
594-603;  as  relaxation,  598-603; 
and  social  Utopia,  599. 

WE-GROUP:  and  collective  egotism,  606; 
and  others-group  defined,  283,293-94; 
ethnocentrism,  294. 

WILL:  common,  106;  general,  107-8; 
general,  in  relation  to  law  and  con- 
science, 102-8;  individual,  101; 
social,  102. 


WISH,  the  Freudian,  438,  442,  478-80, 
482-88,  497. 

WISHES:  bibliography,  500-1;  and  atti- 
tudes, 442-43;  civilization  organized 
to  realize,  958;  as  components  of 
attitudes,  439;  and  growth  of  human 
nature  and  personality,  442-43; 
as  libido,  442;  organized  into  char- 
acter, 490;  of  the  person,  488-90; 
as  psychological  unit,  479;  and  the 
psychic  censor,  484-88;  and  the 
reflex,  479-82;  repressed,  482-83; 
as  the  social  atoms,  478-82 ;  Thomas' 
classification  of,  438,  442,  488-90, 
497;  and  values,  442,  488. 

WOMAN'S  TEMPERANCE  CRUSADE,  898- 
905. 

WRITING:  as  form  of  communication, 
381-84;  pictographic  forms,  381; 
by  symbols,  382-83. 


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